Do you think Erik likes being in front of the camera? Like if his woman was a photographer and asked him to do an x rated photo shoot just for their eyes only. I'm talking baby oil and everything, would he be a little nervous?
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"I want you to come home."
Erik lies face up on the arm of the couch, his long legs making his feet dangle over the edge on the other side, his huge body taking up all the space in the middle. He throws an arm over his forehead, blowing a raspberry and playing with the coiled extension cord that strung out from the base on the wall.
He was soo bored, waiting for her to get back to keep him company and make his night much more interesting.
"Baby, you know I'm working late tonight. I won't be back for another few hours, I've got one more client left to shoot." Y/N looks out the large glass window of her downtown studio, looking at the traffic pile up down below.
She hears him groan on the other side of the line, followed by the sound of shuffling.
Erik sits up, leaning over the back of the couch to look at the wall clock. 6:47. He kisses his teeth, pressing the phone back to his ear as he lays back down.
"Is this that same picky ass indie chick that cancelled on you twice already?" The bass in his voice comes out, and she can tell by the way his breathings changed that his nostrils are probably flared out in irritation and his grip on the phone is tighter.
It was 6:47 on a Friday night, and instead of being laid up on the couch with him, his baby was still at the studio waiting on some flake.
"You should've told her to find somebody else, my baby time far too valuable to be sitting around for some bummy ass knotted haired white chick to show up."
"Relax, babe! Please? She called earlier and told me she'd be here at 7:15. I'm good babe, I promise." Her voice is soft and soothing in his ear, and the veins in his forehead smooth down at her request.
