Eleven.
I should’ve changed.
Sitting in front of that house, fingers nervously tapping the steering wheel of my Jeep, the adorable, flirty skirt and tee shirt combo I’d been wearing all day, the same outfit that had made me feel great when I put it on, suddenly felt… obscene.
I should’ve changed, into a turtleneck and sweatpants or something, but my logical mind told me it wouldn’t have mattered anyway. If he wanted to, a man could see you in a hazmat suit and make you feel like you’d left the house in a string bikini for the sole purpose of his pleasure, and that was exactly the kind of man I was about to deal with.
I couldn’t keep blaming myself for his bullshit.
And besides… I wasn’t a kid anymore. It made me sick to my stomach to think about it, but I halfway hoped the fact I was a grown woman now would disgust him enough to not look at me the same.
But does that mean he’s just moved to another victim now?
No.
My Uncle Will had been clear with him, and Will wasn’t the type to forget, or let it slide. He’d threatened to kill him, and I don’t think any of us doubted he would follow through with that.
I took another deep breath, and finally turned the car off, glancing at the time. I’d been sitting there for nearly twenty minutes, and unfortunately, reality hadn’t changed. If I wanted those letters, I was going to have to go inside.
Only… did I want them?
I’d struggled with it, for the exactly two weeks since that phone call. Well… at first. But then so much had been going on, between Love Notes, and Troy, and settling into the community of Mahogany Heights, that it had been fairly easy to just… push it away. Push it to the back of my mind, just like I had with everything else related to these people, for years.
But then, that alarm had rung.
I didn’t even remember setting it, but it popped up on my phone, reminding me that no matter how much I wanted to, I couldn’t just ignore this. It had turned my whole happy mood into complete disarray, so much so that even the front I’d put up to at least show my face at UG had almost gone way left because of Mia’s dumb ass.
It had taken so much restraint not to say more than I did.
Initially, I wasn’t even going to go. But I knew that after I’d told Troy I’d swing through, it would be suspicious not to, and I didn’t need him asking too many questions about this – not after how he’d reacted to the phone call. But then I saw him, and all I wanted to do was crawl in his lap and be held, which obviously wasn’t an option. The bathroom quickie had been a passable substitute, a memory to hold on to as I went forth to do something that felt about as appealing as drinking battery acid.
Troy knew something was up though.
And as grateful as I was for him to be so attuned to me, I was equally glad his brother was there to take priority. I’d banked on it.
And now, I had to stop putting this off, and face the fucked-up music.
I tucked my cell phone into the pocket of my skirt, but kept my keys grasped in my hand, positioned between my fingers to use as a weapon if necessary. After a moment’s hesitation, I pulled my phone back out, scheduling a text message that would automatically go out to Anika if I wasn’t out of here in thirty minutes, maximum, to cancel it. Then I climbed out of the car.
My hands shook all the way up the driveway, and up to the front door. I forced myself to ring the doorbell, forced myself to stand there and wait, forced myself not to spit in Greg’s face when he smiled at me once he opened the door.
“My, my. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?” he said, leaning in the doorway.
I swallowed my disgust. “Hi. The letters?”
“Letters?” he asked, as if he didn’t know what I was talking about. I raised my eyebrows, wondering what kind of game he was playing, which for some reason, brought a smirk to his face. “Oh yeah… come in.”
Common sense was screaming at me not to walk through that door, but I’d made it too far to walk away empty-handed. Instead of making a big deal about it, I stepped in, but tightened my fist around my keys, ready to pretend I was Wolverine if I needed to.
He’d kept the house up, but that didn’t surprise me. Greg was no slob, not outwardly. All of his grossness was in his head, kept neatly tucked behind the façade of a clean-cut, upstanding sort of man. He was handsome, charismatic, he dressed nicely – none of the hallmarks of the “creep” archetype in books, movies, or TV. But this was how it went in real life – no monster in the bushes, just a grown ass man who thinks his wife’s teenage daughter owes him something.
“So how have you been?” he asked, stopping right there in the foyer to face me. The pictures that lined the wall there – me as a baby, and then older, up through the time I moved out, mixed in with images of him and my mother – made my skin crawl. I was so distracted that I barely heard his question, and didn’t realize he was approaching me with his arms out until he was already in my face, putting his arms around me.
I went stiff immediately, and drew my fist back, ready to pop him right in the face, but the hug was quick, and then he stepped back, with this strange, bothered look on his face. I took a step back as he propped his hands on his hips, shaking his head.
