BAYOU

southern hospitality

"Excuse me if my jaw is on the floor," Brasilia Gomez tossed her long dark hair over her shoulder to make sure the view of her eyes was unobstructed. They were her lie detectors. She could pick up a social cue from a mile away. "I just never thought that someone like Angel could ever attract someone like you and I mean that in the nicest way, lovey. You're so far out of his league. How do the two of you even," she looked around curiously, not wanting to sound unfriendly but definitely having her suspicions. She almost used her hands to demonstrate before setting them back on the kitchen counter. "Basically what I'm trying to ask is how do you two...mesh?"

"We don't." Sugarplum answered simply with a small shrug.

Angel kissed his teeth. "One, and this is the biggest one, you ready for it? It's none of. Your. Damn. Business. And two, we do mesh well. We mesh where it counts."

He nudged the girl that he brought back from wherever country town he disappeared off to and she merely rolled her eyes back at his statement.

Brazil would have to entertain the "couple" of Sugarplum and Angel as Shebazz had to work late at the tattoo studio, though it wasn't like he had any notion that Angel was here early. It was a surprise. And if he caught on, Brasilia was certain that he'd cancel all of his appointments for the rest of the day- anything for the bromance. Eh.

Without Bazz telling her to mind her manners, she planned on getting to the bottom of this relationship. She hated when someone thought they could play in her face, even worse that the someone was Angel, her arch nemesis practically. The fake girlfriend thing was peak desperation. He had no conscious to feel shame, though.

If they were an actual thing, the honeymoon phase had faded a long time ago judging by the weariness in the girl's expression. Sugarplum. She was truly addicting to stare at; mahogany skin, deep eyes, and lips that Brazil couldn't help but linger on while she spoke- they were full and distracting and looked soft.  Crazy body, the home grown, Southern hot grits type. But this Plum girl wasn't near as inviting as her ass or her mouth or her name seemed to be.

From what she could grasp, Sugarplum was a bit reserved, almost standoffish the more they talked and just polite enough. She glanced at her string bikini more than once, guess teeny bikinis didn't exist wherever she was from.

"Hmm." Brazil had a brow raised discreetly, contemplating if she should address the elephant in the room or spare Angel for Sugarplum's sake.

But then she thought about how fucking annoying he was when he first came in, going off at the mouth because he had company. An actual pain in the ass. If she hadn't sliced his face prior, she would do it again.

And then his burnt up scent was causing her to remember the night her back was against him and her front against a stall when he choked her up in the bathroom cause he thought she was some sort of threat. Her stripper floss smelt like a sweet cigar for the rest of the night and she hated him for it.

Fucking idiot.

Nope, she wasn't letting him off easy, they had hella unfinished business.

Absently, she tapped her French manicured nails on the countertop-black tips, of course, and noticed Sugarplum was a milky white almond-shaped manicure girly.

Nails were like personality profiles in girl world, working at a strip club, Brazil had met damn near every type of woman there was to know.

Sugarplum choosing the milk manicure over everything else, there was a 30% chance she was the ambitious girlboss type who worked in a predominantly male office, constantly being undermined for her career advancements. Beta-turned-alpha woman, since she'd rather be called a bitch than a pushover. To reserve what was left of her feminity and sanity, it was important for her to maintain her cum-colored nails, floral perfume collection, and fresh silk press.