Fourteen
“There we go! Finally, damn.”
I fought the urge to say something slick to the photographer in response to his – unwarranted – enthusiasm over me finally giving him “something he could use.” Instead, I focused on Wil, who’d just snuck into the back of the room, and was trying to remain unseen behind the crew members.
But I’d felt, rather than seen her coming.
That’s where we were, I guess, it terms of how close we’d become. I knew exactly why she was there, too, and it definitely wasn’t just moral support. She’d woken up craving Sucre Noir for lunch today, and I couldn’t make it, because of my interview and photoshoot with Sugar&Spice magazine at one of their satellite offices. But she’d never gone by herself, even when we were friends – she considered it “our” thing. So if I had to guess, she’d grabbed something light earlier, to hold herself over until I was done. But now, she was ready to eat.
It was time for me to go.
Rashad, the photographer, must’ve spotted her too, because he grinned. “Damn, you should’ve brought your lady with you if that’s what it took to get a genuine smile on your face brother,” he said, still snapping away.
I tucked the football in my hands under my arm, then ran a hand over my waves as I grinned through the little hint of embarrassment from those words. I didn’t think my smile looked fake, but shit – I was tired. We’d lost at home last week, and the coaches had been all over our asses about it as we prepared to go into the next game. Not to mention, I’d be getting on yet another plane in a few days, to get to that game.
So yeah, my mood wasn’t great.
But Wil’s presence always had the power to change that.
A few shots later, we were done. I shook hands with the photographer and small crew, and then went to where Wil was perched in a chair she’d hustled from somewhere.
“Mr. Bishop,” she purred, as she stood. “You are looking very good.”
I shrugged. “I guess. It’s plain though. White shirt, black tie.”
“It’s classic,” she corrected, grabbing the ends of my undone bowtie. “Every occasion doesn’t call for your flair for fashion. Everybody knows you can dress.”
“Outdress most of these niggas,” I teased, dropping the football on a nearby table to pull her into my arms. She bit her lip, only releasing it in time for my mouth to meet hers for a kiss – other people in the room be damned.
While I had no qualms about publicly displaying my affection, I quelled the urge to touch her stomach like I wanted. After what happened with those pictures, we agreed – we weren’t saying anything about pregnancy until we absolutely had to, and Chloe was on board with it as well. She was just about thirteen weeks along now, and wasn’t showing yet, especially not to public eyes. Even once she did start to show – it was getting cooler now, and she was already starting to dress in light, loose sweaters that would change to thick ones soon enough, which would camouflage for a little while longer.
We were keeping this for ourselves, as long as we could.
“You ready to eat?” I asked, and she gave me a deep nod.
“Yes. Please.”
Chuckling, I took a step back. “Okay. Let me change real quick, and then we can go. I’ll be right back.”
I made it as quick as I could, not even stopping to read the message that popped up on my screen from Chloe. If it were vitally important, she would have called instead of sending a text. Getting the mother of my child fed seemed more urgent in the moment.
The photoshoot area had cleared out by the time I returned – the only people there were Wil, and my security guard Dre, who I’d left with her. Before we went public with this pregnancy, I would talk her into security for herself.
For now though, I just took the time to admire her for a moment. The last few weeks of this first trimester had been rough, but it was obvious she was feeling good today. She’d done an interview earlier in the morning with a girl’s high school track squad in Bridgeport, and we were getting ready to eat at one of her favorite places.
I didn’t have to ask – she was having a good day.
At the moment, her face was buried in her cell phone, so much that she didn’t even look up from whatever video she had playing when I approached.
“What’s up, you ready to go?” I asked, looping an arm around her shoulders.
She looked up, shaking her head. “Did you see this text from Chloe?”
“Nah,” I said, feeling a little alarmed now, knowing that she’d sent something to Wil too. “Everything okay?”
Her face was impassive as she tapped the screen, starting the video from the beginning. “See for yourself.”