“Greg. The letters,” I reminded him again, not really caring what the hell was happening with him right now. All I wanted was what I came for.
He scoffed. “You really just think the world revolves around you, don’t you?”
“Just give me the letters, and I’ll be gone.”
“There you go with those demands again. You really don’t understa—”
“Where are the letters?!” I surprised even myself with that, but I wasn’t about to stand here and listen to…whatever the hell he was talking about. The longer I stood there, the more disgusted I was, to the point that I was back to not even being sure I cared about the letters.
They wouldn’t change what happened.
“You don’t get to come in my house, smelling like another man, making demands, little girl,” he growled at me, then shook his head. “Every motherfucker in the city can put his hands on you, but your little ass starts screaming for help over a peek?”
“You are repulsive,” I spat, laughing even though it wasn’t funny. It was ridiculous. “I smell like “another” man? There is no other man, you vile piece of shit, there’s one, and it most certainly is not you. You give me my goddamn letters, and then you never contact me again.”
He smiled.
He smiled.
And I knew for certain, right then, what a little part of me had already suspected before I pulled into the driveway.
“There aren’t any letters,” he told me, in a mocking, sing-song tone. “I told your ass you had two weeks, but you wanna be in control, want to make demands, want everything to work how you want it to, but guess what? Your time was up three hours ago.”
“What did you do with them?” I asked, hating the emotion that choked my voice.
He grinned even harder. “Barbecue.”
My eyes narrowed as I swallowed the urge to sob, forced myself not to dive at him and put the key to my Jeep right between his eyes. I couldn’t help the quickly building tears, but I’d be damned if he was going to see them. I said nothing, just turned and reached for the door.
That was when he grabbed me by the arm.
“Get the fuck off of me!”
I tried to shake him off, but he wouldn’t budge, snatching me toward him.
“You need to learn some manners. This is no way to treat your – Ahhhh, goddamn it!”
Greg backed away from me, holding his groin after I found just enough strength and leverage to jab my keys into him as hard as I could. I’d been aiming for his thigh, thinking it would distract him enough to back up, so I could hit him in the face, but this was even better. I didn’t waste time thinking about it – I got my ass out the door and into my car, locking the doors behind me before I started it.
He came rushing out of the house behind me with his eyes wild and pissed off as I jammed my keys in the ignition. I whipped my Jeep out of his driveway with little regard for anything except getting the hell out of there. I cringed when I heard the distinct crunch of metal on metal that no doubt meant I’d left my mark on the shiny black Lincoln – his car – that had been parked at the curb, but I didn’t care.
Once I was on the street, all I cared about was my foot on that gas pedal.
Until I made it back to the Heights, I was on auto-pilot. I was too stunned by what had happened for my mind to even roam free, at least not until I pulled into the parking garage. As soon as the car was off, it was like it hit me all at once, and I sat in the car and sobbed until I felt like a dishrag, damp and worn out.
I’d put myself through that trauma again for nothing.
He was never going to give me those letters in the first place.
I didn’t doubt they existed. Letter writing was my mother’s “thing”, had been since before I could even remember. There were days, before she changed, because of him, that I would just sit and watch her write letters to my father after he was gone, in neat, sloping handwriting that graced custom stationery.
I wanted to know what she said in those letters to me.
Obviously I knew it didn’t matter, that it wouldn’t change anything. That any possible apology or explanation would’ve needed to come from her mouth for it to mean anything, and even then… it would’ve been too late. The second she chose Greg over me, it was too late.
But that didn’t stop me from wondering if she regretted it.
I hoped she regretted it.
I hoped that it ate her up inside, that she could barely look herself in the mirror, that it snatched away her sleep. I hoped it hurt, hoped it haunted her, hoped she despised herself for essentially sacrificing me.
That was ugly, and I knew it.
But I didn’t care.
I forced myself to leave my car, and started walking, with no destination in mind. The sun was starting to go down, and the temperature was dropping, sending goosebumps over my bare arms. I should’ve gone home… but I walked right past my building instead.
I kept going until I found myself in front of Love Notes. I dug into my bag for my keys and went inside, stopping short as soon as the lights flickered on.
I’d forgotten about the gallery display.
Instead of just my usual framed prints on the walls, I’d set up extra floor displays – oversized prints displayed on metal easels. Shots I loved. Shots I was proud of. And one in particular that had always meant a lot to me, because it represented what should have been.
A beautiful Black family, seated in the grass.
Mother, father, and daughter.
