CHAPTER SEVEN

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The British...

Logan

Sitting in the waiting room alone, with two baggies of dark hair, I take a deep breath then send a text to—not Maddox as instructed—Brody, asking him to answer my FaceTime request, alone, in five minutes.

I sip a cup of coffee while I prop my phone up and wait for the right time to call.

He doesn’t respond, I don’t care.

Five minutes later, I hit him up on FaceTime.

When he answers, he looks pissed. Again, I don’t care.

“Need to tell you something that’s not gonna be easy for you to hear, but—”

“I will break you,” he sneers, leaning forward.

I lean in, too. “This has nothing to do with London or me. I told you earlier, she’s still a virgin.”

“She better remain that way, too,” he continues to sneer, sitting back.

I want to tell him that’s highly unlikely, but I know what he’s about to face, so I don’t buy into the bullshit.

I hold up the two bags, and he leans in again.

“This is hair from London and Keeka.”

“What the hell kind of shit are you doing?” he snaps.

“Keeka’s mother was with Troy years ago. The two—”

“Wait. What?” He looks utterly confused.

“We think London and Keeka are both Troy’s. We think they’re sisters.” I set the bags down and let him absorb that information.

“The girl who was here, the one around the same age as London?”

“They’re the same age,” I tell him.

“You suspect Troy fathered both girls?” He looks at me like I’m being ridiculous.

“They clicked right away. Keeka doesn’t click with anyone.”

“So that assumption warrants—”

“Keeka doesn’t even know her father. Possibly met him at a party on a beach in New Jersey years back.”

When I tell him that, his face drops.

“What?” I ask for clarification on his non-response.

He stammers for a few moments then looks back up at me. “She’s mine to take care of. My daughter is mine to protect.”

I sigh. “I should have fucking called Maddox.”

“What the fuck does that mean!”

“It means, he at least fucking appreciates that I give a fuck about your daughter. It means that you and I are on the same fucking team,” I snap.

He points at the camera. “You’re not on my team.”

“Good to know I’m more grown up than you,” I huff.

“You arrogant, little, fucking—”

“I don’t need a thank you for last night. Like it or not, I’m gonna be around. I’m gonna go into fucked-up situations, not caring about shit except her. I’m gonna make damn sure she’s okay. I love her. So do you. Suck it up.” I lean back, trying to calm the fuck down.

At his unresponsiveness, I look up again and continue with, “I fucking called you, not Maddox, so that you, Brody, can talk to Emma. So you can focus on whatever effect this may have on Emma, your wife, your first fucking priority. So again, I don’t need a fucking thank you for protecting London, and yeah, keeping my dick out of her because, like it or not, I’m tuned in to what she needs and what she deserves.

“I’d say nice fucking chat, but it wasn’t. I’ll give Maddox a call, because you clearly can’t keep your damn emotions in check. I’m not some arrogant fuck. I’m a man. More importantly, I’m the man your daughter is in love with, so you may want to check your shit at the door before coming at me again.”

“What? Are you going to try to make her hate me?” he snaps...again.

I shake my head. “I’m just gonna be the one sitting back, waiting to catch her when she crumbles because of you. You are gonna force a wedge so deep between you and her that it disturbs me. She fucking needs you, too. She loves you, Brody. But I’m telling you, you’re digging your own fucking grave with her.”

He says nothing, not one damn thing, and then...“Do you know I will literally snap your neck if you hurt her?”

I nod once. “Noted.”

Silence. A stare off. He cracks.

“You’ll receive a text in a few minutes. I’ll have someone pick up the samples.”

“Okay.”

“Is she okay?”

“She’s London,” I tell him.

He nods, knowing damn well what I mean.

I don’t say a word when I hit the end call button.

“Fucking asshole,” I grumble.

“Hey.” Her voice is soft, hushed, soothing.

I look up as London uncrosses her arms and pushes off the door where I suspect she overheard most, if not all, of that conversation.

Less than twenty-four hours ago, I would have been preparing to defend myself. Now, it’s not necessary. Therefore, I just sit back and watch her walk over to me. She sits across the table from me and sighs.

“Tired?” I ask.

“Exhausted, I think.”

I nod. “How’s Keeka?”

A smile forms on her pretty, plump lips. “You can ask her for yourself in about twenty minutes.”

“Yeah?”

Her smile broadens. “She has a baby girl.”

