Your OnlyFan

Erik jogs quickly to catch up to the man before he can get too far away. His keen eyes honing in on the dark, sparkling jewel on the man’s finger. It winks mockingly at him in the lights. 

“Yo, where the fuck you get that ring from?” Erik growls, squaring his shoulders as he stares up at him. He almost reaches up to press his fingers into the one he can feel hanging around his neck just to ensure he wasn’t robbed.

“Excuse me?” The man with the rich accent inquires with a raise of his brow, momentarily taken aback by Erik’s brashness. 

There’s something nagging at the back of Erik’s mind that he can’t shake. A strong feeling of familiarity fills him as they gaze into each other’s eyes.

“You heard me, nigga,” Erik snaps impatiently, taking a heavy step forward. “Why you wearing my daddy’s ring?”

“I’m sorry, but this is actually my father’s ring.” T’Challa offers with a smile before continuing his journey to his Panamera. He desires to explain and go into detail about why he was there, but time was of the essence. A smile touches his lips anyway. It has to be by Bast’s design that he would be put in this situation right here, right now. Or Shuri’s meddling. Either way, he isn’t going to let it pass.

“It is nice to finally meet you, cousin,” T’Challa calls back before hopping into his vehicle and rolling the windows down. 

Cousin? Erik thinks, his face crumpling in confusion. The fuck?

“How am I supposed to contact you?” Erik yells back. This nigga wasn’t getting away without talking to him.

“We live in the same building,” T’Challa calls before speeding off. 

Leaving a very grumpy Erik Stevens in the dust.

“Nah,” he says, turning towards the steps. He takes them two at a time to his floor, barging through the door before slamming it aggressively. Someone was about to explain some shit to him and he knew just where to start.

The clinic was unusually busy for a Tuesday afternoon. Some new virus was sweeping the states, nearly crippling the entire country in a matter of days. With this knowledge, Erik knew that the chances of getting N’Jobu on the phone were going to be slim to none but this was a pressing matter.

Americans and their primitive medicinal practices.

Erik’s annoyance only grows when he is met with his father’s voicemail three times before his call finally goes through.

“Erik,” the older man says in a clipped voice that Erik knew meant he was too busy for pleasantries. 

But this wasn’t going to be a pleasant phone call.

“I just saw some nigga wearing your ring,” he says without greeting; too worked up to be polite.

“What?” N’Jobu questions with a distracted voice. 

Erik palms his face, rubbing at his mustache in an attempt to staunch the attitude he can feel bubbling.

“I said I saw some nigga wearing your ring. He said I was his cousin.”

There was a pregnant pause before N’Jobu sighed. Honestly, he knew this day would come but he hadn’t expected it to be this soon. His son had questions, and rightfully so, but they would have to wait. Erik was now a man and, as such, understood that his business came first. He made an oath when he took up his practice, one he would not falter from.

“I will explain later,” N’Jobu states with calm finality.

“Nah you gone explain now.” Erik’s temper had now grown beyond containment. Two of his biggest pet peeves were secrets and lies and, right now, his father was merely adding fuel to the fire that loomed in the pit of his stomach. 

A thunderous clatter ensues as Dr. Udaku slams his clipboard down on the desk, startling the few nurses and patients that were within earshot of his office. And reminding Erik what side of the family he’d inherited his disposition from. 

“Have you forgotten your place, N’Jadaka?”

Erik’s jaw flexes but his voice grew soft. He knew he had overstepped.

“No, Baba.”

“I will call you later this week,” N’Jobu stats, fixing his glasses and squaring his shoulders. 

“Aight.”

Those three muted beeps were all Erik hears before he tosses his phone down on his table. Bracing his arms on the wood to calm himself, he does the breathing exercise his mother has taught him. Deep breath in with a slow release on a ten count. The air filling his chest cavity and calming the blood rushing through his veins like a water rapid. When he feels more like himself, he reaches for his phone again. If he couldn’t get an answer out of his father, maybe his mother could shed some light on things.

Ava’s sweet voice is like music to his ears the way it rang from the other end of the receiver, calming him further. His mother truly was Erik’s kryptonite.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of a mid-week phone call from my favorite son?”

Erik pulls a face before moving the phone from his ear to stare at it briefly.

“First of all, I’m ya only son,” He replies with a chuckle.

“So what is Chauncey?” she counters with a smile.

“The daughter you never had, but apparently always wanted,” he says before breaking into a full on laughing fit.

“Uh uh!” Ava calls, trying to contain her own laughter. “Don’t do my baby like that. Now, back to the reason why you called.”

Erik’s face grew stoic again. 

“Ma, look. I saw this nigga, in my building, wearing Dad’s ring.”

Ava’s pause was nerve wracking. For as long as he can remember, she almost always had an answer so to hear her silent in this moment did nothing for his already sour mood.

“Did you call your father?” she finally asks, making her son grimace.

“Yes.”

“And what did he say?”

“That he’d call me this week,” Erik says after a sigh.

“Then wait for his call.”

Erik groans loudly.

“C’mon ma. I know you know something about this.”

“I do,” his mother agreed. “Just like I know that it isn’t my place to tell you. This is between you, your baba, and Bast. I am not getting in the middle of that.”

“This some bullshit,” Erik mutters.

“Language!” Ava said with a laugh. “Don’t think that you too old for me to put you over my lap,” she playfully threatens.