I’d shot them back when I was in Cali – one of the shoots that made me fall in love with shooting real people, and capturing their hearts on screen. They were… everything. Happy. Funny. In love. And when that father looked at his teenaged daughter, his eyes were filled with pride, and adoration, and a desire to protect his little girl from all the ugliness in the world.
My life should’ve looked like that, but it didn’t. And suddenly, the sight of that picture brought up an all-consuming rage I hadn’t felt in years. I dropped everything in my hands, and without even thinking about it, I stormed up to that picture and snatched it off the easel, flinging it across the room with all the power I could find. Then the easel itself was in my hands, and I was wielding it like an ax, swinging it around me to destroy everything I could reach.
Every picture from the gallery, every framed print from the walls, the backdrops, whatever. I wanted it all gone, because this Love Notes shit was a complete lie. Maybe not to anyone else, but it was a lie I’d told myself – a fucking pipe dream.
It was time to wake up.
I got to the last picture in the hall – the one of me, of my tattoo, and… it was the one I couldn’t bring myself to tear down. It wasn’t until I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the high-gloss finish of the frame that I realized tears were streaming down my face, and I looked… insane.
Shaking my head, I tread carefully around the wreckage to get back to the front door, where I found my purse and keys. I turned the lights off and locked the door behind me, trying to dry my face with my hands as I headed home – where I should’ve gone in the first place.
I was walking through the door – and thanking my lucky stars that Anika wasn’t home – when my phone chimed with the familiar tone of a text message. Whoever it was, I made them wait, for the hour it took me to strip down, take the hottest shower I could stand for as long as I could stand, and then dress in the most comfortable hoodie and leggings I could find.
A smile came to my face when I saw that the message was from Troy, wondering what I was doing. Apparently, Marshall had just left, and he wanted to tell me all about their conversation.
Exactly the kind of distraction I needed.
I wasted no time going to my closet for an overnight bag, only stopping long enough to send him a text back.
“I’m on my way.”
I woke up with a jolt, slightly confused about where I was.
It only took a second to realize – Troy’s thick bicep draped over me was a clear giveaway – but even once I knew, I still needed a few more moments for my heart to stop racing.
Moving slowly, I extricated myself from his grasp and slipped from under the sheets, shivering as my feet landed on the cold floor. Instead of going into my overnight bag for clothes, I retrieved the tee shirt he’d tossed on his dresser last night, pulling it onto my nude body with a sigh. It still smelled like him, and that was a comfort I needed.
Peeking over at him, I waited until his soft snores had resumed before I pulled open one of his dresser drawers. Not to be nosy – well… that too, kinda – but because I was searching for a pair of his boxer briefs to use as shorts, to ease my feeling of nakedness, even with the tee shirt on.
I found them, and slid a pair on, then tiptoed out of the room. Funny enough, my sneaky exit reminded me of that very first night he brought me here, when I’d dipped while he was still sleeping off our little romp. I’d only been here a couple of times since then, and this was actually going to be my first time doing a bit of exploring.
Anything to keep my mind occupied.
I started with his laundry area, smelling the laundry detergent and the dryer sheets, marveling that a man could be so neat. I’d seen the bathroom before – knew what colognes he used, what body wash, knew he kept a bottle of his custom shampoo in the shower. The fridge was stocked with fresh foods, a pantry full of interesting seasonings and oils. I’d watched him move around the kitchen with confidence to prepare breakfast, and planned to find out what else he could cook.
There was a big TV, a couple of gaming systems, a stereo and more speakers than anyone needed. Typical stuff for a guy. What caught my attention though, that I hadn’t noticed before, was the bookshelf. And from the looks of many of them… these pages had gone miles.
It only took a moment to figure out that they were grouped by different topics, although there was an obvious overarching theme. There were books about love, relationship, books about marriage, books about parenting and adoption, about depression, and faith, and standing in your destiny, and investing money, and budgeting. It was clear to me that this… was where he came to learn, and grow, and develop the parts of himself he felt were lacking.
“Borrow whatever you’d like, as long as you bring it back.”
The sound of Troy’s voice nearly made me jump out of my skin, and he laughed as I turned to find him draped against the divider that led to his bedroom.
“Sorry,” I told him, shaking my head as he started moving toward the kitchen, looking good as hell in nothing except a pair of boxers just like the ones I’d “borrowed”. “Did I wake you?”
“Just now? Nah,” he answered, pulling open the refrigerator. “I’ve already brushed my teeth and stuff in the time you’ve been being nosy at my bookcase.”