“Bitch.”
“Biiiiitch.”
“Biiiiiiiiiiiiiitch!!!”
All of those were said with different inflections, and I knew from my experience with the black women in my life that the back and forth on the screen had just delivered a whole introduction to the conversation.
“I don’t know if they’re hearing it here first Arnez, but baby, we got the scoop on today.”
“Biiiiitch!”
“Actual, factual, credible, not fake news sources have confirmed – formerly iconic, struggling television network WAWG, which ran into the ground by petty management and greedy execs has been purchased, through the joint efforts of the Whitfield and Drake families – our very own Black royalty.”
“Bitch.”
“According to reports, they are already making major changes – job postings went up for an entirely new executive board, and checks have been put in the mail to pay out the remaining contracts for any shows that will no longer be produced by the network, such as From the Sidelines, which suffered a catastrophic drop in ratings after the exit of the former hosts.”
“Bitch. Bitch, bitch, bitch, bitch bitch.”
“When asked, recently divorced Nashira Haley commented that she and her good friend, Nubia Perry were excitedly working together on the new vision for the network, which they hope will restore it to it’s former glory, and restore their reputation for putting black excellence at the forefront. She mentioned a model search show from Nubia, a “fashion on a budget” show from popular vlogger Bianca Bailey, home improvement and DIY from Raisa Martin, a cooking show from Charlie and Nixon Graham, and they’re hoping to snag recently-departed Wil Cunningham to bring her sports expertise back to the small screen.”
“Hallelujahhhhhhh!” the Arnez character shouted, standing up, and throwing his hands in the air as he tossed his head back. “Gloraaaay, hallelujah, I say won’t he do it!!!”
“Will you sit your silly ass down boy! Anyway – that’s not all the tea.”
“Ohhhhh, shanannanana glory!”
“A little birdie told us that the purchase was made at a steep discount, due to impending legal action against two of the network execs by Wil Cunningham and Ramsey Bishop. Apparently, they took a price cut in favor of getting paid sooner, so they could cut those checks right to their lawyers.”
“And I don’t feel even a little bit bad – you can find the released email chain in the story we broke just two weeks ago, after it was revealed that they would escape criminal conviction over a technicality. Because there was “technically” no actual nudity in the photos they conspired with a local vagabond to obtain, after a fan tweeted about seeing Wil and Ramsey while on vacation in Bali, a judge ruled that criminal action would be overkill, but a civil case could move forward.”
“We don’t have the exact number, but reportedly, Wil and Ramsey are seeking an amount in the “high multi-millions” in damages. It’s a damn shame that someone else has to buy the network, to get it away from the family of the people who built it before they damage it beyond repair – but hell, at least our girl will get paid.”
“No wonder she’s been looking especially good around town lately.”
“Good dick and a paycheck will do it for you honey.”
“Wow,” I said, as Wil took the phone from me, silencing the video. “I… wasn’t expecting that. Like, at all.”
When Chloe’s IT guy had uncovered the emails confirming that Connie and Sarita were behind the leaked photos, I’d been good with that, and Wil had too. She wasn’t into making a big deal – which would revive the story – so were content with simply suing the fuck out of them.
Having the network purchased from under them, and hearing that they were fired… that was just a nice extra.
“So… you gonna leave your show and go back to TV?” I asked, and Wil reared her head back like I was crazy.
“Hell yes,” she exclaimed. “I mean, if they actually ask, you know? And, if I get to produce it myself. Make my own decisions about guests, and direction, all of that. It would be amazing. And did you hear that lineup? Oooh, I know Nashira Drake works with Warm Hues Theatre… I wonder if she would do something about getting quality theatre broadcasts on TV, to make them more accessible. That would be so amazing!”
I listened to her go on and on as we made our way to the restaurant, long after my interest in the topic waned. Even once she had her food, she was talking between bites – not about the prospect of what it meant for her, but excitement about the restoration of the network, and what it might mean for other people.