Erik kisses his teeth without a hint of heat as the absurdity of the mental image conjures itself in his mind.

“Maan, whatever old lady. You don’t have Meg The Stallion knees anymore.”

“Boy these knees still work. You better ask your daddy.”

Erik pulls the phone away from his face again, this time with a look of disgust. “Okay eww. I didn’t need that. You love offering extra information that nobody asks for.”

“Because you always say some smart ass shit, like your father. Speaking of your father, calm down. He’ll tell you, you know he always keeps his word.”

“Aight,” Erik sighs again for what feels like the eightieth time.

“Love you,” Ava pacifies.

Erik smiles despite himself. 

“I love you too, ma.”

“Ms. Owens. I asked you a question.”

Mahari’s breath hitches momentarily, the pen she had been chewing falling loudly to her desk. She had been so caught up in her brief fantasy about the perfectly sculpted man in the maroon suit before her that she didn’t even hear his words. She was perfectly happy just watching those soft looking lips taste the air…

She fidgets in her seat, painfully aware of the empty seconds that slip by while she tried to gather herself. 

“I’m sorry, could you repeat the question?” she says after finally finding her voice.

Erik licks his thick lips and adjusts his gold frames. His eyes lightened to almost cinnamon in the lights of the classroom.

“What are some of the steps to reduce postoperative pain?”

Squirming in her seat again, Mahari looks around the classroom for the answer. She’s sure she knows this, as she had done the reading on it the night before, but for some reason, the answer eludes her. Panic slices through her as her eyes land on David. Whose face is unreadable and slightly drawn, further confusing her. He usually always smiles at her...

“Did I ask Mr. Coleman or you, Mahari?” Erik’s voice cuts their staring contest short. His expression is sterner than she’s ever seen it and when they lock eyes again she takes a quick breath in. 

“Your answer, Ms. Owens. Unlike you, we don’t have all day.”

Low snickers broke out around the lecture hall causing Mahari’s cheeks to heat painfully. She pulls her lip through her teeth and glances down at her textbook. Which was inconveniently blank.

The fuck is going on? She thinks. 

“Uh…,” she stutters out eloquently again, brain going into panic mode. She just needs to say something, anything at this point. “Electorocsis?”

Erik’s eyes darken as he leans forward to brace his hands on the large red oak desk in front of him; his forearms bulging with the movement.

“That is incorrect.” His lips turn up into a devious smirk that sends all of Hari’s blood rushing to her core. “You know what that means, right?”

“Can we talk about this?” Hari pleads, her body quickly reminding her of the time she’d gotten a wrong answer during his lecture.

“Nah,” he says frankly, already removing his Italian leather belt from his pants. “Come on up here, Khamisi.”

Hari’s head drops as she slowly makes the short trip to the front of the classroom. Eyes growing wide and fearful once she notices the rest of the class still seated with no intentions of leaving.

“Wait!” she exclaims and turns to look at him as if he had twelve heads. “We're doing this in front of everybody?” 

“You got that answer wrong in front of everybody, didn’t you?” he counters. “Bend over.”

It was in that moment that Hari was made acutely aware that she had opted against wearing panties under the plaid pleated skirt that brushes her skin with every move. Her cheeks redden when she feels his presence behind her, his body ghosting over hers in tantalizing agony. 

“You know how this goes, Khamisi,” Erik nearly moans out as she follows his orders reluctantly. The sight over her lithe little figure bent over, pert ass waving in the air near his groin is everything. He pushes her higher up, her feet dangling inches off the floor. “Five lashes. And if you stop counting, I start over, understand?”

“Yes, sir,” she whines with a nod of her head, moving his papers around the desk with the movement.

Erik grabs her arms, securing them behind her back with his designer belt before grabbing the black fishnet paddle he knew Hari secretly loved from his desk drawer. The sight of her perfectly round bare bottom has his adams apple bobbing with a swallow. Slowly, he drags the lightweight torture device up the back of her left thigh before delivering the first swift smack to her exposed asscheek.

Mahari’s muscles clench tightly as the heat from the sting radiates through her entire body. Her womanhood responding instantly.

“One,” she winces.

Erik rubs a hand over her skin soothingly as his other cocks back to strike her again on the opposite side, drawing a sultry breath from her. 

“Two,” Hari squeaks. 

“That’s it,” Erik praises lowly, just for her ears. 

Hari lifts her head to gaze out to the rest of the class, who were all watching with sadistic amusement. Even David couldn’t tear his eyes from the sight before him. The mild hint of pleasure coating his expression made Hari want to bury her head in shame. 

The paddle whistled through the air before it cracked across her bottom, biting the swelling skin in delicious agony. She could feel her arousal leaking from her body. Traveling down her thighs towards her ankles. 

“Three,” she groans, tears beginning to well in her eyes. 

Erik’s eyes are solely on her dripping peach. His mouth nearly drools at the sight. Who knew little Khamisi had a humiliation kink?

“Two more. You’re doing such a good job for me, Princess.”

“Thank you, Daddy,” she inadvertently moans. And freezes.

Oh shit. She said that outloud. 

“Daddy?!” Mariah exclaims between bites of her sub, and Hari’s watery eyes darted to her location.

Who let this hoe eat in the lecture hall!?

“Aht aht,” Erik calls out when he notices her concentration wanning. “Who you supposed to be paying attention to?”

