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Like there was some point to be made, but hell if I understood it.
I didn’t think she did either, but it resulted in a heavy-breathing and temporary-blindness sort of nut for both of us, so I couldn’t and wouldn’t complain.
Until hours later, when I woke up and she wasn’t in my bed.
She was still here though, somewhere, ’cause her phone was still charging on the nightstand.
It didn’t take too long for me to find her out on the balcony, sitting in the dark, knees to her chest.
“What’s wrong?” I asked, stepping out onto the balcony with her. As soon as the cool air hit my skin though, I stepped right back in, grabbing a blanket from the couch. “You trying to freeze yourself or something?”
“It was helping me think,” she said, but didn’t complain when I draped the fabric around her shoulders before I sat down.
“Think about what?”
“The first time we met.”
A couple years ago.
Right when people were starting to notice my name.
Out in Vegas, visiting mu cousin Justice who’d moved out there and got affiliated with some Black bike gang shit, which waswild.He knew people though, and had a connection with connected people, which put me in position to have a conversation that changed my whole trajectory.
Blue, president of the motorcycle club, put me in touch with Denver Benoit, a reformed hood nigga. Denver put me in touch with his sister-in-law Des Byers, a lawyer. Des put me in touch with her cousin Logan, whose title I still didn’t really understand, but she knew how to get shit done. Logan put me in with Nubia Perry, whoeverybodyknew as the baddest woman alive. Nubia got me a conversation with Chloe McKenna, the best PR services money could buy.
I wasn’t looking for PR though.
So she didn’t really give me that.
She just… spoke life.
Before the conversation, she actually listened to some of my shit, so I knew it wasn’t just gas when she predicted I’d be a star. She warned me of the kind of bullshit that would likely come my way from other artists and record labels after I reached a certain level. She told me how to walk that line and offered for me to call her back once I crossed it because Iwouldneed PR then.
And I believed her.
She sent me back to Nubia who also had industry connections and was able to put me on with better sound engineers, played my music in the background of a few social media posts.
She also told me I needed some professional photos. They could be organic, didn’t have to be any corny shit.
Logan set up the photoshoot, at the bar where I’d met up with my cousin.
Brooke was the photographer.
She stole my attention from the moment she walked in—pretty copper skin and big brown eyes, braids to her ankles at the time. Not just my attention though, for obvious reasons. She was fine, so dudes wanted to get at her, but she wasn’t on that wave at all.
I could feel that, so I didn’t say anything, trying to be on my best professional behavior and all that, despite the weird vibe I was picking up from her.
She was laid back, and perfectly pleasant, but she wouldn’t give me eye contact like she would with everybody else. I noticed it because for some reason I was… shit,cravingthat from her. All my life, I’d had an undeniable effect on women. I was a good-looking dude, objectively.
She would not give me any energy though.
None.
Something was up.
Brooke suggested a “voyeur” angle for the shoot, knowing it was supposed to have an organic, candid sort of feel. She was good at it too, fading into the background so much that we lowkey forgot she was there, we were just kicking it.
Then she followed me to the bathroom.