“A girl?”

She nods.

“Healthy?”

Her eyebrows knit together slightly, deep concern showing, and she nods.

I lean forward and reach across the table. She looks at my hand.

“Give it to me,” I instruct.

She doesn’t look up, but she does as I ask.

When I rub my thumb across her knuckles, she finally looks at me.

“She’s small, really small,” she whispers.

“Hope and Chance were, as well,” I remind her, hoping that reminder eases her concern.

She nods then adds, “Keeka didn’t want to hold her.”

“Why?”

“She said she was tired. She said she wanted to be alone.”

“Well, she’s not used to being around a bunch of people—”

“She works at a bar, Logan.” Her words come out clipped. I know she’s tired, confused, stressed, fucking emotional.

“That’s her stage.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That she doesn’t have people like you and I do. She’s probably overwhelmed,” I explain.

“I need her.” She scowls when she looks up at me. “She needs to hold that tiny little baby.”

Not letting go of her hand, I stand up, walk behind her, and pull her out of her chair. “She will, London.” I walk over to the waiting room couch and sit. “Now, come chill because I need you to rest.”

She doesn’t argue, and when she sits, I let go of her hand, wrap my arm around her, and encourage her to lie down. “Try to get some sleep.”

She yawns as she lies down. It takes her a minute to rest her head on my lap, but when she does, she looks up at me in confusion. “How will that baby survive this cruel world?”

I’m shocked by the question, but I need to give her an answer, one that’s truthful. “She’ll have us.”

She cocks her head slightly.

“I’m gonna make sure she takes care of her right. You’ll do the same.”

She sighs and gives a slight nod. “Are you going to tell Trucker?”

“If I call him right now, I’d fucking break him,” I answer honestly, but I don’t tell her why, and I don’t tell her how.

When she studies my face, I reach up to pull my hat down.

She stops me. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Pull your hat down,” she says, taking my hand.

“It’s—”

“A defense mechanism,” she says.

“Defense against what?” I nearly laugh.

“To hide your eyes, to hide your feelings and expressions, to hide Logan. Don’t do that, not from me.”

“I’m not.”

She looks at me sternly. I don’t like her scrutinizing me.

I feel her grip on my hand tighten and realize I was going to do it again—pull the hat down.

“You don’t have to with me. I don’t want you to.”

If I expect her and I to work, I’m going to have to accept that maybe...maybe sometimes London knows me better than I thought. In this case, she apparently knows me better than I know myself.

I sigh. “Not easy to do, but I’ll give it a try.”

Her eyes smile at me, making me less anxious.

She holds her hand up and spreads her fingers. “Link it.”

“Link it, huh?” I ask, doing the same with mine, and she nods then holds her hand against mine. It’s crazy how small it is in comparison. “You have tiny little hands.”

“Actually, I have big hands for a girl,” she says, looking at them together.

“I doubt that.” I move my hand so her fingers slide between mine. Then I fold my hand down around hers.

“Long fingers, better for tickling the ivory,” she tells me.

“Long fingers are good,” I respond, still not believing that her hands are considered big.

She giggles, and I look away from our hands to her.

“What?”

“Nothing.” Her grin broadens as she closes her eyes.

“If I can’t fuck with my hat, you can’t say shit like that and not explain.”

As she blushes a bit, I think about what we said.

“Jesus, London.”

“I’m sorry. I just...” she huffs. “Well, it’s...you know?”

I sit and wait for her to “London” this up—make an awkward situation even more awkward.

“Logan?”

“London?”

“How many people were you with when you were gone?” She immediately looks away from me.

“Are you kidding me?”

“I know we weren’t together, but I want to know.”

“Why the hell would you ask me that?”

“Because you know I certainly wasn’t.” She sits up, turns, and looks at me. “You just need to be honest with me, okay, Logan? I need that. I need you to be—”

Unable to take it anymore, I turn my hat backward, grab the back of her neck, and pull her close to me. A burst of her sweet breath escapes against my lips before I kiss her, forcing myself to be gentle. I push my forehead against hers and look into her baby blues. “No one, London.”

“Okay.” She pushes her lips toward mine, but I deny her because she needs to know.

“The night you busted into my place and wouldn’t leave, that fucking night I was trying to fuck things up...”

She nods.