The idea of this making people happy… made her happy.
And as she kept going, one thought repeated in my mind.
My child couldn’t be coming from a better mother.
“I don’t know why you dragged me up here with you,” Reggie complained, peering up and down the street, keeping look out like we were on the block.
Old habits die hard, I guess.
“Moral support, nigga,” I told him, then pressed the doorbell and stepped back, waiting for an answer.
I still had a key, but I’d never felt that comfortable to just walk, unannounced, into my mother’s home. That’s what it still was, to me, and probably always would be. Even though she was gone, her spirit still permeated this place, from the carefully collected pillows on the porch swing, to the neatly landscaped flowerbeds in front of the house.
The still neatly landscaped flowerbeds.
He was keeping the place up like she would’ve wanted.
I appreciated that.
I braced myself when the door swung open, unsure of how I’d be received. I hadn’t called or anything, just showed up on a notable day, not knowing if I was interrupting plans or anything.
“Ramsey? Is everything okay?” Desmond asked, wearing a concerned expression as he stepped into the doorframe.
For a second, I wondered why he was asking me that, but then I remembered that we’d spoken maybe once since my mother passed, even though it had been almost a year. I would deserve it if he did, but… I hoped he wasn’t holding it against me.
Truth was… it was hard to look at him, because he reminded me so much of her. I’d learned to deal with it when it came to my aunt, because she wasn’t playing any games about seeing me at least once or twice a week anyway. With Desmond, it was easy to stay away. For one, being in the home I’d purchased for my mother was something I wasn’t interested in. Period. Maybe much, much later, I would be, but for now – even today – hell no.
Second, Desmond and my mother had met and connected later in life, so it wasn’t as if we’d been around each other often, until she was at her sickest. He and I got along fine, never had any issues, but we weren’t… close like that. Disconnecting to avoid the pain of my memories was low hassle.
But it wasn’t cool.
Even if me staying away was relieving to him for the same reason it was relieving to me, I should still make the effort. He called to check on me at least once a month, even if I didn’t answer, and had made sure to congratulate me on going to the Kings. My response to that voice mail had been to send him passes – box seats to every home game the Kings played, for him and two guests.
I hadn’t called back.
But here I was on his doorstep, early as hell in the morning, with Reggie and his prison muscles looking like he was my security.
“No,” I told him. “Everything is fine. It’s just… I know it’s your birthday today… right?”
He nodded. “Yes.”
“Yeah. Well… I don’t know if you have plans or anything, but… I was gonna see if you wanted to go grab some breakfast or something. On me, obviously.”
Desmond smiled, and nodded. “That would be great. But… who is “we”?” he asked, looking pointedly at Reggie.
“Oh, my bad. Desmond, this is Reggie –Aunt Phylicia’s son.”
Reggie stepped forward, extending his hand, and Desmond returned the gesture.
“Good to meet you in the sunlight, young man. Debbie spoke very highly of you. Talked about how you acted as Ramsey’s big brother, kept him on the straight and narrow. She was incredibly fond of you.”
“Heard good things about you as well,” Reggie answered.
“I’ll tell you guys what,” Desmond said. “Instead of going out, why don’t I whip up something here? I’ve got all the ingredients, and you’ve been promising almost three years to let me fix you some of my world-famous hashbrowns.”
“I like hashbrowns,” Reggie spoke up, and I gave him a look. He knew goddamned well that going into this house to sit down and chill wasn’t the plan, but now that he’d said something, Desmond took it and ran, as if it were settled.
And I mean… I guess it was.
I glared at the back of Reggie’s head as I strolled through my mother’s house for the first time since she passed away. The chances that I was going to break down and crawl into a corner somewhere to cry were admittedly low, but still… I just didn’t feel right.
