“C Baby?Really, Chess?” My eyes locked on her like I was reading her soul line for line, scanning for the part where she forgot who the fuck she used to belong to.
Chesteria knew that look—the one that used to make her weak… the one that said I wasn’t there to play nice.
“Oh, this some serious couple-type of shit going on, huh?” I added, jaw clenched.
Chesteria’s eyes widened. She shook her head notoofast.
“Bryce—Adrian,” she shouted, voice strained, looking between us. “I’ve told you not to call me that, and you still insist!”
“Fuck… you did. Again… my bad,” was all he offered.
Chesteria shot him the kind of glares that could shrink a man’s ego two shoe sizes. Then she began blinking slowly, in a way that gave off she was mentally reviewing several felony options.
But the way the nigga said, “my bad”? That wasn’t apologetic at all; it was taunting.
The kind of phrase used when a person is trying to test someone, unaware the test has already been failed.
Finally, Isis, who’d been looking between all of us like we were an episode of Maury and she was the confused cousin in the audience, seemed to finally piece things together.
Iknewit wouldn’t be long.
“Okay, wait,” she chimed in, doing her best math. “So… is thistheChesteria? Like… your ex Chesteria?”
“Yes!” Me and Chesteria snapped in unison. The only difference was hers came with a neck-roll sass, and mine had that I-needed-to-punch-a-wall rage.
“This yo’ ex, Chesteria?” the nigga, Adrian asked, acting slow as hell like we didn’t just confirm that with our whole diaphragm.
“Nigga, can you not hear?” I barked. “How manyyes’syou need? One in cursive?!”
Isis shook her head, stunned, mentally buffering. “Wow. This… is… whew… this is messy.”
Chesteria looked right at me and spoke with precision.
“Okay, but wait. You come storming in here, raising hell aboutmebringing someone…” She tilted her head slow and slick. “But who is she?”
Chesteria motioned toward Isis like she was a suspicious package.
“Because she damn sure doesn’t look like 'the help', a chef, and ain’t nobody managing a damn thing around here but us!” she finished.
Busted.
Fuck.
My focus was on that goofy ass nigga that I completely forgot Isis existed in that moment. Isis might as well have been a wall decoration with edges and attitude.
“She… she’s…”
Damn. Not one solid answer came to mind. I ain’t even care enough to fake one.
“The name isIsis,” Isis intervened, trying to smooth shit over, extending her hand with the practiced politeness of a job interview.
Chesteria stared at it the way one might regard a used napkin someone had the audacity to offer.
Isis slowly pulled her hand back once she realized she was offering herself to the wrong one.
“Well… me and Bryce are—”
“Nothing,” I rudely cut her off, “but two people who had sex a few timestoomany andsomebodymistook it for something real. You don’t have to finish that sentence; I just did.”