His reprimanding voice wasn’t helping the mess already between her legs.

“Y-you.”

Erik moves her long hair out of her face, a few strands sticking to her sweating skin, before he leans down to her ear.

“Me who? What’s my name?” he questions before the bite of the paddle hits her once more. 

“Daddy!” Hari screams out, her entire body jolting. Again, all of her muscles clench tightly at the smack, her eyes rolling back in pleasure. “Four.” 

“Mmm, this is a good ass sandwich,” Mariah quips

“Ooh, that little pussy about to cum ain’t it?” he taunts directly in her ear with a mean chuckle. “I see her twitching. You wanna cum on Daddy’s paddle?”

Excitement floods Hari at the thought. Could she? Did she want to? She knew the answer but her pride is attempting to staunch the desire.

“Y-yes,” she whispers ashamedly. 

“Yes what, Khamisi?”

“Can I cum on your paddle, Daddy?”

“I don’t know, Princess. Do you think you deserve to cum on Daddy’s paddle?”

Impatience floods through her at the taunt, bringing her inner brat out to play. Hari grits her teeth.

“At this point, I deserve to cum on Daddy’s dick, if we’re being honest.”

Erik’s chuckle is mocking when it rings out around her.

“Not if you can’t answer a simple question you can’t. But you do deserve to get that smart little mouth of yours fucked. Which we’ll speak about after you answer my question.”

“Is anybody else hot?” Mariah calls out after a beat, fanning herself with a Subway napkin.

Mahari pulls her bottom lip between her teeth, looking up at him with Disney eyes.

“Daddy please? I can’t hold it much longer,” she whines.

“You’ll hold it as long as I say. But since you were a good girl, I’ll let you have it.” Erik rolled to his full height and pulled his arm back. “Ready?”

“Hit her harder, Mr. Stevens!” Mariah urges.

Before she could answer, Erik delivered the final blow. The paddle hitting both cheeks squarely while the leather edge catches her womanhood, sending shockwaves to her clit. 

“Shit!” Mahari screams as her essence shoots down her leg like a Supersoaker.

And jolts her awake to her cold, lonely bed.

“What the freak!?” she exclaims, panting in the darkness. Her clothes stick to her sweat soaked body as she heaves and slaps the alarm that rings out in the silence. A cool, wet sensation draws her attention to her nether regions. And the sheets around that area.

“I know damn well -.”

She did not know damn well. Hari doesn’t even need to slide her hand down to where she was still pulsing and swollen to know exactly what had transpired. 

Erik Stevens made her cum and she wasn’t even conscious to enjoy it.

Since when do I have a humiliation kink? She questions herself, swinging her feet over the side of the bed and stomping off to the bathroom for a cold shower. 

She didn’t. Wasn’t no way she would let his ass spank her in front of God let alone an entire class with over 40+ of her peers. All over a wrong answer.. jackass.

“How dare he make me secrete my own damn juices,” she fusses as she lathers up and rinses all in one shot. Growing angrier when she feels just how many juices she lost. 

“Aggy, tall, stupid-faced, well built, intelligent, perverted ass teacher nigga!”

Her eyes land on the outfit she’d taken out the night before once she returns from her shower. Her favorite pleated skirt and black short sleeved turtleneck. 

What in the cosmic trepidation!

“No no no no no no no no,” Hari chants as she runs over to throw the selection back into her closet with unnecessary force. She would not be wearing a skirt to this class ever again. Instead, she pulls out a khaki colored jumper with zippers across the thighs that go well with her combat boots. 

Just in case she had to stomp a dread headed, gold toothed nigga in the dick or something. 

Smack A Bitch by Rico Nasty blares through her Airpods as she makes the journey to class, scowl planted on her face the entire way. Her mood sours further when she spots Mariah’s short dreads coming towards her in the distance.

“Hold it right there, Sutton!” Hari screeches, pointing a sharp finger at the girl. 

“Heeeeey Hari,” her friend sings as she turns towards her, a party sized bag of Ruffles in her hand. “Ready to see our favorite grad assistant today?”

“Bite me, Riah! And give me those!” she plucks the bag out of her grasp and points at the sign on the window to the left of them. “No eating in the lecture hall, The sign is right there!”

“Damn! What I do? But also, when you want me to bite you?” Mariah gnashes her teeth playfully.

“Ugh!”

A familiar chuckle rings out behind them as David enters the hall. His black t-shirt clinging to his chest and shoulders in a way that annoys Mahari with the way she’s feeling.

“Chill out, Mariah,” he laughs, stopping between the two women. 

“She stole my snacks!” Mariah accuses, pointing to the bag in Mahari’s grip. 

“You not suppose to be snacking!”

“I’m grown, don’t tell me what to do!”

David shakes his head with a slightly annoyed smirk, stealing the bag from Hari to hand back to Mariah. 

“If I smell you open them shits, I’ma beat ya ass!” Hari threatens when Mariah skips into the hall with glee. 

“See, since you got that attitude, not only am I going to eat them, I’ma sit next to you and mouth breathe the whole class.”

“Ewwww!” 

David playfully rolls his eyes as he takes his usual seat beside Mahari. 

“You look nice but that’s nothing new,” he comments smoothly.

“Flattery will get you nowhere,” Hari replies, her tone as flat as Mariah’s ass.