“You had every fucking right to do that. We had conditions.” I reach up and rub her plump lower lip, wanting so fucking badly to kiss her, but not yet. “When I left for the city, I tried to put distance between us, because that’s the only thing to keep me away from you. I also wanted to make damn sure you always remembered me, thought of me when you moved on to someone else. I didn’t want you to be my first love. I didn’t want to be yours. I thought about all the people who fuck those up—your parents, my parents, half the fucking world. I can’t even imagine kissing someone else—”

“I’m so sorry,” she interrupts. “I’m so sorry I did that to you.”

“You better be.” I grip the back of her neck a little harder. “But straight-up, I probably needed that. Because that’s when I decided, fuck four years, fuck four minutes, and fuck you if you stuck with him.”

Nearly panting, she says, “I never would have—”

“I didn’t want you to be my first love because I wanted to fuck up with someone else. I wanted you to fuck up with someone else. But after seeing that...that fucking...” I can’t even say kiss, so I fucking don’t. “After that, I made the damn decision that I’m gonna be your first fucking everything. Neither one of us are gonna fuck up. Never again, London, never.”

She nods furiously, looking at my lips as if she needs them to fucking survive. I’m going to make damn sure she knows she does, while keeping her sweet, little ass focused on becoming her, too.

“Kiss me, dammit,” she begs.

“Before that happens, we need to discuss some fucking conditions.”

She closes her eyes and sighs.

“One, you never put those pretty lips on any other man, you got me?”

She nods.

“Two, hometown knows.”

She opens her eyes and looks at me.

“Hometown’s known longer than we have, and although I’ll be respectful and not fuck your hot, little mouth with my tongue like I want to every time I’m around you, I’m not promising shit, I’m not hiding shit, and I’m not putting up with shit.”

She nods again. “I got that when I overheard your conversation.”

“Sorry, London, but I’m not sorry,” I give it to her straight.

“Me either,” she tells me, serious as fuck.

“Fuck, I’m so into you,” comes out my mouth, and I have no clue how the fuck that happened. She must be rubbing off on me.

“I’ve got a crush on you, too, Logan.” She smirks.

“Yeah?” I smile at her.

“Big one.” Her smirk widens into a smile.

“Good fucking thing.”

“Kiss me.”

“Shit, conditions.” I pause, trying to remember what the fuck else I should say. Then she pushes her little paw up my shirt, and now I have no clue what I was thinking two seconds ago.

“Kiss. Me.”

As I grab her face, intending to do just that, someone walks into the room.

I look up at a man in a lab coat. “Mr. Hines said you have something for us.”

I reach into my pocket, pull out the two baggies, and hand them to him.

“How long will it take?” London asks.

He doesn’t answer.

“Do you know who the fuck she is?” I ask the asshole disrespecting her by not answering her fucking questions. “She’s London Fields.”

“A few hours,” he answers. “Mr. Hines will get the results.”

“Thank you.” She nods then looks back at me and demands, “Now kiss me.”

“A little pushy, are we?” I ask, pushing her chin up with my thumb.

“Do you know who I am?” she jokes.

“Yeah, I do. You’re mine.”

“Then kiss...yours,” she whispers, her mouth centimeters from mine.

So, I do, with my hand on the back of her neck, my thumb under her chin as my lips press against hers.

Mind blowing shit, this kissing thing. I mean, don’t get me wrong; fucking her is going to be...unimaginable. Unimaginable because, if fucking her mouth with my tongue, tasting her pretty lips, feeling her tongue stroking mine slowly, yet yielding to my need to take lead feels this fucking good, I am going to be worshipping every damn part of her body. And as messed up as that is, fucking her is further from my mind than exploring the rest of her before I take what has been mine forever. She knew it, and you’re damn right I knew it.

She is mine.

Mine.

Trust, she gives it to me so freely. I can’t even think about her with someone else because she may be cherry, but there is an obvious sexual and sensuality to her.

I’m not sorry in the least that I defended her on the down-low for all those years. None of those ass-sniffing little fuckers deserved her. They couldn’t handle her needs.

Five pump chumps.

She whimpers as I lick deeper then presses her tits against me, opening her mouth to suck in a breath. I suck her lower lip into my mouth and suck on it.

First fucking kiss and her bra was off in two seconds. She sure as fuck was right a few years ago when she told me she was “all woman.” Certainly is...now.

Perfect tits, nipples that responded to a kiss that she knew needed pressure against it in order to ease the burning in them, the aching to be sucked and nipped at.

