****So I read this and I had to repost it. I thought it was hilarious.
"When you see a roach at night you turn into August Alsina "Ain't nobody sleepin' till we kill this bitch!"
Sorry for the randomness but Aug fans know where this person got that from. Okay on to the story. Thanks for reading loves!" ****
AMBER P.O.V. –
I was sitting at my kitchen table reading this morning’s Atlanta Journal‑Constitution, drinking a cup of coffee, when August entered. He was shirtless, but he had on his sweat-pants from the previous night.
“Remind me not to sleep with yo ass no more.” He said yawning and scratching his bare chest.
“Why,” I looked over the brim of my reading glasses.
“Cause your ass be holding on to me for dear life. I’m yours. A nigga ain’t gon leave in the middle of the night.”
“Whatever.” I took a sip of my coffee.
“I’m playing.” He grinned and leaned down to give me a kiss. I turned my head away and he grabbed me into a bear hug, planting sloppy kisses all over my face.
“You got your slob all over me.” I pushed him away. He chuckled and stretched.
“I made you breakfast. It’s on the stove. It should be hot, but if not, you can warm it in the microwave.”
He walked over to the stove and peeked in the pots and pans. “You cooked this?” He looked at me surprise.
“Who else?”
He picked up a spoon and scooped up some grits out the pot. And with a full mouth said. “A nigga eating like a king today. What I got? I got shrimp, grits, eggs, biscuits. Damn Amb. I ain’t never had no shit like this for breakfast in my life.”
He fixed himself a plate and put it in the microwave.
“I only did it because you have an exam today. That’s motivation for you to pass it.” I flipped through the pages of the newspaper.
“If you cooking shit like this now, I can’t imagine what I’m gonna get when I give you this Home Depot.”
“Home Depot?” I furrowed my eyebrows unsure of what he was talking about.
“This good wood.” He said picking up a shrimp out the skillet and eating it.
“August, shut up.”
“I didn’t take you as the cooking type.” He looked in the refrigerator and got out some Grape Juice.
“Why?”
“You know. A lot of them professional independent types, they can’t cook. And they don’t do shit like this. Especially for no man.”
He got a clean glass out the cabinet and poured some juice.
“Thanks for stereotyping me.” I said sincerely offended, he would lump me into a category.
“Babe, I’m not stereotyping you. I’m just saying what’s real. They don’t.”
“I’m not them.” I got a little upset at his comments.
I got up, brushed pass him and started clearing off the stove.
August came up behind me and put both his arms around my waist. “Don’t be giving me no damn attitude this early in the morning. I’ll throw you over this counter right now.”
