Fall 1993 Jersey city, New Jersey Scenario: kickin back in our apartment.. This one is for my girly nostalgiahottie ♡. You know imma get you right sista!
"He's gon blow up in my bones I can feel it he's got enough heart boo I know that you can wheel it" -Queen Pen
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"Apache, c'mon, hold still, you know I gotta part your hair right for this interview," I said, a wide smile plastered across my face as he squeezed his arms tight around my waist. I still couldn't quite believe it. Sure, I always knew he had a way with words, a rhythm simmering just beneath the surface. I'd dreamt of the day he'd finally take a shot at his rap dreams, but deep down, I never thought it'd actually happen. Apache was a ruffneck, a product of the streets. Don't let the meticulously braided hair and the quiet way he carried himself fool you there was a whole other side to him, one that hustled hard, "selling this and pushing that," as they say. But beneath it all, there was a spark, a raw talent waiting to ignite. And now, with this interview, it felt like his moment was finally here.
He chuckled, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. "Relax, Shaunie, you ain't gotta work that hard to fluster me. This ain't the first time I've been in the hot seat, ya know." His eyes sparkled, a playful challenge in their depths.
I winked, feeling a playful smile tug at my lips. "Maybe not, but this interview could be your big break. Gotta make sure you look the part, even if that means holding still for a girl while she get your shit right."
He chuckled again, the sound warm and rich. "Anything for the cause, right?" He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. "Besides, gotta look my best for my biggest supporter." His breath tickled my ear, sending shivers down my spine.
My breath hitched. The air felt thick, heavy with unspoken desire. My fingers trembled slightly, the sharp scissors suddenly feeling more dangerous than comforting. Should I pull away? This wasn't the plan. But the heat radiating off Apache, the hunger in his gaze, it was intoxicating.
"Maybe I should save you some trouble with that interview outfit," he breathed, his voice husky. His hand lingered on my hip for a beat too long, sending a delicious shiver down my spine. "We could celebrate your...expertise...before you send me off to face the music."
The challenge in his eyes was impossible to resist. My heart hammered against my ribs. This wasn't the time, not with the interview looming. But for a stolen moment, the future, his career, all of it faded away. In its place, there was only the heat between us, the promise of something wild and exhilarating.
"Maybe," I whispered, my voice barely audible. The tips of my fingers brushed against the warm skin of his neck, sending a jolt through both of us. "But first things first," I continued, my voice regaining a touch of its teasing lilt, " gotta make sure you don't scare them away with some fucked up braids."
