Ball Or Nothing

(46.)

Jordan

Sunday came and went, as did my sanity. Here I am today, Monday, sitting next to Derek and waiting for class to start.

"You alright?" He asks.

"Yeah." I reply. "Why?"

"You look...empty." He observed, grabbing my face from under my chin. "Like you're sick or something."

"I'm fine Derek." I smile.

He kissed my lips. "I know you are."

I blush and shy away from him. He is such a charmer, I literally cannot. I cross one leg over the other and he places his hand on my knee. I play with my curls as I watch him type on his phone with his right hand.

"My girlfriend is swagged out and shit. Nobody can top that." He exclaimed, pointing his phone my way.

I smile and turn away from the camera, hiding my face with the palm of my hand.

"She know she look good, that's why she tryna hide." He continued, grabbing for my free hand.

"Stoooop." I laugh, still hiding my face.

"How did I get so lucky?" He asked.

I blush again and look at him. He put his phone down after that.

"Do you plan on gassing me up like that all the time?" I ask.

"When you come in looking like this, yeah." He replied.

I playfully roll my eyes as he chuckles.

"What about when I'm looking like a bum?" I ask.

"No different." He shrugged.

I give a small smile and look down at his hand. Which was playing at a few threads on the rip of my jeans. I don't think he realized he was doing that, but it's fine.

"You have really nice fingers D." I compliment.

"Aww, thanks." He grinned. "You do too."

He grabbed my hand and ran his thumb over my black acrylic coffin shaped nails, trimmed short for the purpose of basketball season.

"Yeah, I got them done yesterday." I say, watching him lace our fingers together. "Kyra and I went."

He nods. "I'd figure that."

He releases my hand and places his back onto my knee. I play in his hair, trying to make it into a bun.

"Listen now, I like my hair the way it is." He jokes.

"I like it like this though." I grin.

He shakes his head and I giggle. He lays his head back against the chair and I smile.

"You're pretty." I tease.

"I'm leaving." He said, about to stand up from his seat.

I laugh, holding him back. He hates when I call him pretty because men aren't supposed to be classified as pretty. Handsome and gorgeous, they'll take. But pretty, you can hang it up.

"Don't ever disrespect me like that again." He chuckles.

"You know I'm playing with you." I giggle.

He rolls his eyes at me playfully and I wrap my arms around his neck. I press my lips to his cheek.

"You're still pretty though." I smirk.

Before he can say anything in response, the professor walks in to start class.

*****