Suddenly, the door is thrown open and Erik walks in the room with a scowl that matches that of Mahari. The entire hall grows cold and quiet once he slams his Louis Vuitton messenger bag on the desk.

“I have the results of last week’s exam. They were less than pleasing,” he sneers, pulling the stack of papers from the bag’s front pocket. He hands them out briskly. His attitude is only a little less palpable as he slides Mahari’s across the desk wordlessly.

Hari pulls a face, more upset than she wants to admit at the fact that he didn’t even look her way. 

“Shoulda bet your thick lipped ass I was going to pass,” she beams with pride at the circled, red 96 at the top of the page. 

“Not today, Mahari,” he says tersely. 

Excuse me? Her psyche screams.

She scowls at him before whispering, “I thought it was Khaleesi.”

“Khamisi,” Mariah corrects, looking down at her 78 score.

“Bitch, shut up! I know my damn name!”

Before she could even begin to process Erik’s sudden change in attitude and demeanor, Dr. Watson enters the classroom holding a separate stack of papers. His attitude is blessedly the same as always. Cheery with only a touch of aloofness. 

“Good morning class,” the portly man greets.

His assistant melts into the background, leaning up against the wall in parade rest. His eyes shielded, jaw flexed. 

What was this nigga’s problem?

“Mr. Stevens submitted the test scores to me early this morning.” His chinky gaze sweeps over to the front and center seat. “I am pleased to admit that Ms. Owens has gotten the highest score of my twenty years here at Oakland U.”

“Woo!” Mariah calls out, clapping animatedly next to her. 

“Thank you,” Hari says, cheeks heating slightly before her eyes peek over to the corner of the room. “I had a good study guide.”

Erik’s face remains stoic, not even a twinkle of a smile behind his eyes. 

Well fuck you too, nigga.

“I see,” the professor says with his own knowing look. “Now that we’ve gotten over the first hump, it’s time to discuss the final which will be a group project as outlined on the syllabus.”

Groans ring out in the room as Dr. Watson goes into detail about the project. He splits the class up into quads with Mahari being lumped with David, Mariah, and another male classmate named Hendrix.

“Hendrix like Future or Jimi?” Mariah asks once they rearrange their seating, chips puffing out her cheeks.

“Neither, just Hendrix,” he says frankly.

“Aight, I’ma just call you Jimi,” she announces.

“Or you can call the man by his name,” David chuckles, formally introducing himself to the other man.

“So what’s your last name, Hendrix?” Mahari questions to change the subject. She too was curious. Although she’d seen him in class he never stuck out to her. 

“Marshall,” he says with a smile.

“Like Mathers or like Thurgood?” 

“Mariah shut the hell up,” David says through his laughing fit.

“Bruh, are you gonna do this the entire project?” Hendrix asks, one eyebrow raised quizzically.

“Quite possibly,” Mariah announces proudly.

They wait eagerly as Dr. Watson goes around the lecture hall, assigning each group their topic. Exchanging contact information and small bits of conversation.

“Ah,” he says once he reaches them, the last group. “And for your,” he wheezes, taking a look at Mariah over his spectacles, “Joint Pathology of the Spine.”

Mariah sputters out chips at his assignment. She glares down at the big man.

“Is this a joke doc? Joints?  You know I got bad knees.”

“Maybe you’ll learn something from this then,” he states. “Class dismissed.”

Erik smirks despite himself, having thought of a number of jokes he can use against her should the situation ever arise. His phone rings as he slings his messenger bag over his shoulder. Briskly, he makes his way out of the room when he sees his father’s number flash across the screen.

“Bout time, nigga,” he mutters before swiping over. When the old man said “this week” he sure as hell took his time.

Any attempt Mahari had in mind at trying to get his attention is thwarted, as he is out of the door before she can even get completely out of her seat; further souring her mood and adding to her confusion.

“You alright, Hari?” David questions when it’s just them in the classroom. “You didn’t seem like yourself today.”

Of course this nigga is hyper aware of my demeanor.

“I’m okay, David. I think I’m PMS’ing,” she lies and begins to gather her things.

“I can respect that,” David nods, following her out of the lecture hall. He hikes his bag higher on his shoulder and rolls his lips as his nerves kick around in his gut. “I was wondering if you would like to go out with me tomorrow to celebrate us passing our tests.”

“You passed?” Hari questions before she can catch her rudeness. Her cheeks heat.

David laughs lightly, opting to ignore her condescending comment.

“Yeah I passed,” he tells her, holding up the test still in his hand like a trophy. “I got an 88.”

“Oh! Congrats.”

“Thanks. Sooooo,” he hedges, bending slightly to catch her gaze.

Hari ponders on the question a bit. She hadn’t been out in public with David ever since the incident at the block party and she still had her reservations about him. 

What’s the worst that could happen?

Erik could be right, her subconscious quips back. 

Swinging her gaze from the floor to where he was still staring at her, Hari regards him for a second; taking in his uneasy posture and the shy expression he was trying valiantly to hide. Although he had a tendency of being a bit of an asshole, David had always been genuine. Even with his lame attempts at watching anime were rooted in the fact that he was trying to understand her. Sure, his execution needed work, but he was at least trying. And that said something. 

Plus, she doubted he could hurt a fly.

“I guess we could grab a bite to eat, provided you behave yourself,” she finally caves.

David’s smile stretched wider than the Grand Canyon across his face.