I didn’t feel comforted by the feeling of her throughout the house. The pictures he still had up, the furniture she’d picked that was still there, my grandmother’s ceramic dishes still on display behind glass-front cabinets… the shit didn’t make me feel closer to her. It pissed me off, that she wasn’t still here. It was fucked up, but… I kept it to myself, sitting down at the counter beside Reggie as Desmond started pulling out ingredients.
“So… I see you’ve got yourself a lady friend,” he said as he pulled out a cutting board and knife to start chopping vegetables. “The young lady you were working with, Wilhelmina.”
“Just “Wil”, but yeah.” Manners wouldn’t let me stay seated to watch, and my subtle shove to Reggie’s shoulder wouldn’t let him stay seated either. At my request, Desmond got another knife, and Reggie and I went to work helping cut veggies while he scrambled sausage in a skillet.
“You two serious? Planning to get married?”
My hands slowed over the onion I was chopping. “No, not yet. We haven’t really talked about it. But she’s uh… she’s pregnant.”
Desmond whistled. “Even more reason to put a ring on that woman’s finger, while you have the chance. I’m telling you… don’t make the same mistake I did.”
I put the knife down completely. “Which was?”
“Hold on a second.”
He took the skillet he was using off of the heat, then left the kitchen. When he came back, he put a tiny velvet box on the counter in front of me.
It was going to stay closed if he was expecting me to open that thing.
“At first, I kept putting it off because I wanted to be sure,” he started, gripping the edge of the counter. His head was up, but he wasn’t looking at me, or Reggie. When I followed his gaze across the open kitchen, into the living room, and realized he was looking at a wall of family pictures, I turned my gaze back to the pile of vegetables.
“Then I got sure, and I put it off because I wanted to be sure she would be sure. And then we got there, and she got sick again, and I didn’t want to put something else on her mind. And then, I wanted us to be able to celebrate properly. I just knew… she was going to get better, or at least… have a good day. But it wasn’t happening. She was getting worse, and worse, and… then she gave up. And that’s when I asked, because I thought maybe…” he stopped to clear his throat, and I closed my eyes, wanting badly to escape this story, but at the same time, wanting to give him the respect of listening.
“I thought it would change her mind.”
I shook my head, and opened my eyes. She’d never told me about this – this was outside of my scope, as her son – but still, I knew how this particular part went. “It didn’t change her mind.”
“It did not.” He pushed out a sigh, then released his hold on the counter to return the skillet of scrambled sausage to the heating element. “And I have been regretting the fact that I waited since then. Now I’m not suggesting you run out and buy a ring, but…” he stopped, letting out another breath. “Ramsey, I’m not your father, and I came into your mother’s life a little on the late side to take on a role like that, or attempt to be that type of figure to you. But if you don’t take this old man’s advice on anything else, listen to me on this – when you know? Act. Don’t let that woman spend a single day not knowing what she meant to you, because… you never know when it’s going to be one day too late. And trust me – that’s not the type of thing you want haunting you.”
“Damn.” I’d forgotten Reggie was there, but now I looked up and across the counter, to find his chin cupped in his hand, attention rapt on Desmond. “My bad for cursing, but… that’s real. I was already married to my lady when I got locked up, but… she’d been begging me to stop doing what I was doing, especially once she was pregnant a second time. I wouldn’t listen though. It was always one more day, one more day, even though I knew she looked at it like I was disrespecting her, and putting the family at risk, but she… she didn’t get that that was the only way I’d ever taken care of her, taken care of them. She just didn’t want me locked up, or hurt, didn’t want somebody to hurt one of the kids to get to me.” Reg stopped for a second, running his tongue over his lips. “I never said this to anybody, but… she was gonna leave. Right after you graduated high school… maybe the day after. She packed up bags for her and the kids, and told me I had to make a choice. And I made the right one – I chose her. Chose my family. And then… feds raided the house the next day.”
“Too late,” Desmond said, and Reg nodded.
“Yep. Too late.”
I didn’t say anything as they continued talking, but I absorbed it all. No, I wasn’t feeling any need to rush out and buy Wil a ring based on this conversation, but just like I’d taken lessons from Reggie in the past, I was listening.
