her girlfriend.

one hundred

It been a week. A whole ass seven days we been here, living in this basic ugly looking house that are meant for old white couples and not us.

If it was a house meant for us, there'd be a poster of Rihanna or Beyoncé somewhere just like on basically every wall of our home. It's so plain and boring here.

And I know that I'm being hella ungrateful just by thinking this but I gotten used to living in super nice houses with super nice things around me.

That makes me sound like a diva but I be dating a millionaire who is the fucking queen of spoiling me so maybe I gotten a little used to it.

Not to say by the time the next three weeks go by and we on the next flight out of this place, I won't kinda of miss it. It's calmer here, at least.

In LA, it feels like so much is going on. I know it sounds so cliche but if you live there, it don't get no calmer. You always know something going on. Especially the rich area we we live.

It is kinda nice to just chill here, I guess. In this beige ass plain fucking rental home in what seems to be the middle of absolute nowhere. It's chill.

"On my next day off, you need to take me driving," my girl can never just chill, though, that not something she got control of for the most part.

"I-If you think I getting in a-a c-car that you c-con-controlling, you insane. I would not r-risk-risk my life like that-- a-a-ab-absolutely fucking not, no."

"I mean, that's a little dramatic," she giggles as I'm joking but I'm not joking at all, not one bit, "Seriously, babe? I can drive good enough to not die."

"Take your s-sister. I-I a-ain't doing that." that should be the end of this terrifying little talk we've had and I should be watching her get dressed.

Instead, I'm watching her crawl right back into bed with me. It's already seven in the morning, too early for me but almost late for her. "Come on,"

I've got her laying atop me in nothing but a pair of joggers, and I mean nothing else in her top either. It's got me distracted pretty damn easily.

It's about as easily as it is to distract which is one of the many reasons why I ain't ever be in the same car when she's driving. I mean, never.

"You're the best driver I know and you gotta teach me," her lips meet mine for a quick kiss that contains too much passion than should be allowed.

"We'll see," that's a copout. I ain't dealing with this when those piercing blue eyes are gazing down into mine looking like that. "I-I need m-more kisses."

"Anything for my queen," barely before she can even get that sentence out, I'm the one leaning up to press my lips against her own baby-soft, full lips.

If we weren't short on time here then I would still probably be teasing her about how bad of a driver she'd be. I've gotta work fast, though.

I'm pretty good at that. I also better at holding off than my very-eager and very easily-turned-on girlfriend is so I've got the advantage this time.

In the way she already trying to grip hold of my hands to pin them down by my head and in the way she's grinding down against me, I've got this.

And I don't blame her for being mad at me when I push her off, telling her that she's gotta get dressed for her long day without me. I'm the worst.