“Then it’s a date!” he exclaims excitedly, taking a step towards her.

Whoa there, nigger, her subconscious says, stopping her in her tracks.

“A date?” she asks as though he had just spoken some foreign language. 

“Yeah, a date. You know when two people that like each other go out, just the two of them,” he explains slowly, as if she didn’t know the meaning of the word.

“I know what a date is, jackass,” Hari states, looking at him with a stank face. “I’m just not sure I want to go on one with you, especially after last time. Let me think about it.”

The smile didn’t falter off his face as they continue out of the hall. 

“Hey, you accepted my apology, remember?”

“Yes, D, I remember.”

“Aight, I’ma ask yo ass all weekend. I ain’t letting you chicken out.”

“Who exactly are you calling a chicken?”

“Yo ass,” he laughs before turning around to run to his other class. “See you tomorrow, Hari.”

Huffing in mild annoyance, Hari turns towards her dorm. Why she had a thing for pushy niggas, she’d didn’t know.

Friday comes way faster than Hari had actually anticipated. Granted it was less than 24 hours, but still. 

She’s spent the better half of those hours in and out of debate on whether or not she was actually going on the “date.” Going as far as to write her both the pros and cons on a piece of paper that could now be found at the bottom of her trash can. 

Ultimately, she ends up calling the most honest voice of reason in her life to discuss the situation.

Sanaa Naomi Parker. 

“So why won’t you give my boy Monkey Man another chance? He obviously ain’t taking no for an answer.”

“But Sanaa, it's David,” Mahari whines into the pillow next to her propped up phone. She should have known that her best friend was going to be on the opposing side of her argument. Yet, she called her anyway....

 “So! Teacher Nigga clearly has something stuck up his ass, which isn’t your fault,” Sanaa tells her sagely. “Why should you sit in your room and mourn a relationship that doesn’t even exist? You need to get out and have some fun, Three.”

“I have fun!” Hari fusses, sitting up straight to glare into the camera.

“Eating pho and binge watching Machiko and Hatchin and Fruits Basket is not fun, Three.”

‘Who said?!”

“I said, dammit,” Sanaa says with a chuckle. “Why else would you give up your work shift on a Friday night?”

Sanaa had her there and the silence was telling. 

“Egg zack lee. Sooooooooo,” she sings, twirling her newly installed faux locs around her finger, “where is he taking you?”

“He didn’t say,” Hari says as her text tone trills. “Correction, he just texted me. He got tickets to the Miyazaki museum.”

“Oh he in love love. H’okay! I see you Monkey Man!”

A grimace over takes Mahari’s face at that word. Sanaa done lost her cotton picking mind.

“Not love. Chill.”

“Or,” Sanaa drawls, taping her chubby chin, “maybe he’s just using your weebness as an excuse to get some booty.”

“Oh that’s NOT happening. I’m saving myself for--”

“Your GA?” Sanaa interrupts.

“I’ll be glad when you get a man so you can stay outta my damn business,” Hari grumbles.

“You mean the business you always invite me to? Aight, nigga.”

“Whatever, BYE FIVE!” Hari pouts, ending the Facetime call. 

As much as she hated to admit it, Sanaa was right, yet again. Erik’s attitude had nothing to do with her and she shouldn’t punish herself by moping in her dorm room. Especially after she had done so well on her midterm. Mahari brushes a few stray hairs behind her ear before Facetiming David. 

He answers immediately, almost like he had been sitting by the phone waiting for her call. The image almost makes her laugh.

“Hey,” Hari calls once his face comes into view. “Does that offer still stand?”

The coupled emotions of relief and happiness that lightens David’s eyes are so evident even Hari can see it. She’s reminded again of how attractive David actually is. The shallow dimples in his face give him a more boyish look. 

And makes her think of someone she really rather not think of at that moment.

“You just tryna get some free food. You ain’t low, Khamisi,” David answers in a low chuckles.

“Woooow, not the government. I don’t just walk around screaming out Tariq all willy nilly.”

David’s eyes smolder a bit and he licks his lips.

“I mean, if you want to scream my name, you ain't gotta ask.”

“You know hwhat,” Hari starts, glancing down at her watch. “What time Subway close? I’m not about to do this with you.”

“Aight chill chill,” he laughs behind his fist. “You ready now? I can come scoop you.”

“On what? Ya rollerblades?” Hari sasses.

“Funny. I’ll be there in twenty.”

For once, Mahari was happy that a man has kept her waiting. It took nearly four outfit changes before she finally decided something simple. A caramel colored t-shirt dress and tan knee-high caged sandals and oversized pearl earrings. She does a small twirl, stopping to shake her shapely ass in the mirror with a giggle. It has been awhile since she’s worn these boots and she rediscovers how well they showcase her physique. 

David was going to swallow his tongue. 

Two cheery beeps draw her attention to the window where a matte black Shelby GT Mustang with gold accents is waiting in front of her building.

“Oop!” she laughs, grabbing her bag and heading out the door. Hari walks out, smiling sweetly as David gets out.

“Damn, girl. Look at you,” he says walking over to the passenger side to open the door for her. He holds out a hand to help her off the curb.

“Look at you, pulling up in your dad’s car to impress me,” she jokes, taking his hand as she steps into the low, good smelling vehicle.

Is this Stefano Ricci? 

David rolls his eyes playfully, closing the door once she’s tucked safely inside the vehicle before going back around to the driver’s side.