I rolled my eyes, turning back to the shelf as he began taking stuff out, presumably preparing to fix breakfast. “I'm not nosy, I’m just… observing. I’m a little surprised, not gonna lie.”
“What, you didn’t think I knew how to read?”
I laughed. “It’s just an automatic assumption that people don’t. Which may be bad, but it’s statistically true. Most people don’t read for pleasure. And a man reading? Hell, you’re a flat-out anomaly.”
“I guess I’ll be that then,” he chuckled. “And take it as a compliment.”
“You should, because that’s how I meant it.” I stopped my perusal as my eyes landed back on a particular section, and asked what had been burning in my mind since I saw it. “Why so many books on love, and relationships?”
It took a moment for him to answer, but I didn’t dare turn around, lest I find him staring at me. I just waited, and after a bit where the only sound was him moving about the kitchen, he finally spoke.
“To put it simply… because I want to be in a relationship, where I love the other person that’s in it with me. My real world examples aren’t exactly plentiful, so… reading is fundamental.”
I nodded. “Makes sense.”
“What about you?”
Huh?!
I froze where I stood, not knowing what the hell to say. Troy must have realized it, because after a second, he added to his question.
“That’s not pressure, by the way. Just… honestly asking. Wondering if we’re on the same page about the possibilities for what’s happening between us, or… if we should cool it while we’re ahead.” He stopped talking, and laughed. “Shit… that sounds a lot like pressure, doesn’t it?”
I didn’t answer.
I wanted to, but I didn’t know what to say. So instead of doing what would ease his mind, and assure him that I wasn’t about to bolt out of the door, I just… didn’t say anything.
Nothing felt suitable.
My mind went back to last night, and how I’d felt in those moments of rage. Standing here in Troy’s apartment, after listening to his varying feelings about meeting Marshall and potentially gaining an entire family, and then having him make love to me, and waking up in his arms… it made those feelings in my studio seem so silly.
I couldn’t verbalize my feelings for Troy, no, but I certainly recognized that they ran deep, already. And that didn’t scare me, it… fortified me. Maybe love and implicit trust for people who didn’t deserve, hadn’t earned it, was a scam. The idea that “family” gave toxic people unlimited access to you, that it was selfish not to engage, that you had no right to protect yourself from their energy… that stuff was the lie.
Not this.
Not Anika, Darcy, and Will.
Definitely not them.
Definitely not Troy.
Relationships like that… those were the ones that gave me a reason to believe.
“The bet,” I said, finally, somewhat changing the subject. “Where you had to cut your locs… you never told me what that was about. Was it about me?”
“Somewhat.”
I smirked. “Somewhat? What does that mean?” I asked, picking up a book about love languages, just for the sake of having something in my hands.
“Well, I’d told my boys that the next woman I slept with was going to be my… future. Somebody I could fall in love with, build a family. Be with forever.”
“And then I seduced you with my dope ass haircut. Damn.”
Still in the kitchen, he chuckled. “Is that how you remember it?”
“Maybe.”
I put the book back on the shelf, and pulled my lip between my teeth.
“You want to know what I’ve been thinking lately though?” he asked, as I ran my fingers along the spine of another title.
“What’s that?”
“I don’t think I lost that bet at all.”
I closed my eyes.
Just enough for a good long blink, to ground myself in the reality of what had just left his mouth – a reality that I… wasn’t equipped to handle. Not right then.
I expected to find him staring at me when I turned around, waiting for a reply. Instead, he was busy plating food – making himself busy plating food, which was clear when he didn’t even look up when I approached.
I hooked an arm around his waist, inserting myself between him and the countertop, so that we were face to face. His eyes were intense – expecting, waiting – but I still said nothing. Instead, I held his face in my hands, pulling him into me for a kiss.
When I drew back, he was still intense.
Still expecting.
Still waiting.
“I’m about to distract you with sex now, if that’s okay?” I said, earning myself a little less intensity, and a smile.
“What if I say no?”
“What if I say yes?”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Yes to what?”
“Anything,” I blurted, being a lot more honest than I probably should as I tried in vain to blink back the tears welling in my eyes. “Whatever you’re asking me. You can have it.”
His arms moved around my waist, fingers sinking into my sides as he pulled me closer. I closed my eyes as his lips brushed my forehead, the tip of my nose, and then finally my lips as he tipped his head, but didn’t kiss me. “Don’t worry. And don’t cry,” he added, reaching up to brush a stray tear from my cheek. “I’m not asking for anything more than you’re already giving, mama. Just you. For as long as you feel like I deserve that. But I mean… I do plan to be a pretty deserving motherfucker, so that might be a long ass time.”
