“Thought you were sleep.”
“And that’s why you were staring at me like a weirdo and playing all in my beard and hair?”
I slapped him lightly on the shoulder. “Brix!”
He chuckled. “I’m playing. I’m playing. But tell me, what has to be the hair?”
“Do people ask you if you’re Hispanic?”
He sighed. “All the time.”
“I was just thinking that it has to be the hair, because you definitely have black man swag.”
He cracked up. “You’re probably right. It probably is the hair.” He stretched then sat up, and I immediately missed the warmth of his body on my legs. Mocha turned over on her dog bed and looked up at us like we were too loud for her liking.
“Go back to sleep,” I cooed to her.
“I’mma get outta here. I have PT in the morning, and if I sleep on this couch, I’mma need an extended session.”
“PT? Physical Therapy?”
He nodded.
I stood up from the sofa. “Let me walk you to the door.”
At the front door, he took me by the shoulders, bent down, and placed a quick kiss on my cheek. “You’re doing good, Ry. Just keep hanging in there. We’re gonna get to the finish line.”
I tried not to giggle because that sounded like something one of his AAU coaches said to him after a disappointment back in the day.
“If you need anything and I mean anything, call me. Now lock the door and set the alarm.”
“Secret crushes are not where it’s at,” I muttered to myself as I went to set the alarm.
Once the alarm was set, I picked up the entire doggie bed and carried it upstairs. Even though he had to go, I was glad Brixton left me something warm behind to cuddle with.
The next day my period came, reminding me once again that my round of IVF had failed. I took Christian’s suggestion and stayed home. I cuddled up with Mocha and felt sorry for myself. The second day of my period was horrible. The bloating, heavy flow, and cramps rendered me incapable of doing much of anything. I didn’t even have the capacity to walk Mocha. I had to call my sister.
“Now, from where and when did you get a dog?” she asked using her key to enter my place. She found me on the sofa with a heating pad stretched across my stomach and Mocha on my legs.
When Mocha spotted her, she let out four little tiny yips that were probably supposed to sound ferocious, but in actuality, sounded adorable. I could tell by the way Zyah’s eyes went soft.
“Oh wow.” She came around the cocktail table and scooped Mocha off my legs and into her arms. “Hey cutie, cutie, cutie, cutie.” She nuzzled her face into the soft fur of Mocha’s body. “Ry, he’s?—”
“She’s.” I corrected. “Mocha is a girl.”
“She’sso cute. I love her already. Does she have a twin? I want one.”
“She’s a foster dog. She’s not mine to keep. She has a whole family. They’re coming back to get her in a week or so.”
“You’re literally fostering her like people foster children?”
“I am.”
“Wow! That is so cool. How’d you get into that?”
“Brix brought her by the day before yesterday. Some story about him being the face of, or working with, some fostering organization.”
“I’m presuming he’s the one who turned your home into a flower shop as well.” Her eyes took in the multitude of flower arrangements.
