I think I might keep you around, lil bit.
Erik's words to you are still playing in your mind long after he decided to flip you over and wreck you, and long after he disappeared again before you could ask what favor he wanted to ask. You don't know what to do with the information, can't rationalize it as being anything more than him willing to focus his libido on you specifically. An extended, long term booty call.
You've been waiting outside your apartment for your friends, leaning against the railing with more of his money stuck in your purse. When you told him you didn't have all day because of your plans, he stuck more bills in your hand while making you promise you'd buy something 'sexy' to put on for him. Jokes on him, you planned on frivolously spending cash on underwear anyway.
He won't listen when you refuse his money, so you start mentally allocating where it's going to go. Gas, bills, rent, savings. Food. You definitely need to go grocery shopping, you note to yourself, that kitchen of yours is barren after the seafood boil you made.
Sydney and Kayla roll up just as you wonder what you could possibly eat during the week that won't take more than an hour to cook, and you lock your apartment door behind you with a sigh. Erik lowkey has you limping, or at the very least walking a little funny with the dull ache between your legs, but nothing compares to how wrecked you were the morning after he fucked you the first time. You felt aches and pains in your joints you've never felt before, solely from the odd position he kept you in, and it made you realize you need to get your ass in the gym solely for the stretching part.
You honestly hate your eagle-eyed friends, because once you slide in the backseat, Kayla turns around to face you. "Dick appointment?"
"Shut up," you say. "I thought we were catching an Uber?"
"I thought we were too," Kayla says, dropping the subject. "But if we buy a lot of shit I don't wanna have it in someone else's car."
They keep talking but your mind quickly begins drifting back to earlier. It's a damn shame you think, to be missing the feeling of Erik's lips on you only an hour after feeling them last. You feel addicted already, like somebody slipped you a taste of some illegal drug and now you can't quit it. You can't get used to this, you're still early enough in to put a stop to it.
That feeling alone has you whipping out your cellphone and sending a quick, impulsive text to that unsaved number of his.
I don't wanna get used to this. I don't think you should either.
Now you're anxious, because your Rational and Horny sides of the brain are fighting again. One side tells you that latching on to a man like this solely because he's been giving you vain satisfaction is foolish and only asking for pain, while the other side tells you that you're young and shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth.
You don't expect your cell to buzz so soon.
Bet. - Unknown Number
Frowning, you wonder what the hell that means. Does he agree with the first part of the message or the last? You never could stand 'bet' ass niggas, solely because you always felt slightly threatened and uneasy whenever they'd say it during an argument or some otherwise touchy conversation. This shit has you sweating now, but you push it to the back of your mind because you'll be damned if this messes up your Girls Day Out.
It does, though, and you end up not spending a dime of his money the entire day. You do, however, buy some cheaply made piece of shit lingerie thing from Victoria's Secret and you keep glaring at the receipt, crushed up in your palm. It's black, lacy with gold flecks in the fabric, and you may be able to get one wear out of it before it disintegrates.