When they finally moved to another topic, I joined them, but it never left the back of my mind. By the time me and Reg left, and climbed back in my truck to head off, the course of action was firmly cemented in my head.
I wasn’t ready to take my relationship with Wil there quite yet, but when I was ready? I wouldn’t hesitate.
I tugged the brim of my baseball cap even lower as I rounded the end of the grocery aisle to go to the next, bobbing my head to the music in my ears as I went along. It was the middle of the night, but I was wide awake, putting a little wind in my hips as Bruno Mars sang about sex by the fire at night.
I wanted hot Cheetos and ice cream, and maybe a few peaches, and definitely a can of Pringles. And maybe a candy bar. And a case of sparkling water. And some cookies. And since Ramsey was off in San Francisco for a game, I had to retrieve it all myself.
Which was fine, I guess.
I tucked my hands into the front pockets of my hoodie as I stood in front of the freezer doors, scrutinizing the flavors from the outside before I subjected myself to the cold. Late October was cold enough here already.
I settled on a pint of pistachio-flavored gelato, then headed toward the checkout, stopping at a big glass donut display in the middle of the store. Donuts were one of the few things not on my mental list, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t about to have one. I was pulling a piece of wax paper from the dispenser to grab it when I heard my name.
Immediately, I swallowed a groan.
I’d hoped that the late hour – and baseball hat, and hoodie – would shield me from running into anyone that might recognized my face. And maybe, if someone did recognize me, they would notice that I clearly didn’t want to be bothered. But that didn’t seem to be the case.
Whoever it was said it again, and this time it registered to me that it was a man. A strange man, calling my name, in the middle of the night at the grocery store… suddenly Ramsey trying to convince me I needed security didn’t seem quite so dramatic.
Pulling my earbuds out, I slowly turned around, bracing myself to have to smile for a picture or autograph – and hoping it stopped at just that. But when I turned around, the sight that greeted me wasn’t a fan at all.
It was Darius.
Standing beside Jessica.
No.
Holding Jessica’s hand. Fingers intertwined, and seeming to grow tighter as my gaze lingered there. But I brought it back to his face, running my tongue over my dry lips.
“Hello, Darius.”
“Hey, Wil,” Jessica said, inserting herself – something she was obviously an expert at doing. I paid her exactly the amount of my attention she deserved – none – and put the wax paper I’d grabbed in the trash so that I could grab the handle of my cart, and move along.
I didn’t need the donut anyway.
“Wil, wait up,” Darius asked, but I didn’t because fuck them. I’d been having a good night, editing my latest interview, and going over my pitch to the new WAWG network, so that I would be ready whenever, if ever, they called.
Instead of catching the hint though, he jogged ahead of me, catching the side of my basket to essentially make me stop.
“What the hell do you want, Darius?” I asked, annoyed. I got especially annoyed when his eyes went to my basket, surveying the contents instead of answering my question.
“This is an interesting combination. Cookies and hot Cheetos?”
“I’m babysitting,” I lied, and his eyebrows went up, looking around me for the children I obviously wasn’t watching.
A second later, those eyebrows dropped, in understanding, and he stepped closer – too close, all in my personal space. “Wil… you’re…?”
“I swear to God, if my business gets out, I will make you regret the day you laid eyes on me,” I warned, finger in his face. “And you are way too close to me right now.”
Raising his hands, Darius took a few steps back, and I could see Jessica glaring suspiciously at him from a couple of feet away.
“I don’t care what you do anymore,” I told him. “But your little girlfriend has already proved she can’t hold water – I suggest you not tell her this. I followed my mother’s advice about you, and didn’t do anything petty for revenge –”
“Closet full of chocolate covered shoes.”
