“That’s him,” I say.
Marcela frowns. “Since when do you watch rugby?”
Lisa swipes her mouth with her napkin. “We’re acquainted.” Her gaze swings to mine. “Wellacquainted.”
The implication doesn’t go unnoticed.
“You’re sleeping with him?” Marcela asks.
Her mouth lifts. “I wouldn’t call what we do sleeping, but I was at his place last night.”
My fork slips from my hand, and I rush to catch it. I adjust my glasses and say nothing.
What is there to say? One call, a few whispered laughs, and Antonio was out my door. Onto the next. We haven’t spoken since he left my house last night…for her.
I push down the images of them together. Her in his arms, kissing every defined muscle that stretched and bent to unpack my boxes. Her mouth around the length indented in his sweats.
It makes sense, their pairing. Lisa—or Jalisa—is attractive. Tall. Long legs. Toned. Perky breasts. She favors Maia Campbell and gives twenty- and thirty-year-olds a run for their money with her skincare game alone. Fashion too.
Her thigh-high boots and belted sweater dress are a far cry from my leggings and blazer, which I found stuffed inside one of my boxes. Lisa is the physical embodiment of Antonio’s type. A reminder that whatever cues I think I receive are part of my imagination. Not that I would pursue anything.
Friends, I remind myself. Buddies without bumping booties and complicated feelings.
You’re still talking to yourself.
I’m done.
Lisa offers a wry smile. “Will that be an issue for you?”
“Nope,” I say, much to the surprise of my sister, who hasn’t stopped staring at me. “Like I said, we’re friends. Pass the salt, please.”
Chapter 14
Antonio
“Up! Up!Up!”
I bob my head to Anite’s cheerful cadence as she bounces and reaches for the ceiling. She recites the word with a clap that has my eyes shifting from the fourteen-month-old to the staircase.
Ain’t no way Ella and Julian let this baby listen to Cardi B. Is “Up” one of those Kidz Bop songs remixed for today’s youth? There are only so many ways to make lyrics about tight asses and men who don’t deserve pussy appropriate for the playground. Maybe Elmo can do it?
I’m halfway through humming the verse when her chubby legs drop into a squat. She propels herself to jump but tumbles forward.
Shit.
I scramble off the sofa and freeze. Whatever baby gymnastics class Ella enrolled her daughter in is paying off. Anite tucks her head and flops onto her back. Then she sits up like the Cabbage Patch version of Michael Myers. Her tiny chin wobbles, her big eyes on me, wondering why I let her bust her ass.
“Nice one!” My standing ovation is thirty seconds too late, but it does its job.
Anite’s brows pinch then slowly relax. She’s back on her feet, her Godzilla steps summoning gravity only to knock her down again.
Ella advised me not to freak out over minor falls. Her exact words were, “If you stress out my baby, that’s your ass.” It’s taken a lot of practice to not dive after my goddaughter, but I’m learning. Plus, I don’t doubt that El and Morgan, Julian’s sister and Anite’s godmother, won’t fly to Buffalo to fuck me up in some alley.
I’d never let anything happen to Anite, but I don’t want her freaking out because I am when she falls.
“You good, little one?”
Anite bares all of her baby teeth in a slow grin. “Hee.” She’s adorable, but she scares the shit out of me when she acts possessed.
