I'M NOT YOUR WOMAN. (✓)

04. nonchalant.

|◁ II ▷|

wizkid — no stress.

THE STUBBORN WOMAN had slowly strutted away from Ebén; and even though he had parted with the last word — the sight of perky ass was torturing him.

This long game would teach him, the art of patience, and Ebén didn't have the temperament to be patient, especially when the matter concerned sex.

"Shit," He tutted, just watching her waist twist and move after each stride. She didn't look back — but felt the glare of his brown orbs even on her back.

Even after she disappeared out of his sight, Reynolds found Ebén hidden underneath his sports cap and staring down an empty aisle of sanitary products with a slack jaw that was close to seeping out drool. He didn't know how long he had been standing there.

"Cash?" Reynolds whose head was sporting a bleach-blonde buzz cut called out to him, unsure, whether the man who stood in the empty aisle was Ebén.

Ebén swivelled at the sound of his name, "Yeah?"

"Thought you left. Couldn't find you anywhere," said Reynolds, who had now closed the standing distance between himself and Ebén, and held something.

"Nah, I was lookin' for somethin," Ebén glumly shook his head, on the prowl for her pronounced brown curls as they walked towards the checkout stand.

"In that aisle?" Reynolds cast his friend, a dubious look, and wondered what he'd missed.

"Yeah," Ebén tried to posture a lie, but his eyes had gotten distracted as soon as he noticed her, standing there, looking like a fucking meal he would devour.

With time.

"Oi, look at the shit I found!" lilted Reynolds, his focus seemingly capped at 50%. His eyes were drawn to the blue cotton and its tiny size. Jodie's nesting had rubbed off on the once serial flirt and now was taking an avid interest in all things baby.

The woman had left an open wound and Ebén conjectured that relief could only be gotten at from her fat lips, if she would part with the pleasure.

Her demurely long eyelashes, a shade of plush black masked the true colour of her cat-like eyes. Her lips, buxom and round, looked insatiable and Ebén wanted nothing more than to kiss it.

He surmised from their brief chat that she wasn't an emotional woman but was ticked off like she could do without the attention like she wanted to disappear under the microscope.

Ebén didn't understand why she wanted to hide when she looked the way she did.

She even dared to ridicule him with her curt one-liners; and didn't cower from the consequences of offending him, "Erm, nice man?"

Reynolds noticed, almost instinctively, what had grappled Ebén's attention — a certain brown-skinned woman with curls for days.

She stood opposite them at check out, leaving just mere metres to separate this male longing, dressed in a baggy sweater that hid her clepsydra body from male spectators, like them.

She glanced into his curious pools of brown; somewhat concerned as to why he was choosing to stare at her that intently; she felt weird.

Then, came the joint glare but she didn't return it with a wave or a light smile which would have been the polite thing to do. Instead, she chose to scowl at both of them as her items were being packed into brown papered shopping bags.