“I see you got jokes tonight, Hari,” David jokes lightly, pulling out of the space and into traffic. “Keep this same energy when we’re in the museum.”

“I will,” Hari ensures.

The car ride to the museum was pleasant. The pair settle into a heated debate about music, followed by Mahari having to explain the difference between regular Goku and Super Sayan Goku.

“Sooo, they’re not the same nigga?” David questions, pulling into a spot. 

“No they’re not, you uncultured swine!”

“Uncultured though?” 

“Yes! You sposed to know shit like this. It’s like basic arithmetic.”

“Well, that’s why I have you to teach me this shit, sensei?” 

“It’s sempai! Ugh, get out the damn car.”

From the moment they step out of the car, Mahari is in true anime heaven. The outside of the stucco building was covered in art reminiscent of her childhood faves. The lush spring meadow detailed with colors so bright, Mahari was sure she could pluck one of the tulips off with just the slightest flick of her wrist. 

“Wow,” she murmurs, voice full of wonder as she stops in front of the doors. 

“It’s gorgeous,” David says but, when Hari turns to look at him, he’s staring down at her. 

“How’d you know I wanted to come here?” she questions with wide eyes as he pulls open the door and ushers her inside. David’s hand on the small of her back. 

“Because you’re a weeb and you like this kind of shit,” he smirks. “Did I use weeb correctly?”

“Yes, you used it correctly,” she says in a purposely dull voice that betrays the smile on her lips. “But I swear on black Jesus, I will cut you if you ever say it again.”

David gives a hearty chuckle as the hostess scans his phone and hands them a map.

“Noted,” he tells her, handing over the map. “Lead the way, ma.”

Muted squeals could be heard bouncing off the walls as the pair made their way from section to section with a speed that nearly gave David vertigo. It was true, Mahari really was in her element, her glee filled eyes drinking in all the details they could. 

She meets the concept art section with mixed emotions. Simultaneously ecstatic and sad that the incredible and well thought out pieces would never come to be fully produced. 

“Why is that?” David questions with genuine interest when she tells him. 

“Because,” she pouts, “Miyazaki hates the turn anime has made. He hates all the fan service and thinks most of the new series are nothing but porn.”

“Niggas make porn outta this shit?!” David exclaims loudly, garnering entirely too much attention for Hari’s taste. 

“Yes. Now do you have to be so ghatdamn loud?” 

“My fault.”

She grabs his hand and they make a quick exit. 

“Ugh, if you behave, maybe we can watch something together.”

His face lights up, as he unconsciously links their fingers together, tugging her over. 

“Word?”

“Yes.”

“Nah, say on Crip,” he jokes. 

“Boy if you don’t come on before I change my mind.”

They had saved the best for last, is all Mahari can think as she tugs her date through the entryway of the Kiki’s Delivery Service wing.

“Oh my gosh! It’s Jiji!” she gushes and runs over to the full scale black cat perched on the floating broom. “He’s the reason I always wanted a black cat. But my mom wouldn’t let me get one because she said it was bad luck.”

“Why don’t you get one now?” David questions, moving closer to her with a gentle smile on his lips. 

Mahari rolls her eyes over to him. 

“Now you know we can’t have pets in my dorm.”

“Well, when you move out, I’ll buy you one.”

“Huh,” Mahari muses, tapping her chin with her free hand. “Y’know I’ve never had a man try to get my pussy by giving me pussy.”

A laugh bursts out of David, releasing her hand as he bends over to grab his knees. 

“Yo I swear you something else. Who says that’s all I want, hmm?”

“Boy quit playin,” Hari giggles, smacking his shoulder. “I was just joking. I think I may be allergic anyway.”

“Ah,” he responds, pulling something from his pocket. “Then what about this?”

The low ambient lighting of the room bounces off the silver in David's hand and Mahari moves closer instinctualy. It’s a charm bracelet housing all of her favorite characters: Howl, Kiki, Totoro, Ponyo, and of course, her favorite black cat, Jiji.

“It’s so pretty,’ she whispers in wonder and takes the cool metal from him. 

“Silver looks good on your skin,” he smiles as he slips it on. 

Mahari takes a few seconds, twisting her arm this way and that. It was lightweight enough that she wouldn’t mind wearing it everyday.

“Thank you,” she says with a genuine smile. 

David smiles, bringing her hand up to brush his lips across her knuckles. Who knew the nigga could be this sauve? His deep brown eyes look up at her through his lashes and she knows that this is the look that wins women over. 

“You’re welcome, Hari.”

She was in deep trouble.

After several rounds through the extensive layout of the museum, Hari’s growing hunger was making its presence known. She hadn’t been completely lying to David yesterday. PMS really had been messing with her body’s chemistry and, for the last few days her sweet tooth had been insatiable. 

“What you wanna eat?” he questions as they pull out of the parking lot. 

“A milkshake.”

“Cool, I know just the place.”

The pair pop into nearby Johnny Rocket’s for milkshakes and burgers. It has been ages since she’s been and Hari nearly drools as she imagines the taste of creamy peanut butter hitting the back of her mouth. 

She had to have that shake.

They barely even make it inside before Hari’s attention is pulled to a table near the bar.  Where Erik, Dinisha, and Chauncey are seated laughing over a round of shakes.

The universe must really have it out for me, she thinks.