The restraint I used not to eat those tits...That alone tested me more than any training regimen I have ever endured. But I did it.

As she rubs those titties all over me now, I lick her lips outside and in, thinking about what I’m going to do to her pussy with my tongue.

Cuddle seasons turned heated every time. I saw the flickering flames in her eyes as she rocked against me. Hell, I came in my fucking pants from the friction. More than once, too. No fucks given. But she never got off, and I made damn sure she didn’t. The first time she does, it will have fuck not to do with me, except I’m going to be the one who makes it happen and watch her pretty face as she comes...for me.

Hard as hell, I grip her biceps and push her back slightly. “Want you so fucking bad, but we gotta chill the fuck out.”

She nods, panting, and looking uncomfortable as fuck.

I pull her head to my neck and use my other hand to press her body tighter to mine. She moans at the connection she needed, the pressure.

“Better, pretty?” I ask.

“Mmm...hmmm,” she pants, pressing harder against me.

When her alarm goes off, she huffs. “It’s time to go see Keeka.”

I rub her back. “You need to settle down a bit first.”

“So do you,” she tells me.

“It’ll find a leg.”

She laughs and sits back.

§

When London and I walk into Keeka’s room Dad is sitting in a chair, head down, but he looks up when he hears us. He’s angry.

Keeka is unaware we’re here and snaps, “Just leave me alone, okay? Both of you leave. I don’t need anyone.”

Tessa clears her throat. “I understand—”

“No, bitch, you don’t.” She throws the blanket off her face. “Just fucking leave. I don’t want that baby, okay? I don’t and—”

She stops when Dad stands and hovers over her. “Young lady—”

“Lucas.” Tessa shakes her head.

“Dad, why don’t you, Tessa, and London go grab some coffee?”

Keeka looks toward the door, sees me, and points. “You should join them.”

I point back at her. “Not till you and I have a chat.”

“Logan...” Dad begins.

“No, Dad, appreciated, but not necessary. I got this,” I tell him.

He and Tessa walk toward me. He clamps my shoulder and whispers, “She’s already asked the nurse to get someone so she can sign her rights away.”

I acknowledge what he has said with a nod then wait for them to leave.

I look at London. “Just give me a few—”

“Pft,” she huffs, walks to the door closing it without leaving, and then turns to Keeka.

“I don’t need your Sally sunshine shit,” Keeka spews.

“Good, ’cause you won’t get it,” London says, walking toward her.

“London...” I warn. I have seen Keeka in action, and London is a bit sheltered, and yeah, I’d like to keep her that way.

“She’s beautiful, and you’re her mom.”

“Mom?” Keeka huffs. “Like I have a clue how to be one.”

“No first-time mom truly does,” London says, sitting on the bed next to her, which makes me really fucking nervous when Keeka is angrier than I have ever seen her.

“Okay.” Keeka laughs angrily and sits up. “You know what? I don’t really like you, so you can leave now.”

Shit.

“Well, tough shit,” London snaps back. “You and I, we’re—”

“Yeah, exactly. You think I’m your dead dad’s and his whore’s kid. True or not, you and I will never be—”

“Like hell we won’t!” London interrupts her again.

I make my way to the other side of the bed hoping like hell I don’t have to play defense and restrain Keeka, though I will if need be.

“I chose you as a friend. Right now, it may not seem all that damn friendly—”

“Your choice, not mine,” Keeka snaps back.

“Right, and that’s why you came to the house.” London rolls her eyes at her. “That’s why you hugged me, you cried, you cared about me.” She pauses. “Now, if you’re my sister you’re screwed. Ask Maddox, I don’t give up.”

“Logan!” Keeka snaps at me and looks as if I should take care of the London situation.

I choose my response wisely. “You can ask him. I’ll give you his number.”

She reaches out to smack me, and I catch her fist.

“Better me than her.” I sit down on the bed, still holding her hand, and pull her into a hug. A fucking hug. I don’t hug. This is the London affect. Son of a bitch.

“What are you doing?” Keeka snaps at me.

“Fuck if I know. Comforting? Restraining?”

“Just let it happen,” London says sweetly, hugging her from the back.

“You two need to get the fuck out of here! What is wrong with you?” Keeka snaps.