“Didn’t do anything else petty, fine,” I conceded. “But God knows you deserved more. In any case, my point is – I left you the hell alone. If I hear a single whisper of a rumor about this before I reveal it myself, my own way – I will never leave you alone. Ramsey will never leave you alone. My parents. My family. My friends. Hell, I bet I could even get the team owner on board – he loves Ramsey. I will make sure you suffer. Keep your mouth shut.”
He shook his head. “I’m not going to say anything. I wouldn’t. Not when I know how much you… how much you wanted… this,” he said, with a distinct thickness to his voice that let me know he was right on the verge of tearing up. “Wow. How far—can I ask that? How far along you are?”
I swallowed hard. “Um… sixteen weeks.”
“That’s further than—”
“Yeah.”
“Congratulations,” he said, with a little smile that actually seemed genuine, if a little sad. “Do you know if it’s a boy, or a girl?”
I shook my head. “No. We decided it’ll be a surprise. We’ll find out at our baby shower.”
He cleared his throat. “We. So… you and Ramsey… that’s really not just a PR thing?”
“No,” I said, letting out a dry laugh. “It’s not. Go figure, you know? That it took finding out that you were a cheating liar to finally get pregnant, by somebody who actually gives a shit.”
“Wil, you know that’s not—”
“Maybe not, Darius, but what does it matter? Why are we doing this right now?” I asked, frowning. “Why are you even in Connecticut at all? You know what? No, don’t answer that. But on the off chance you run into me again? Keep walking.”
“Wil—”
“Keep walking.” I put my hands back on my basket and walked away, relieved that he didn’t follow me this time. As soon as I was out of their line of sight, I took out my phone and navigated to Chloe’s name in my contact list, hesitating when I glanced at the top corner of the screen and saw the time.
Shit.
Instead of calling, I sent a text, and debated on sending Ramsey one too, but decided against it. Ramsey was liable to charter a private jet back to Connecticut to kick Darius’ ass for daring to speak to me at all, so telling him about this conversation probably wasn’t a good idea.
Just like the fact that he still hadn’t mentioned running into Lena – sometimes, it wasn’t even worth getting your partner upset if you knew you were in the clear. Still, it was risky – I’d been a little pissed hearing about the run-in after the fact, even though he’d done nothing wrong.
So maybe I’d tell him tomorrow.
Definitely not tonight.
Honestly, more pressing on my mind now was what I didn’t feel in the aftermath of that conversation with Darius. I’d managed to avoid him when I went to sign the final paperwork on the sale of the house, and hadn’t had to see him in person at all since that day at the house. Occasionally, I saw him on commercials for his show, and in the last few weeks, in ads for a high-end men’s fragrance after I’d been searching for a gift for Ramsey online. At first, it was disconcerting to be on social media and randomly see his face, but I’d quickly come to feel… nothing.
And that was the case tonight, too.
To be clear, it was still fuck him, and her too, for what the two of them had done. It wasn’t okay, there weren’t any excuses for it, and I could live forever without interacting with either of them again.
But I didn’t feel… destroyed, like I had before. I barely felt angry, and only a little bit disgusted. In fact, my strongest reaction was to the possibility of my pregnancy being revealed to the world before I was ready for it, not the fact that I’d been faced with the man whose betrayal had me flat on my face six or seven months ago.
Whenever it was.
Too much had changed since then for me to dwell on it.
That realization made me smile.
I didn’t really care anymore.
Okay… so maybe I still cared some, evidenced by the fact that I’d actually been a little moved over his emotional reaction to my pregnancy, but I wasn’t rushing out of the store to go cry in my car, and that meant something. I was cool. I was relaxed. All I really cared about was whether or not my ice cream had started to melt dealing with that fool.
It was such a yummy feeling.
So yummy that I practically skipped to the checkout lane, and then to the car with my bags. I locked myself inside, and then pulled my emergency spoon from my purse to dig into my ice cream early. While I was sitting there, my phone chimed, and I dug it out of my purse to check who it was. When I read the name on the screen, I smiled.