A laugh that was exactly what I needed burst from my lips before I pulled him into another kiss. I spent the first few moments of it still laughing against his mouth, but then he took over, exploring me with his tongue.
Briefly, I wondered about breakfast, but then I felt his hardness pressing into my stomach, and I didn’t care. All I cared about was pulling him from his boxers right there in the kitchen, dropping to my knees, and covering him with my mouth.
“Shit,” he groaned, his face pulled into a scowl that would’ve seemed angry in any other context, but I happened to know he was very pleased with what was happening to his dick right now. “You haven’t even tasted the omelet yet,” he said, making me almost choke from laughing at his commentary.
But then we got very, very serious about it.
His hand went into my hair, maintaining a loose grip as my head bobbed back and forth. I kept my eyes trained upward, gauging his reaction to a stronger suck here, a little more tongue there, faster, slower… everything. His head dropped back and I swallowed him deeper, making him let out a low growl as I took him further down my throat.
I gave his balls a little twist with one hand, and he reflexively surged forward, making me gag. But I didn’t mind – I welcomed the extra saliva, knowing it would create just the abundance of moisture I needed to make this perfect for him.
“Goddamn,” he grunted, smacking the counter with one hand before he grabbed the edge, while the other hand tightened in my curls.
Mission accomplished.
I had him lost, and I knew it, from the way he was moaning and groaning and cursing under his breath as his hips started a subtle rock forward to meet my mouth.
“Jules,” he growled, and I understood that this was my warning, but there was no way I was stopping now. I grabbed onto his thighs, abandoning the use of my hands as I did my best to make him completely disappear down my throat. He held my head in place as his hips surged forward one last time and he erupted, forcing me to breathe through my nose as his body tensed, and then relaxed as he released.
He collapsed onto the barstool behind him, breathing like he’d just finished a set of jumping jacks as I lifted myself from the floor. I grinned as I grabbed a paper towel from the roll on the counter to wipe my face. He was still… indisposed… eyes closed, elbows back on the counter, when I bent to throw the paper towel away, but by the time I was back upright, so was he, and I let out a loud yelp as he easily lifted me onto the counter.
“Where did that come from?” he asked, reaching underneath my – his – tee shirt to check me for panties. He frowned, then grinned when he realized I’d been wearing a pair of his boxers.
I shrugged, raising myself up so that he could pull them off me. “I don’t know. Just felt like a good time. And I mean… I’ve wanted to do that since the first night, but I figured it was a bad idea since I didn’t even know your name.”
“And what made you change your mind?”
I smirked. “Duh. I know your name now.”
Him plunging into me and burying himself to the root wiped the smile off my face, replacing it with an open mouth I used to whimper. He was so deep I felt like I might burst, but it felt so good I was willing to chance it.
Locking my legs around his waist, I lifted my arms so he could pull the shirt off. Once it was gone, his hands immediately went to my breasts – cupping, squeezing, teasing my nipples between his forefinger and thumbs.
And then he moved.
In deep, slow, deep strokes that felt like they were reaching straight into my soul as he brought his mouth to mine. “Troy,” I moaned against his lips. “Are you trying to have me hiding under your station at the shop?”
He chuckled, pressing his forehead against mine. “Oh word? It’s good to you like that?”
“Mmmhmm,” I whimpered.
“What about this then?” he asked, damn near making me black out as he slid his arm under one of my legs to prop it up, then hooked it over his shoulder. I clutched at his bicep, trying my damnedest to hold it together as he plunged into me, hitting buttons I couldn’t recall ever being pressed. But then he dipped his head, putting his face into my neck at just the right spot to sink his teeth in and suck.
I couldn’t do anything except… melt.
And scream.
Because it felt just that damn good, and I didn’t want it to stop. Not even when the coil of pleasure building deep in my core burst, making me flood, in wave, after wave, after wave, until I felt like there was no way I could give anymore.
His fingers on my clit made me realize I could.
Warmth soaked my body as my eyes rolled back, and he dipped into me over, and over, and faster, and deeper, until my thighs were shaking beyond my control. Somewhere deep down, something… shifted. A deep, unfamiliar sensation swept through me, making emotion swell in my chest as Troy stroked me, and this time when I came, it rocked me from my fingertips to my toes.
And the orgasm brought tears with it.