Erik looks to be back to his usual, annoying mood as he laughs loudly with the other members of the Alphabet Gang. The storm clouds he’d been sporting clearing up to a much brighter smile. 

“I see someone’s mood has lightened,” Dinisha says, batting her lashes in Erik’s direction as she slides her hands along his toned forearm. “You just needed to see me, huh?”

Envy slices through Hari’s heart swiftly and she tamps down on the urge to go over and snatch her hand away. 

What the freak? She thinks to herself. That was not like her. At all.  

“Girl, stop batting them wispies for they fly the hell off,” Chauncey says, rolling his eyes before turning to Erik. “You talked to your dad, didn’t you?”

“Mmhm,” Erik says, readjusting in his seat and conveniently dislodges Dinisha’s grip. 

The woman is unfettered though as she flips her freshly pressed hair over her shoulder, smiling when her eyes meet Mahari’s.

“Ooh heeey, Hari, girl,” she calls, waving over to Hari and David who are still standing in the doorway. 

Mahari swallows, schooling her expression before she returns the wave, walking over to speak to Erik and Chauncey.

“Wassup Khamisi?” Erik says, a lazy grin spreading across his face. He reaches out to her but Hari sidesteps his movement. Folding her arms tightly across her chest.

“Oh you talking to me now?”

“When did I stop?” he asks, catching her folded and pulling her forward. He gives her a once over before tugging at the end of her t-shirt dress  “Where ya pants at?” 

“On David’s floor,” Chauncey mutters under his breath.

“Oop,” Dinisha squeaks, pulling Erik’s milkshake over for a sip.

“Gimmie dat,” Erik growls lowly, snatching the cup back from her.

“She just wanted to taste ya spit since she can’t taste ya-.”

“CHAUNCEY!” Erik growls, looking over at him with barely concealed malice. That Chauncey barely acknowledges.

While the foursome catch up, David gets seated, choosing a booth near the back of the restaurant for privacy. He loves his greek fam, and Erik was cool and all, but he had come here for a reason. And he’d be damned if Stevens upstaged him. Again. 

“Hari,” he calls out, beckoning her over with a wave of his hand.

 Without a backwards glance, she heads over, sliding into the bench on the opposite side. 

“Whew,” she says once she’s finally situated. “I needed a break. My feet hurt.”

“You want a massage,” David asks coyly, reaching under the table. Making Hari kick her feet playfully. 

“Boy quit it!” Hari giggles. 

The waitress comes over and takes their orders, and Mahari laughs again as David makes a joke about her being Alpha kin, on account of her peanut butter and banana smoothie.   

Erik’s head whips in their direction, confused at the fact that Hari seemed to be enjoying herself with her classmate. A switch clicks in his mind and without thinking, he makes a beeline to their table, Chauncey and Dinisha hot on his heels.

“Hari, scoot down,” is all the warning she gets before the three of them slide into their booth and effectively, their date. Dinisha slides in next to her while Erik takes his place at the end. 

“Uuhhhhh?” Mahari says, looking over to David for an answer. Who looks just as taken aback as she feels. 

“This some bullshit,” David grumbles under his breath as Chauncey takes the seat next to him. 

“What is? Yall on a date?” Chauncey asks with a huge smile, passing David his menu. 

“Oh shit, they are!” Dinisha exclaims, clapping animatedly. “Awwwh, y’all so cute!”

“Yeah?” Erik asks with a raised brow. He leans forward to look down at Mahari, “Where y’all go?”

“The Miyazaki museum,” she says, unable to contain her smile. It had been fun. Much more so than she had expected. 

“Of course ya weeb ass would go there,” he teases, dimples on full display.

Why did it sound better when he says it, David laments.

“Who you callin a weeb, weeb?” Hari quips. First he ignores her and now he wants to openly flirt with her while she’s on a date?

Oh this a date now? Her subconscious asks. 

“Erik is an Otaku, Hari.” Chauncey reprimands with a sage-like nod towards his best friend. “Respect your sensei.”

“You damn right,” Erik grins proudly.

“What language are y’all speakin right now?” Dinisha asks as her head physically follows the conversation like she was watching a tennis match. 

“Okay so I’m not the only one lost,” David says.

“Ugh, never mind,” Hari says, reaching up to push her silken hair behind her ear.

The sparkles on Hari’s wrist catch Erik’s eye as the bracelet twinkles under the bright light of the booth.

“What’s this?” he asks with a raised eyebrow, reaching over Dinisha to fit a finger under the links of the bracelet. One of the charms dislodge and topples to the table.“Oops.”

“Erik!” she reprimands, picking it up to look at it. Thanking god it wasn’t Jiji.

“Guess I don’t know my own strength,” he shrugs his shoulders. 

“I think I have some super glue in my purse,” Dinisha tries to pacify, but one look at Hari’s face told it all. She was livid. “Ooor not.”

“You always touching some shit,” Hari barks at him, slapping his hand away.

“I aint even touch you.”

“Yet,” Chauncey mutters, making Dinisha snap her head to him.

“What?” she mouths to him, further confused when he gives her a cheshire smirk.

“It’s okay, Hari,” David says, turning her towards him with a gentle finger under her chin. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Oh you bought her this cheap shit?” Erik asks, his eyes on David’s hand. He gives him a sharp, lopsided grin.  “I understand now.” 

Chauncey kicks him under the table before shooting him a text.