“Hopefully you’re sleeping peacefully right now, but it’s just past eleven here, and you just popped in my mind. Naked. You’re fine as hell, girl. – R. Bishop.”
I giggled, then stuck another spoonful of ice cream in my mouth before I texted back. “I’m actually wide awake, eating pistachio ice cream. Tell me more about how fine as hell I am.”
“Nah, can’t have you getting a big head. What are you doing up? – R. Bishop.”
“Was editing. Ran to the store for snacks. Sitting in the car now.”
“Did you at least have Dre go with you? He didn’t travel with me, and I purposely set it up so he’d be available to you. – R. Bishop.”
“You already know the answer to that.”
“Get home. Call me when you pull up. – R. Bishop.”
For reasons I couldn’t seem to pinpoint, though I’d given it a ton of thought, it didn’t really bother me when Ramsey got bossy. Actually… it kinda turned me on, but these days, so did most everything else. Instead of arguing, I put my ice cream down and obliged him, calling as soon I pulled my car into the garage at the back of the townhouse.
“Are you happy now?” I asked, as I settled into my bed, snacks at the ready beside me. Now that I was home, video-editing didn’t seem nearly as appealing as my pillows and comforter.
“Now that you’re safe inside your apartment, instead of out in the middle of the night? Yes, I am.” Ramsey’s warm chuckle crackled through the phone, making me close my eyes. “Must you be so damn stressful?”
I fake-gasped. “Me?! Stressful?! No idea where you got that from.” I reached over to flip on the lamp, then put the phone on speaker and opened my camera app, snapping a picture that I sent to him. “See? Look at that innocent face.”
The phone was quiet for a second, while he opened the picture I texted him, and I bit down on my lip to keep myself from laughing as I thought about what he would soon see. I’d swapped my baseball cap for a peacock print headscarf, and my hoodie and sweat pants – and the underwear underneath – for nothing but a Connecticut Kings tee shirt. A moment later, he laughed.
“This is adorable, Champ,” he said. “You look comfortable as hell. Eyes all sleepy.”
“I am comfortable as hell. Now that I’m actually in the bed, I am not wide awake anymore.”
“Yeah, it’s damn near three in the morning there, so I can imagine. I’m not going to keep you, just needed to hear you get in safely.”
I smiled. “Your diligence is appreciated. And I saw that work you put in at the game tonight. 96 yards. Not bad.”
“Could’ve been better.”
“Oh whatever,” I laughed. “Hate on yourself on your own time – I’m proud. You helped secure that win, let me celebrate you fool.”
He chuckled. “Fine, fine. Hey… before I let you go… did your belly pop anymore?”
That question sent immediate warmth through me, as I remembered how excited he’d gotten upon waking up two mornings ago to realized that I’d finally “popped”
“No,” I said, hating that I had to disappoint him. “It’s still just a little…boop. You want a picture?”
“Would you?” he asked, and my face damn near split open from grinning so hard.
“Yeah, of course.”
I extricated myself from the bed and went into the bathroom to stand in front of the mirror. Turning to the side, I pulled my shirt up to just below my breasts, and I snapped a picture of my reflection.
“Done,” I said, hitting the “send” button before I flipped out the light, and went back to the bed.
“Got it,” he answered a moment later, then went quiet again for a second. “I don’t know… it looks a little more pronounced to me.”
“Nah, I ate a pint of ice cream on the way home. That’s all that is,” I laughed.
For a moment, he laughed too, and then… “Wait a minute… you aren’t wearing any panties in this picture.”
“Oh, would you look at the time? Gotta go,” I sang, then pulled the phone away from my ear, giggling as I ended the call.
“You ain’t right. – R. Bishop.” was the text I got a moment later, making me laugh again.
“Or am I ALWAYS right?” I shot back, a response I was sure made him smile.
“This question seems like a setup. Good night, Champ. – R. Bishop”
“So the answer is yes then? Good night to you too.”