"Then call me Radio," I answered, getting a heartfelt laugh out of her.
Removing my arm from around her waist, I leaned against the bar, making her turn towards me. We were so close I could see the hairs under her nose. My eyes trimmed over her pretty face, and flawless makeup. Sia was a fine-ass sight to see, that even if she was in my nightmares, I'd still enjoy them. In this moment, I wanted to be doused in her skin, sucking on herpussy, sticking my tongue in her ass and giving her enough for her mama to feel. Sia could make a bachelor bow down.
"Your girl left you stranded, huh?" I nodded my head to where her girl was standing not too long ago.
Sia nodded her head and pursed her matte red lipstick-coated lips. "Yeah," she uttered. There wasn't a bit of lipstick smeared on her teeth either. "I'm blocking her if we don't leave this party together."
My brow raised. "Why? She can't hang with her nigga without you trailing behind them like a third-wheel? You too grown for that shit."
Her arched brow rose and she looked slightly offended. "I beg your pardon!"
The bartender arrived with her drink order and placed her green tea shot on a napkin. Noticing me, she asked me what I wanted to drink. I ordered a shot of Hennessy and told her to put our bill together, but Sia declined it, leaving the bartender confused about who to listen to.
Shaking my head, I nodded for the bartender to put it on my tab anyway. After taking a sip of her drink, Sia rolled her eyes at me.
"What?" I grinned.
"I can pay for my own shit."
"I know you can pay for yo own shit Ms. Independent. That's what you used to. Niggas not footing the bill when you're around them."
"Nigga this isn't considered a bill. This is light work. The man I pay to cut my grass costs more than these drinks will. I don't have a problem with men paying for anything, but that's the problem," she mentioned.
Leaning my elbow against the bar, I admired her pretty features as she talked, her cute button nose, pretty long weave, her pretty teeth and shimmery skin.
She continued. "The problem is niggas paying for shit and expecting something in return, like somebody put a gun to y'all head."
"Y'all?" My eyes grew wide. "Niggas out here paying cable bills and expecting some pussy."
"Niggas out here paying to get my nails and toes done, expecting pussy," she nodded her head.
"Don't mix me in that group of niggas love. I ain't even one of them. That's like feeding the homeless and recording it."
"I'm telling you the type of niggas who be in my inbox. I don't know what type of nigga you are, Dose."
"So what you sayin' is, because of them niggas, I can't get a chance?"
"No, not really but you're too young for me, Dose. I know your type."
"I'm 35," I stated.
"I'm 40," she responded back then took another sip of her drink.
"Let me prove it to you," I retorted, damn near begging.
She tilted her head to the side and her pink tongue escaped her mouth to place it around the rim of the glass, as she took slow sips from the cup, eyeing me with a look of lust in her doe-shaped eyes.
"You already did, Dose."
My face screwed up. "When? What you mean?"
"I like to be courted. It makes me slightly uncomfortable when you mention me on your little sex page for your horny-ass fans to see. I like dates. Yes, we work in the same industry, but it doesn't make me less of a woman. That was very little boy of you to do. I need a man. I can't teach you how to be a man, babe."
It felt like a dagger had been stabbed through my chest. She was better off spitting on me. For once in a long time I was at a loss for words.
"What is it that you want from me?"
There it was, the million-dollar question that hung between us both.