Dallas, TX
5:42 PM
Breanna's POV
💋
⸻
The afternoon was supposed to be perfect.
Lunch with friends. Good music. Everyone vibing.
But the second you hugged your male friend goodbye—the one you've known since high school, CeeDee's entire energy shifted.
You noticed it immediately.
The jaw clench.
The tight grip on the steering wheel.
The refusal to look at you.
You sit in the passenger seat, staring at him. "Babe... what's wrong?"
Silence.
"CeeDee."
Nothing. Not even a blink.
You lean closer. "Cedarian, I'm talking to you."
He inhales sharply like your voice annoys him. "I'm driving, Brie."
You blink. "Okay... and? What does that have to do with answering me?"
He doesn't answer.
You try again. "What's wrong?"
He presses his lips together and shakes his head. "It's whatever."
"It's clearly not whatever. You've been mad since we left."
"I'm good," he mutters.
"You're not good."
"Then drop it Breanna damn"
You sit back against the seat, scoffing. "bet."
The rest of the ride is just him breathing dramatically through his nose like he wants to fight the air.
⸻
At home
You walk inside, drop your purse, kick off your shoes and decide immediately:
He's not getting anything from you until he talks.
Not the "babe can you warm up leftovers?"
Not the "can you rub my shoulders?"
Not the "come sit with me."
Nope.
You grab the blanket, flop on the couch, and turn on the TV.
He walks in behind you, confused. "You not cooking?"
"Nope."
"You not comin' upstairs?"
"Nope."
He scoffs like you're being ridiculous. "Aight. Bet."
You lean back, eyes glued to the screen. "Mhm. Just remember you the one always yelling 'communication is key.'"
He freezes.
Because you're right.
And he hates when you do this.
He huffs and trudges upstairs—loudly—like stomping will punish you.
You laugh quietly to yourself.
⸻
15 minutes later
You're deep into your show when you see movement in your peripheral vision.
CeeDee comes downstairs shirtless, sweatpants hanging dangerously low, skin still warm from the shower.
He sits right next to you.
Not just next to you—
pressed into your side, arm sliding behind you, hand resting on the back of your shoulder like he's claiming his spot.
You don't even look at him.
He shifts. Clears his throat. Sighs dramatically.
Nothing from you.
Finally, he breaks.
"Brie..."
You don't answer.
"Breanna," he says again, voice softer.
Still nothing.
He gently nudges your chin, making you face him. "Aight, okay. I'll talk baby, damn ."
You pause the TV and give him your full attention.
He melts instantly.
He exhales. "I ain't like the way dude was lookin' at you tonight."
You blink. "My friend?"
He nods. "And how you was smilin' at him."
You raise an eyebrow. "That's what this was about?"
He runs a hand through his hair, embarrassed. "Yeah... I jus'... I got jealous, okay? I be tryin' not to, but most times it hits me."
You scoot closer, finally touching him.
"Baby, I'm sorry," you say softly. "I wasn't trying to make you feel like that. He's just a friend. You're the one I'm marrying."
He looks down at you with that small, insecure expression he only shows you.
"I know," he murmurs. "I just... I want you all to myself"
You smile. "you're cute."
But then his expression shifts—possessive, intense, the way only CeeDee can get.
He grabs your waist and pulls you fully onto his lap.
"You not leavin' me," he says firmly, brows furrowed like you ever would.
You laugh. "I'm not going anywhere."
"Nah, say it again."
You wrap your arms around his neck. "I'm not leaving you."
He nods, satisfied. Then:
"I want you Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday, Saturday, Sunday."
You raise both eyebrows. "That's literally every day."
"Exactly," he smirks. "Your friends can have you on any day that ain't those ones."
You smack his chest. "CeeDee!"
"You my fiancée," he shrugs, "why would I wanna you mama?"
You roll your eyes, but you're smiling. He leans his forehead against yours.
"Let me make it up to you," he whispers, voice dropping low, his hands gripping your thighs, sliding you closer.
Your breath catches.
"Yeah?" you breathe.
"Mhm," he says, lips grazing your jaw.
"Let me show you how sorry I am..."
And he absolutely does. 💋
————————-
😚😚
-Z :))
