Page 117 of Stay Dangerous

“You really sloppy drunk,” I laughed. “Like a girl.”

“Fuck you,” he mumbled, or tried to. His eyes were already closed.

“Come on. Don’t sleep in your outside clothes.” I woke him up enough to help me undress him, then he crawled into the middle of the bed, curled up, and went back to sleep.

I couldn’t help but shake my head. The times I’d seen Set be normal were few and far between, but they always amazed me. I also felt kinda funny; for him to be this open, as open as he could be, he clearly recognized me as the Wyn he grew up with. I knew for sure Set wasn’t bringing random hoes to Tiny’s house. And they for sure weren’t seeing him this fucked up.

My cheeks began to hurt from keeping the smile off my face. I toed off my heels, and walked into the attached bathroom. It was easy enough to find towels, so I wrapped my ponytail into a bun and took a hot shower, washing the makeup off my face.

In the mirror–that didn’t fog up–I froze. Freckles. Everywhere.

Clashing with my blonde hair. A welcomed change on my eighteenth birthday that was slowly breaking my hair off, but I didn’t care. I hated my ruddy hair almost as much as I hated my freckles, but I didn’t want to sleep in makeup.

I peeked at the scars on my side from the bullet fragments. My next tattoo would be to cover them up.

I padded back into the room, and grabbed a clean shirt and pair of boxers from his drawer before I climbed into bed.

Even with Set stretched out in the middle, I had more than enough room, so I settled in, and tried to get some sleep.

A door slamming woke me up just as I started to doze off, but when I opened my eyes, I noticed that way more hours passed.

I caught movement, and Set’s expression turned sheepish as he moved closer to the bed. “My bad, Wyn. I ain’t want Nut or Shad to come in here. Niggas ain’t got no privacy in this bitch.”

He clearly showered, since he was shirtless and in silver basketball shorts, instead of the wife beater and unbuttoned jeans he passed out in.

In his hands were two steaming plates of pancakes and eggs.

I sat up and took them as he got into bed. “Thank you.”

“Fasho. That one with all that damn syrup is yours. I’m surprised you ain’t got no cavities.”

“Whatever,” I scoffed, my mouth watering at the fluffy goodness already cut and drenched for me. I took a fork from him and dug in immediately.

“You’re a horrible drunk,” I said, my mouth full. “Here I am thinking I’m finna get fucked and you pass out in the car.”

He barked out laughter, socking his chest to swallow his food. “On Foe, fuck you. That’s why I don’t drink, foreal. But a nigga was stressed, and every so often I need the reminder of why I should just stick to weed.”

“Why stressed?”

Set shuffled some eggs into his mouth before he went into his nightstand. He threw a water to me before opening one for himself.

“I was serious about airing out that fucking bar. That west side nigga got my whip, and I got it back and got at him, but themoney that was in my dash is gone. Them niggas can’t even cross Proctor how I’m feeling about that shit.”

The air grew thick, until Set smirked and winked at me. “But then yo fine ass pulled up, and I changed my plans.”

I averted my eyes and placed my half-eaten plate on the other nightstand. “Shut up.”

“Why you being so shy, Wyn? You know you sexy. Especially with no makeup, wearing my t-shirt.”

His large hand gripped my waist and I found myself straddling him. My eyes stretched, feeling a dick as big as my arm right below my pussy.

He couldn’t have been wearing underwear.

“Damn–I mean, hold on there, partner,” I nervously chuckled, placing both palms on his chest.

A chest that was chiseled for an eighteen year-old.

“We need ground rules.”