Addicted 2 Moni

Distractions & Decisions

Moni Pov

I wake up to the smell of breakfast. I sit up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. When I look to the side for Dewayne, expecting to find him still knocked out next to me, I see a tray where he should've been.

Bacon. Strawberries. Pancakes. 😍 And a glass of orange juice. I can't even front—my heart does a lil' somersault. Who told this man he could use my kitchen like this? I spot a neatly folded napkin beside the plate.

"Good morning beautiful. Enjoy your breakfast. I hope you don't mind I took the liberty of using your shower."

Damn. So he made me breakfast, showered in my place, and dipped? 😂 But then again... pancakes are my favorite, so I can't even be mad.

I settle the tray on my lap and pick up a strip of bacon. I flip on the TV and turn it to SpongeBob—because yes, I'm grown, and I still live for cartoons in the morning.

Right as I'm about to take a bite of syrup-soaked pancake, the bathroom door opens.

Dewayne steps out with nothing but joggers on. His skin glistens slightly from the shower, his tattoos still dewy from steam. I guess he didn't leave after all. 😏

"Hey," I smile, mouth half full.

"Good morning," he says, sinking onto the bed beside me. His eyes glance over the tray, then linger on me, just a little longer than usual. He watches me for a second, head tilted, then runs a hand through his curls like he's debating something.

"What you got planned for today?" he asks, casually stealing a piece of my bacon like he owns it.

"Finishing up decorations and studying," I say, licking a bit of syrup off my lip. His eyes track the motion, but he doesn't say a word. I watch his mouth as he chews. God, his lips are distracting.

Once I finish eating, Dewayne takes the tray and disappears down the hall, not saying much, just moving with that quiet, effortless confidence. I head into my walk-in closet and grab a pair of shorts and a tee—my usual lounge clothes—and toss them onto the bed. I grab my laundry basket and make my way toward the hall.

As I'm walking, Dewayne suddenly steps into my path.

"Boy move," I laugh, nudging him with the basket. He raises his brows, grinning as he steps backward, arms out like he's innocent. That teasing smirk playing on his lips like he knows I'll never stay mad at him for long.

I shove past him and turn into the laundry room.

I start loading clothes into the washer while Dewayne leans against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on me.

"That neighbor you met," he starts, voice low.

I roll my eyes immediately. "What about him?"

"Stay away from him," he says, handing me the detergent with a look that says he's not playing.

"Why? I don't say nothin' about the chickenheads you be with." I pour the soap into the washer, shut the lid, and twist the dial.

"Moni, it ain't even like that," Dewayne says, stepping forward and gently turning me by the waist.

"Then what exactly is it like?" I ask, head tilted as I look up at him. He looks serious. His jaw's tight, lips pressed together like he's holding back more than he's saying.

"I just don't like how he moves. Something about that nigga is off. Stay away from him."

His tone drops deeper, that protective edge laced in every word. Not possessive... protective. But it's kinda both, and I can't lie—it's doing something to me.