“I have to say, that might be the first time ‘Baby got me whipped, girl,’ was uttered by a French Canadian,” Imaani told Quinn while retrieving her purse backstage.
“What are you talking about?” He encircled her waist and drew her near as he grinned. “‘Baby got me whipped, girl,’ is an integral phrase in our vernacular.” Imaani surrendered to his deep kisses, wrapping her arms past his shoulders while still holding her clutch.
“Wait,” she breathed, opening the flap and slipping on her wedding ring. Quinn rolled his eyes. “Come on, you know I’m not used to wearing it while playing,” Imaani said in response to his wry smile.
“Neither was I until a few months ago,” he countered, kissing her forehead and holding her to his chest. “But I’m never taking mine off.”
***END***