Brent oblivious to the playful tension, flopped down beside her. “Look who ran back home to watch her man.”
“He’s not my man,” Meadow shot back, adjusting her body.
“Mmhmm.”
“Tia, control your brother-in-law,” Meadow muttered.
Tia smirked. “He grown. I can’t help you there.”
Brent only smirked at her when she glared at him. “It’s so funny that I liked you…I’m so happy I kept my pussy to myself.”
Brent hollered. “You wasn’t giving that up anyway. You like to flirt real heavy but you ain’t a casual fuck type of girl.”
“You don’t know me,” Meadow fired back.
“But he clocked you, friend,” Tia hid her face in Blain’s chest when Meadow gave her a look that could kill.
“It’s all good though, Meadow. I’m a long game type of nigga.”
“Please don’t be,” she scoffed, her chest hurting at him subliminally telling her Zaire was temporary.
It hit her different because that was what she was afraid of. His life wasn’t slow mornings and manual labor. Zaire’s life was loud parties, press runs, and business meetings. On paper they didn’t match. But why was her heart telling her she could walk a red carpet and he could pick up balls before the sun comes out?
By 3:01, the TV was blaring. Meadow had snacks on the coffee table but wasn’t touching a single one. Tia curled up beside her, and Blain took the big armchair with his hands behind his head.
Brent walked back in after leaving for a little. “What I miss?”
“Nothin’ yet,” Meadow said, eyes glued to the screen. “Sit down and don’t talk to me too much. I’m locked in.”
“Oh, so you his coach now?”
“Brent, shut the fuck up,” Meadow muttered, pulling her blanket tighter.
The commentators appeared onscreen, two older White men who always had too much to say about Zaire.
The first one started his usual slick talk. “Cooks has been known to lose focus when emotions are high. With the league watching closely…”
Meadow threw her hands up. “Don’t start that shit today! Don’t!”
Blain howled. “Here she go!”
The second commentator chimed in. “If he can control his temper and actually play smart…”
“Iknowyou not talking about smart when he could smoke every man y’all ever praised,” Meadow snapped at the TV. “Keep his name out yo’ crusty-ass mouth.”
Tia slapped her thigh laughing. “Oh my God!”
Brent bit down on a grin. “You hate them old men, what they do to you?”
Meadow leaned forward so fast she almost fell off the couch. “Because they swear he wasn’t built for this. Watch…watch my man eat them alive today.”
Tia raised an eyebrow. “Your man?”
Meadow waved her off. “Be quiet.”
When the camera finally panned in on Zaire, Meadow’s voice softened and chill bumps covered her whole body. He was stretching his shoulders, jaws locked, eyes narrowed in that deadly, razor-sharp look he got right before he dominated a course.
His lips moved even though there was no music playing.