Bro: Can you behave, just once in your life?

Dinisha puts her arms on her head, mimicking her favorite Regina Hall meme. “What is happening?” she whisper yells to no one in particular.

mAmBa: I don’t know the meaning of the word.

“My fault, that was rude of me,” Erik offers sarcastically, pocketing his phone. “My parents just taught me how to spot fake shit.”

“Check please,” Dinisha says once their waitress passes the table.

“Together or separate?” the waitress asks confused, as she had just come over to take their order. “And did you want me to pack your order to go instead?

“Don’t listen to her,” Chauncey says, ushering the young woman away.

“So what, y’all two niggas dating?” Erik asks bluntly and gives David the once over as if this is his first time seeing him. He tips his head towards him while turning back to Hari.“I ain’t think this was ya type.”

“What type is that?” David asks roughly, leaning towards the older man. 

Oh no, Hari thinks. She has no idea how such a great day has come to this but she knows she needs to nip all this shit in the bud. 

“Wasn’t talking to you,” Erik retorts, looking back over at David. “But, since you asked, the br-”

“No! We aren’t dating!” Hari interrupts before things can get ugly.

Erik and David both look back at her in unison with completely different expressions. David’s face falls while Erik’s lights up in cruel appeasement. He sits back the chair a bit, scratching his chin as if he was in thought. 

“Oh yeah, you did say you was single when we was in the library last week.”

“Library?” David asks, putting two and two together quicker than Hari thought he was capable of. 

Oh this nigga, she thinks.

“Yeah, before the exam. She said she ain’t have no man,” Erik confirms smugly. 

“You mean the night you left me on read?” David questions, looking at Mahari suspiciously.

“Oop,” Chauncey and Dinisha chirp simultaneously. 

“Oh that was you that texted her,” Erik prods, pointing a finger at him before he chuckles. “Damn, tough luck dawg.” He looks back over at Hari with a wink. “It was a good night, right Hari?”

As if on cue, the waitress comes by to drop off entrees. She repeats each order smoothly before placing each dish in front of its respective recipient.

“Ooh, that looks good,” Chauncey says, reaching over to grab David’s burger, taking a huge bite.

“Nigga!” he exclaims, pulling the plate back to him.

“Guys, shouldn’t we leave these two alone if they’re on a date?” Dinisha asks, noticing the disgusted look on Hari’s face.

“Why?” the Erik and Chauncey ask in unison, making no move to leave. 

“Because it’s rude, you Neanderthals!” Dinisha fusses, tugging both of their arms as she pushes and pulls them out of the booth. “Sorry about this, y’all. Please try to enjoy the rest of your night.”

“Wait! My burger!” Chauncey whines, dropping it back on the plate. 

“Nigga this ain’t ya burger!” David shouts.

“Just like that ain’t ya woman,” Chauncey retorts before walking back to their original spot at the bar.

“Add their meals to my bill,” Erik tells the waitress as he helps Dinisha up from the table. He turns back to the pair with a smirk. “Don’t say I ain’t ever done nothing for ya. See y’all in class.”

Silence falls over the table as Mahari swirls her milkshake with the straw. She has no idea where to even start with everything that Erik’s loose lips had let slip. One glance over at David lets her know she wouldn’t be getting off easy either.

“What was that?” David asks once the alphabet gang are far enough away from their table.

“What was what?” Mahari asks as innocently as she could.

“You and Erik?” he states plainly. 

“What about us?” Hari asks as she folds her arms defensively. She hated being accused of shit. Especially shit that wasn’t none of anyone’s business.

David glances at the bar before locking eyes with her again with a serious expression. 

“Are y’all a thing?”

“Why is everyone so interested in my damn love life?” Mahari groans. 

“Because you so tight lipped with it. Look,” David says, pushing his plate away from him, “if you had something else going on, you could have at least told me.”

Nigga what?

“For the record, no, I’m not seeing anyone,” she yells in Erik’s direction for emphasis. “But if I was, it’s my damn business. Now can we please eat so I can go back to my room.”

David wasn’t letting it go that easy.

“But you ignored my text for this nigga. You expect me to believe that?”

This nigga was absolutely trying it, but, not so lucky for him, Mahari has time today.

“David, sweetie. I don’t know what type of nigga logic you got flowing through that thick ass skull of yours, but hear me loud and clear: You are not my man. You have no right to check me about anything that I do or anyone that I’m with. If I wanna ignore your text for 40 days and 40 nights, I can because you don’t pay this bill.” 

David blinks, staring blankly as Mahari continues to fuss. “Mahari,” he starts but she cuts him off with a hand in the air.

“Nah. Ion eem care what you finna say, dawg. Can I get a damn togo box?” she snaps to the waitress, immediately apologizing for taking her frustrations out on her.

Erik watches the entire ordeal through the window of the restaurant, silently pleased at the fact that he’d single handedly ruined any shot David had at Mahari.

This time.

“You’re an ass,” Dinisha says with her nose turned up.

“Yet you still tryna be my girlfriend. So what exactly does that say about you, Nisha?”

“You ain’t even have to go there,” she pouts, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Yet he did,” Chauncey says. “Leave them kids alone.”

Erik glances back one final time at the arguing duo, smirking once he and Hari lock eyes. He knows she’s pissed, but in that moment, he notices something else behind those big wide eyes: lust.

Got her ass.