Page 4 of Gang of Roses: Dice

Before I knew it, the elevator came to a stop, and the door to the penthouse slowly opened, and there, standing looking better than the sign on the billboard, was Ritz muthafuckin’ Monroe in all his fine ass glory. The nigga had to be every bit of 6’5, which towered over me, and the checker red suit that was tailored to his thick frame looked like it wrapped around every muscle he had on his chocolate body. And let’s not forget the beard. I’m sure it could tickle the hell outta my swollen bud.

Shit, I take everything I just said back. A bitch had to live to see another day.

Damn, this nigga fine-fine!

The mystery was still on vacation about what this man wanted with me. Hell, it wasn’t like I didn’t grace the casino with my presence when I was in town. I even drove down here sometimes when I just wanted to get away. I have seen him, but this was my first time seeing him up close and personal, and good God. This man was tall, stacked with muscles, and I just knew he could bench press all two hundred and forty pounds of this ass.

Dammit, Global, get yo’ soaker under control!

“How you doing, Ms. Global Jamerson?”

Wheww, that voice!

That baritone. It was deep and smooth like velvet. Standing before him was messing up my train of thought. Just when I was about to ask him how he knew my name, it dawned on me that everyone had to scan their I.D. before entering the casino.

Thanks to Rebel, it was a good thing that the address was a dummy, but the name was real.

Straightening my stance, I asked, “And how can I help you today, Mr. Monroe?”

A small smirk was quickly sported on the side of his mouth before he said. “You can call me Ritz, G-baby.”

“Hmm. Pet names already?” I flirted.

“It fits.”

This man was smooth…too smooth, and I would definitely add a little cocky. I was sure he had the dick to match the behavior, but he had the right one. I lived to be free.

Global, get your shit together!

“You can leave, Yogi.”

Damn, I was really off my game because I had forgotten about that big ass nigga. This man had my mind tied up with lust.

And they had the nerve to nickname that big nigga, Yogi! I definitely picked everything but that!

“Come in, and have a seat.”

“Listen, if this is about the money owed, I will have it to you come daylight. Today has been a lot. I didn’t plan to spend that much, honestly,” I stated.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

“Not really.”

“Well, if you want to, I’m on yo’ time.”

“Is that right?”

“Mhmm Huh.”

Ritz swaggered over, unbuttoned the middle part of his jacket, and took a seat on the modern-style U-shaped red chair. It reminded me of something those celebrities would have in their home. The penthouse was definitely screaming Chris Brown style, but without all the wild colors. The floor-to-ceiling glass window that overlooked the rest of the city was beautiful. As I switched my overgrown round ass to the couch, the scent of his cologne was straight-up panty-dropping. I knew taste, and that fragrance was definitely expensive.

“Don’t put your back out, shawty.”

“If it was gon’ break, it would have started to crack at the age of fifteen when I started to spread,” I sassed.

I looked over my shoulder, and his eyes were deadpan on my ass. This ass had the tendency to get a nigga hemmed up, and if you were watching it at the wrong time, trust me, I know. It used to happen in the traps in Golden Shores.

“Ritz, would you like to put me out of my misery and let me know why I’m here?” I asked just as I was taking my seat.