Page 11 of Beautiful Noise
“I straight up feel like that was a diss but I’ll let you live. Now let's run this shit so I can take my ass home.”
A few hours later, I was pulling up to the house I’d just purchased but hadn’t had the luxury of spending one night in. I closed a week before I left for London and had to leave the details of moving my things in to my mother.
I got rid of most of my stuff and ordered new furniture but couldn’t be there to receive them. My OG was the truth. She handled everything even though she complained throughout the entire process. Gwendolyn Shaw gave me a lot of shit but there wasn’t anything I asked that she wouldn’t do, ever.
Climbing out of my car, I tossed my hood over my head to block the chill that had settled into the night air. It was after nine and an unusually cold evening for Atlanta. I circled to my trunk and removed my two rolling suitcases and matching duffel. Most of my performance attire was shipped back separately so all I had to keep up with were my personal things. I was gratefulbecause at the moment all I could think about was a long, hot shower and crashing face first on my brand-new mattress.
When I reached the front door, I keyed the code I’d set up before leaving, praying my mother hadn’t changed it. She liked to complicate things for me by doing unexpected shit that made sense in her head but irritated the hell out of me. A year ago she switched all the passwords to my bank accounts just as a precaution.People get hacked every day, Ezren.
Facts, but if you went as far as changing passwords, it made sense to remember what the hell you changed them to. It’d taken three full days for the banks to reset all passwords for me.
Stepping into my place, the first thing that hit me was the aroma of something good. Italian maybe.
I cracked a smile, feeling good about the fact that my OG hadn’t let me down. She had actually hooked me up when she acted like she was too busy.
Dropping my things at the door, my first stop was the kitchen, a chef-grade kitchen I hadn’t planned on using and only had built for when my mother came around to cook for me. It was spotless and nothing was out of place aside from the three glass containers on the stove top.
I lifted the lid to the first one and found garlic bread that had my stomach twisting in knots and growling like I hadn’t been fed properly in months.
Shit, I hadn’t.
I snatched up a piece of bread, biting into it and peeking into the second container to find some sort of pasta. The noodles were spiral corkscrews with a creamy sauce that didn’t exactly look like my mom’s classic marinara, but when I dipped the end of the bread in to get a taste I closed my eyes, enjoying the buttery smooth flavor.
Damn, this shit is the truth.
As much as I wanted to dive in, I decided to shower first, eat, then bed. Instead of fixing a plate, I left the kitchen, hooking a sharp left, moving slowly toward the back of the house, only to stop dead in my tracks when I heard a woman’s voice. It was faint but damn sure real and coming from the guest room at the end of the hall.
The closer I got, I realized the voice was singing Whitney Houston. And terribly I might add. She was fucking up the entire melody, singing the wrong lyrics and dishonoring a classic tune from one of the greats. Completely disrespectful.
I stood outside the door, frowning, so completely sidetracked by how off key the woman was that I neglected to process that a woman was in my house. The only woman who should be here was my mother and I knew for certain she had landed in Belize hours ago thanks to the video she sent of her overwater bungalow.
“Who the fuck is in my house?” I growled, pushing the door gently enough to peek inside. After a quick sweep, I realized the bedroom was empty and the horrible singing was coming from the bathroom.
With long angry strides I crossed the room, stopping under the doorframe that led to the bathroom to find lean, toned arms hugging the lip of the tub, a head resting back, crowned with a jet black, unruly fluff of hair. Her lush lips were in motion, belting out lyrics to Whitney. The woman was in a zone and lost in her own little world. So much that she had no clue I was present but mostly because of AirPods lodged in her ears and the fact that her eyes were closed.
“What in the entire fuck is this shit?”
The annoyance I felt for this woman being in my house was delayed by the fact that she was naked, submerged in teal blue water with her skin hidden by a thin layer of bubbles dissipating by the minute. Once I neared the tub and stood over her, I had aperfect view of the rest of her body, but my eyes were focused on Hershey colored nipples that sat dead center of full breasts.
“Fuck.”
Tearing my eyes away from her curves, I stepped back and yelled out a greeting, thinking it was best not to touch her.
No matter how badly my fingers were itching to do so.
“Hey.”
I waited. She didn’t budge, only smiled wider before belting out a few more lines, off key, so I raised my voice and yelled louder.
“Hey!”
I could see the exact moment it registered that she was no longer alone. Her body became rigid and her eyes went wide seconds before she turned in my direction. I took another step back when she shot to her feet and almost landed on her ass. She managed to maintain her balance while snatching up an empty wine bottle from a bamboo tray next to the tub.
“Don’t you move. I promise I will use this.”
I smirked, doubting her aim was precise enough to hit me. My eyes slowly traveled from her face down her body.
I should have felt bad, but hell, she was naked in my house without permission. While I got lost admiring how the suds glided down her smooth brown skin, she snatched one of the AirPods from her ear and tossed it to the floor.