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"What the fuck is wrong with you, yo?"
The front door slammed so hard the walls shook behind it as Y/n stormed inside. "Like really. What the fuck is yo problem, Beyoncé?"
I huffed and kicked my heels off without even looking her way. She had been going off since she forced me in her car, grabbing my wrist like I was a toddler she needed to drag outside.
I didn't give a fuck, though.
Not right now.
Not after the way she acted earlier.
Because somehow I was wrong tonight?
Me?
When she had the exact same situation with her ex and swore it meant nothing? Swore up and down that it wasn't disrespectful?
But now when it's me, she punching niggas and threatening to shoot people?
Okay.
"You don't hear me talkin' to yo ass?" She barked.
I walked straight into the kitchen and reached for a water bottle.
"Beyoncé."
I ignored her.
"Beyoncé."
Still nothing.
"This fuckin' bi—"
I turned my head so fast her sentence died mid air.
"Finish that sentence." I said, voice low but sharp enough to cut her. "I dare you."
She froze.
"Matter fact." I took a step closer, setting my bottle down with a hard sound. "I double dog dare you, Y/n. Play with me like that if you want to."
Her lips twitched. Then she laughed an irritated, mocking laugh.
"Man, fuck allat." She muttered, waving me off. "That shit at the club made you feel good? Boosted yo ego?"
"No, but it pissed you off huh?" I said cooly.
"You almost got a nigga popped tonight tryna play games, bruh." She snapped, stepping in closer. "You happy about that shit?"
I stared at her, unfazed.
"If anybody's playing games, it's your ass."
Her jaw flexed.
"And you." She shot back, pointing at me like I was in a lineup. "Entertainin' that nigga."