“I don’t know,” London replies. “Maybe we like you? Maybe twenty-seven people died yesterday. Maybe—”

Keeka’s struggling becomes even more intense, and I hold on tighter, protecting both her and London.

When Ava came home at Christmas, Luke took both the kids for what he called “visitation.” Ava lost her shit. She was worse than I had ever seen, and I knew damn well Luke was pushing her, but he was doing it for her own sake. I spent the better part of a night and day holding her together. When it was all said and done, she thanked me. God willing, Keeka will feel the same way.

“Birth,” she cries and begins to sob. “Death!” she cries louder, shaking as she sobs.

When she’s calmed down a bit, I tell her, “Those are the guarantees, Keeks. What happens between those two events is life.”

“Well, life sucks,” she sobs out. “Life. Sucks.”

“It’s not so bad, Keeks, once you figure out what makes you happy.” I look over at London who’s looking at me and smiling as a tear falls down her pale white skin.

“Well, I don’t know what that is! How am I supposed to do that for...that...that...kid?”

“Well, sister from the same, or maybe a different, mister,” London says, “that’s what friends are for.”

She looks back at London. “It’s not going to work out well for us, you know that. Your mom—”

“My mom will love you regardless.” London reaches out and wipes Keeka’s nose with her sleeve. “And I’m gonna love you more.”

Keeka shakes her head, while London does the opposite. Of course she does.

Ten minutes later, I’m walking out of the bathroom, finding the two of them are sound asleep, hugging, as a nurse comes in, pushing a plastic bin with a tiny life wrapped in a pink blanket.

“Don’t wake her,” I damn near demand.

She starts to turn, pushing the baby back out of the room, taking her away from her family.

“You can leave her here.”

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea.” She glances at Keeka.

“It’s gonna be fine. Just leave her here.” Now I do demand.

“She’ll need to eat in four hours or so. The formula is in the drawer, with diapers.” The way she says diapers is like she’s trying to scare me.

Laughable.

“Great. Thanks.”

I walk over and look down at her. Then I read the pink index card on the baby bin.

Name: Baby Garcia Lopez

Weight: Seven pounds, two ounces.

Length: Twenty-two inches

Mother: Keeka Garcia Lopez

Father: Unknown

Immediately, my blood boils. Trucker.

I reach in and pick her up, supporting her head as I pull her swaddled little body against my chest and sit in the chair.

“Hey there, angel baby,” I whisper then kiss the pink knit hat on her head. “Happy birthday.”

She makes a little wet squeaky sound and nuzzles into my neck.

I reach into my pocket, grab my phone, take a selfie, and yes, I message it to that fucker.

Immediately, I get a text.

Ava’s kid?

Fucking joke. Ava’s kids are eight fucking months old.

No

Been busy. I saw some shit on the news. You good?

Fuck you, I think, then I type it out and send it. He deserves it.

Fuck you

What the hell’s that supposed to mean, man? Lol.

L. O. Fucking L?

Means you’re a little bitch. That’s what it fucking means.

I hit send then look up as Dad and Tessa walk in.

“You okay?” Dad asks.

“Yeah.” I stand. “Take Angel for me? I need to deal with something.”

Dad hesitates.

“What?”

“She named her?” he asks.

“Nah, just looks like a little Angel,” I say, nodding to the chair. “Sit so I can go take a piss?”

I’d piss on Trucker if he was here, I think.

Dad smirks. “I’ve held a baby before, boy; hand Angel over.”

“Shit, of course,” I say, putting her in his hands.

My phone vibrates in my hand. I know who it is.

“I’ll be back.”

I don’t look at the fucking screen, I just head for the stairs; the elevator would take too damn long. When I get to the bottom, I find the nearest exit and hit him up on FaceTime. He answers immediately.

“Hey, bro,” he says on a laugh.

“Hey nothing, Trucker. Twenty-seven people from a community you grew up near and went to school at died, and not even a call, man? Not one fucking message?” I yell at him. No, I fucking scream at him.

His nostrils flare a bit. He’s pissed.

“You’re a fucking waste of my goddamned time, Trucker.”

“You’re jealous of what I got, man. Jealous that I made it here first,” he hisses.

“No, motherfucker, I turned it down. That’s why you got it.” I let him suck on that a little bit. “Turned it down twice actually. The Giants drafted Jones because I told them no. Guess where he is now? He’s fucking dead.”

“You didn’t turn shit down,” he huffs. “I’m a fucking quarterback. Offense, Links.”

