If- Nina G. Jones Page 0,43

as I settled into my apartment. There was the intense anticipation of seeing Ash again tonight, something that neither logic nor reasoning could dampen. Then there was the whole thinking side of me, wondering about what would come next, and what were we, and what was I thinking?

I decided that I would play it cool for a while. I didn’t want to become all whiny and all what is this with Ash so early on. I already started making those mental calculations one makes early in these kinds of things. Should I call him? Should I wait for him to call me?

It was almost ten when I walked through my door.

Not too long after, there was a knock. It was Jordan, who I was always happy to see, but he was no Ash. “We’re knocking now, huh?” I asked.

“After yesterday, yes,” he said, lightly strumming his guitar. Sometimes, he would just come over and mess around with it while we talked. “Lesson learned.”

I went to the bathroom to freshen up and called out to him over the running faucet. “What’s up?”

“I just got off the phone with Roché’s assistant. I have a meeting scheduled with her on Wednesday.”

“Oh my god, that’s great!” I answered with a mouth full of toothbrush and paste.

Another knock.

“I’ve got it!” Jordan called out.

I took my time coming back out to the living room, I didn’t want to leap out. I had to give it a minute and pretend I wasn’t gushing with excitement that he had come.

When I stepped out into the living room, I was shocked at the sight. Ash was covered in every paint color he owned, his complexion was tanned, his cheeks flushed.

“Whoa.”

“Apparently, Ash has been painting all day,” Jordan offered.

“Hey,” Ash said, pulling out all the art equipment to put it back in its proper spot.

I walked up to him. “Where’s all the stuff you’ve been working on?”

“Can’t say yet,” he winked.

He was shiny, like a person who had labored in the sun all day.

“Have you eaten?” I asked, noticing that the jacket pocket where I shoved the food was still bulging.

“Not hungry.”

Jordan started to head for the door.

“You play the guitar?” Ash asked, without looking at him as he continued to unpack.

Jordan spun around. “I dabble.”

“Stick around, I want to see it.” Sometimes he did that, he would say he wanted to see music, and I knew he meant that literally. Ash turned to me. “Do you mind if I shower?”

“Please.” I winked.

Ash looked at me wantonly and stealthily slapped my behind on his way to the shower. I jumped and spun around to make sure Jordan didn’t see it. Lucky for me, he was looking down at his guitar.

“I saw that you little ho,” Jordan said once Ash was out of earshot, not taking his eyes off the guitar strings as he fiddled with him.

I sucked my teeth at him. “I guess that’s a compliment from the biggest ho I know,” I retorted as I strutted over to the microwave to heat some food I brought from work for Ash. I didn’t know where he got his meals, and I wanted to make sure he had something, though he seemed like he wasn’t much of an eater.

“So how is it?”

“How is. . . . ?”

“Girl, you know what I mean. How’s the D?”

I massaged my neck nervously as I peeked towards the bathroom. I would be mortified if Ash overheard us.

“Ummm . . .”

“Oh shit. You’re sprung.”

“Stop it.”

“You aaaaare. You can’t even stop smiling. He must have laid the pipe all over your ass.”

“I don’t even understand that expression. He doesn’t lay anything, he inserts it. It would be weird if. . . .” I lowered my voice to a whisper. “It would be weird if a guy laid his peen on you.”

“Stop being literal and trying to divert the conversation.”

“What do you want to know?” I whispered.

“Big O? Yay or nay?”

I held in a smile as I looked down and nodded.

“Damn girl! He does lay the pipe.”

I brought my finger up to my lips and shushed him. Then, I leaned in as if closing the large distance between us would make a difference. “This morning. It was . . . wow.”

“Lay it on me.”

“He’s just . . . well for one, his body.”

Jordan raised his eyebrows and nodded in approval.

“But he just—I don’t have a ton of experience—but I can tell he knows what he’s doing. I mean, he just makes me feel so . . . hot