“Night, baby. Dream big.”
The line clicked, and Meadow stared at the ceiling, smiling like a fool.
Because even with Brent in the house, even with her confusion, even with everything moving so fast…she knew exactly who she wanted and he knew it too.
Tia dragged Meadow out to brunch the next day, promising mimosas and all the girl time they used to have before she turned into somebody’s wife. Meadow tried to enjoy it, but her knee kept bouncing under the table. Every time her phone lit up, her stomach flipped, thinking it might be him. She kept checking the time, sliding her nail across the glass, counting down the hours.
Tia caught on, halfway through her grits.
“You good?” She leaned her elbow on the table, squinting.
“No,” Meadow muttered, gulping her drink. “I need my ass at home. Zaire’s game starts at three.”
Tia smirked, stabbing a sausage link. “Girl, you act like a wife.”
“Don’t play with me,” Meadow warned, wiping her hands on a napkin. “Let’s go.”
They paid the bill and left. Tia drove like she knew Meadow was two seconds from jumping out the car and sprinting back to the house. When Meadow walked inside, the TV remote was already in her hand before she even kicked her shoes off. The pre-game show wasn’t on yet, just some sports talk show running their mouths about football. She clicked through the channels until she found the network airing his tournament. The countdown ticker at the bottom read 1 hour, 13 minutes.
Her phone vibrated. She snatched it up so fast she almost dropped it.
She pressed answer with a grin she couldn’t hold back. “Hey,” she said, trying to sound calm but failing miserably.
Zaire’s voice slipped through the speaker warm and teasing. “Why you sound outta breath, baby?”
“I don’t,” she lied, flopping onto the couch. “Where you at?”
“In the locker room,” he said, adjusting something. She heard fabric brushing and metal clinking. “They got me mic’d up for all that behind-the-scenes bullshit. Figured I’d call you before they drag me out there.”
Meadow tucked her hair behind her ear, smiling into the phone like she could see him. “How you feelin’?”
“Focused,” he muttered. “But hearing you makes this shit easier.
She bit her bottom lip, kicking her feet up. “You better show out today, Zaire. I’m not playin’. Make it nasty. Don’t embarrass me.”
He laughed, his smile audible. “Oh, it’s gon’ get disrespectful out there. But don’t be cussin’ at the TV, I know how your competitive ass is.”
“You know damn well I am.”
That made him chuckle again. “I’ll call you after. Lemme go handle business.”
“Go handle it then,” Meadow whispered. “I’m watching.”
“I…” Zaire stopped, inhaling then releasing it. “I appreciate you.”
Then he hung up.
Meadow got comfortable on Tia’s couch after making herself a drink. She was so on edge, she almost asked Brent for some weed but thought against it. The last time she hit a blunt, she got put through the mattress. With Zaire not being there, she didn’t want to take the risk.
“You swear you’re not pressed,” Tia teased, leaning back and stretching her arm across Blain’s shoulder as he cracked up.
“I’m not,” Meadow lied. “I just…wanna see how he plays today.”
Blain dipped his head, hiding a grin. “Sis, you been checking that clock like you got money on the game.”
“She do,” Tia cackled at her own joke. “How much is the win? Four point five, million?”
“Mind your business.” Meadow shot them a bird.
