I slap his hand as it reaches for a Twizzler on my plate. “No, sir. Did you wash your hands?”
His brows dent. “What kind of question is that, Maid Miriam? I did. Twice.” He snatches a piece of licorice and grabs a water bottle. “Having fun up here?”
“I am,” I say with a shimmy to the music. “No drunk people stumbling into me. More air to breathe. I like it, but I also appreciate the company—when you’re not blowing up the bathroom or raiding the snacks. Are you staying?”
“Nah. I’m not getting in trouble. Everyone knows you’re Cap’s girl.”
The alcohol must be messing with my cognitive function, because I swear he said I’m Antonio’s girl.
“Did you get concussed in the bathroom?” I ask. “Antonio and I are not together in any way, shape, or form.”
One edge of Bread’s mouth curls. “Okay.”
“I’m serious.”
“You got it.” He bops his head to the music and nods at his teammates.
My hands find a home on my hips. The pose is one my mother always struck before thechancletacame out.
“You think I’m lying, M’Baku?”
“Yooo,” he snickers like he’s never called somebody a bald-headed demon. “You both are. He doesn’t realize his own feelings.”
He definitely got smacked in the head.
I refill my wineglass and search for Antonio. He’s at the bar, talking to a beautiful woman in a Jessica Rabbit getup, long-flowing red wig and all. Her whisper in his ear activates a slow smile.
“See.” I point to the pending sexual encounter.
Bread smirks. “That’s nothing.”
“Looks like something to me.”
He leans on the railing so I’m not talking to his neck. “Nah. She’s interested, but he’s not matching her energy. Bro’s eyes haven’t left her face. The old Antonio would’ve led her out the club and resurfaced tomorrow afternoon.”
“Likely story,” I mumble.
Sure, he’s been attentive to my needs. He’s good to his friends, and I’m no exception.
It’s only a matter of time before he finds his way into someone’s bed for the night. It better not be the sofa, because I need at least seven hours of sleep to function. I also don’t want to hear him putting Jessica Rabbit or any other woman through the frame. I’m so worked up, I might hump a pillow if it bends right.
Bread snickers. “Go ahead and process that, Ms. PhD.”
“I’m not—this is my shit!” Bread catches my glass when I toss my hands in the air at the DJ playing a throwback I kept on repeat in the lab.
“Fuck it up then!” He urges me on as I belt out the lyrics to “Get Money.” Something behind my back catches his attention. “That’s my cue.”
Bread nods to Antonio and takes the steps two at a time to rejoin the Steel, who are standing in front of the balcony.
I don’t dance in public.
Ever.
I stay far away from anything that resembles attention and don’t give people a reason to look at me. Crowds make menervous, and I would rather throw up before I let my Mary Dance see the light of day.
I never felt comfortable doing what’s common to everyone else. Yet here I am, twisting my heels on the floor like I won’t break an ankle.
Whistles and hollers come from the group of hard hats cheering me on. The Steel shouts, “Go, Mimi!” to replace “Get money” in the song’s chorus. Bread and Quincy lead a two-step to match my own. The smile I aim at Antonio grows at the grin playing against his lips. He’s posted up on the wall, watching me.