Not just like my eyes were watering, but deep, overwhelmed sobs of pure bliss that made my shoulders shake as Troy kept going, and going, and then finally pulled out with a guttural cry that rumbled in my chest.
I felt the hot burst of his eruption on my stomach and thighs, and found enough energy from somewhere to giggle through my tears.
“You pulled out this time,” I teased, barely keeping my eyes open to see the relieved grin he gave me in response.
“Not gonna lie… barely,” he chuckled, bringing his mouth to mine. “You feel a little too damn good to make this a habit. Gotta start keeping protection in every room.”
“Might not be a bad idea,” I laughed. “But hey… I have a question…”
“What’s up baby?”
I lifted my eyes to meet his gaze, making sure he was focused before I spoke.
“So… what about this breakfast?”
“Are you crazy?! What the hell do you mean, cancel the launch party?!”
Glancing over my shoulder to see if Troy was coming out yet, I pressed the button to lower the volume a notch on my phone, since Anika had decided to start screaming the moment I told her there was no longer going to be a launch party. I appreciated her – hell, I was still paying her – but this was something that really wasn’t her decision.
“I mean exactly what I said, cousin,” I told her, attempting a soothing tone to get her to calm down. “Do I need to say it again?”
Anika sucked her teeth. “No, I don’t need you to repeat yourself – I need you to give me a better damn answer! We’ve been planning this for weeks, and you decide a few days before that it just isn’t going to happen? I need to know why.”
“You don’t need anything Anika. I’m the client, remember?”
“Client my ass. You are my cousin – no, my damn sister. I want to know what’s really happening here.”
I pushed out a sharp breath, and glanced over my shoulder again. After breakfast, Troy and I had cleaned up in his kitchen and showered, and now were supposed to be heading out for the day. I’d called myself intercepting Anika from showing up at the studio with a “quick” phone call, but it was proving to be more difficult than expected.
I didn’t need difficult right now.
Inside Troy’s loft, I’d been able to do a great job of tuning pretty much everything else out. I didn’t know what was waiting for me once I stepped outside, or worse – stepped into my studio to see the damage I’d wrought with fresh eyes.
I wasn’t ready to face the resurfaced pain that had driven me to that level of rage, and I certainly wasn’t prepared to explain it to anyone else. They’d wonder what happened, why I hadn’t taken someone with me to the house, or even told anyone that I was going. With Anika, there was no doubt it would get reported back to Will and Darcy, and that would just turn into an even bigger thing, when all I honestly wanted to do was forget.
At least for a day or so, time enough to regain my bearings. Maybe even talk to a therapist, like the one I’d found when I was out in Cali.
If only Anika would let me fucking breathe.
“Anika, look – I know you mean well, but I don’t have time for this right now. I don’t want to talk about it, I don’t want to explain. I just want you to cancel the party. That’s all. Can you do that for me?”
She huffed. “Whenever you’re done being booed up with Troy, you let me know, so we can talk. Are you coming home tonight? Tomorrow night?”
“No,” I said, not even thinking about it before I answered. “We don’t need to talk about it. Just cancel the party.”
Without giving her a chance to respond, I pulled the phone from my ear and ended the call. Immediately, she called right back, and I ignored it, even though I felt bad. I loved Anika, didn’t want to hurt her feelings, but I couldn’t deal with it right now.
Or maybe ever.
“Yo, you good?” Troy asked, making me flinch at the sudden sound of his voice. I’d been facing the window at the back of his loft, and turned to find him approaching me with his pick in hand, running it through his beard.
I nodded, hoping there was nothing crazy on my face to give me away. “Yeah. Well – no, actually. Um… I hate to be this girl, especially since we just made this thing official, but…”
“Just spit it out, mama. I have an appointment in like twenty minutes.”
“Right. Um… I kinda just got into with Anika, and I was wondering if… I could maybe stay here for a couple of days? It’s fine if the answer is no. I can get a hotel room – I should get a hotel room. I can’t impose on you like—”
Troy quieted me with a quick, soft kiss on the lips, then followed it with one on my forehead. “Not an imposition. Just don’t get mad if I leave the toilet seat up. There’s a key in the drawer by the stove in the kitchen,” he said as he breezed off, in a hurry to get to his client. “Lock up when you leave!”
I blinked, and he was gone, leaving me with full range of his place like it was nothing. I shook my head about that though – it wasn’t nothing, and I knew it. He was trusting me with his space. He wasn’t prying about why I needed it.
And at that moment… it meant everything.