“So was I in high school, bitch. Gave that up for you, too, because you were too little, a bitch, and sucked at D!”

“Oh, here we go.” He growls a laugh. “Been waiting for this my entire life. The day Logan Links comes a-calling, telling me I wouldn’t have been shit if not for him and his old man.”

I’m about ready to blow the fuck up.

“You wanna send pictures of a baby to me like you’re some fucking saint? That kid could be mine or anyone’s on the team for that matter. Your new bro, Mitch, he fucked her, too. So did Downs. So take your picture and shove it up your ass!”

“So full of shit.” I laugh at him. “But don’t worry; I’ll take care of it.” I try to be the better man, but when I’m pissed, that doesn’t always happen. “Just like my old man took care of you when your mom booked and your dad was never home.”

“Fuck you, Links,” he snaps.

“Fuck me? Fuck me! Who the fuck are you now?”

“Not your bitch anymore,” he answers. “I’m living the life we dreamed of.”

“You may have dreamed of becoming a fucking shitbag, but I sure as fuck didn’t. Don’t worry; I’ll take care of your kid, fucker.”

“Not mine, man.” He laughs at me. “Like I said, Downs and Mitch had her in their fucking beds, too.”

“I don’t believe a fucking thing coming out of your mouth right now, brother,” I hiss.

“I don’t give a damn what you believe.” He continues to laugh at me. Fucking laughs! “Get Springer to bring her on. Have those fuckers tested.”

“Those fuckers?” I yell. “Downs was your fucking friend! He’s in ICU right now, fighting for his fucking life!”

“Tell him I’ll add him to my prayer list, Links,” he huffs. “And leave my name the fuck out of it. I don’t need the damn drama that little bitch is drumming up.”

“Never fucking speak to me again, you hear me? You’re nothing to me,” I tell him. “Nothing!”

“One last thing, Links. I don’t owe you shit,” he snarls.

“Bitch, I don’t even know who the fuck you are.” I hang up the phone and pull my arm back to throw it against the fucking wall. I look back when my elbow is caught.

“Logan.”

I turn to see Mitch standing there.

“Trucker...Fucking Trucker,” I stammer, trying to get my thoughts together.

“You and I need to chat, man.” The way he says it puts worry in my head.

“About what?”

He shakes his head. “It’s fucked up, man. Fucked up.”

When he starts talking, I want to fucking kick his ass, but he’s too upset, so I listen to his shit. I listen to him tell me about a night that they were all fucked up. I wasn’t there. I was in the city with Ava.

He remembers bits and pieces about Keeka and Trucker fighting because he was hooking up with someone else. Trucker was nasty to her, verbally, but he stepped back. Apparently, Mitch woke up to Trucker screaming and Keeka in his bed.

“You fucked her? You fucked her and didn’t tell me that her baby could be yours!”

“I was fucked up, Logan. Been fucked up since fall semester started and I saw her. I asked her. I fucking asked her if it was mine.” He sits on the bench, holding his head, fucking tears falling. “She told me we didn’t fuck. I believe her.”

“You wanna believe her,” I correct him.

“Fuck yes, I wanna believe her. Jesus, man,” he snaps.

“You may have gotten her knocked up, and you’ve been fucking around with Jamie? What the fuck, man? That’s not fair to her!”

“She fucking knows! She knows all the shit. Why do you think she keeps fucking walking away? I’m falling in love with a girl who thinks I may have gotten Keeka pregnant. I tried to back the fuck off, I did, but I just can’t leave her alone, man. I may be a horrible bastard, but I can’t. And you know what, Links? She can’t either.”

“If you’re the dad—”

“If I’m the kid’s—”

“The little girl,” I tell him.

He absorbs the information and nods, looking down again. “I need to know. I need to fucking know so I can fix shit with Jamie. So we have answers.”

I grab the collar of his coat. “You need to know because, if you’re the dad, you owe that little girl and Keeka, not you, not Jamie. Do you fucking hear me!”

“Yeah, man, yeah, of course.” He nods, but he doesn’t fucking look at me.

“Mitch!”

He looks up. “I fucking hear you, man. I told her that. Told her on the way to London’s. Keeka swears we didn’t, man. Jamie—”

“Jamie means fuck not right now,” I snap.

“Fuck she doesn’t.” He stands up. “The fuck she doesn’t.”