“You like girls?”

You almost choked on your spit- could have, actually, but she didn’t care, she waited it out.

You were in the mall, on your lonesome trying to find an outfit for your cousin’s birthday dinner, and you heard a: “Excuse me!” from afar. Of course you turned around, you were nosey before anything else, but you didn’t think you were the drama.

She’s gorgeous, almost too gorgeous to be this close to your face, trying to read your mind before you could get the words out.

Though, you didn’t need to, that double Venus necklace said enough, especially when you had it blinged out like those cross pendants from Pandora.

Still, “Better question, you got a number I could use?”

You nodded, weakly, so much that with the naked eye it was hard to perceive.

She opened her phone, going to contacts, and held out the keypad for your ten digits. You put them in, acrylic nails softly tapping the screen with each push-

“Don’t be slick, either, I want your name, too, mama.” She noticed how you almost forgot to add the rest of your info, as if you were begging to be a number she’d forget in her laundry list of prospects.

You put in your name, she pronounces it slow like melting butter, pairing it with a smile that was nothing but ardor.

“When you see that 4-3-4, you better answer.” She gave you a challenging once over, from your French tipped pedicure to the hot combed roots of your sew-in, before sauntering past you as if it’s another Friday. Which, it was, in Daya’s world.

(434)-499-0100 : I’m taking you out tomorrow, 7pm, and that address better be sent to this phone by midnight.

Yeah…this is Daya’s world.