Bryce locked eyes with me across the bubbles. His expression gave a silent message that clearly communicated:You know damn well I ain’t doing that corny shit… not with her, at least.
He straightened a little. “Isis, why the fuck would you bring that when Iclearlytold you I wasn’t wearing it?” His voice was steady yet edged with annoyance.
I covered my mouth to stifle the laugh, but it was an epic fail.
Isis tried to brush it off with a laugh of her own, though the attempt felt forced and awkward.
Bryce exhaled sharply. “Isis, how many times do I have to tell you that we arenota couple… never have been… never will be. I ain’t no damn prop in whatever fantasy script you got running in yo’ head. Stop acting like we been reading from the same page, ‘cause we haven’t. Ain’t nothing mutual over here. You auditioned for love, but I ain’t even casting. Let’s kill the fantasy now before you start mistaking delusion for direction.”
Looks like she already did that,I thought, sinking a little deeper into the water.
Isis’s grin cracked completely. It was replaced by the frown of a woman realizing her movie role got cut in the first act.
I couldn’t help myself; a sharp, savage laugh escaped me.
“I’m cooked,” I declared a few minutes later, standing, as the steam from the hot tub clung to my skin like a soothing, warm blanket. “Y’all enjoy your holiday movie moment.”
Bryce leaned forward slightly, eyes trailing the curves of my body without even pretending to be discreet.“You good?”
“Good enough to know when to leave the pot before it boils.”
I glanced at Isis, and for a split second, she looked like she finally understood this wasn’t her movie… I was just letting her borrow a scene.
I purposely swayed my hips in my bikini as I moved to retrieve my robe, each step slow and rhythmic, as if the beat had dropped just for me. I knew Bryce was looking, because no matter what we had lost, some things still responded to the memory of my body. I wanted Isis to watch too, so she couldchoke on the truth that confidence and a natural body couldn’t be copied.
Adrian tried to recover the mood. “Chess, come on! Don’t go! The party just getting started! I was gonna do impressions next. You wanna hear my Morgan Freeman?”
I put on my robe. “Do it while narrating your way back toyourroom.”
Isis scoffed. “So dramatic. Let her go. We don’t need nobody sitting here mad and moist. Girl, take your robe and your attitude and exit stage left.”
Isis popped a strawberry in her mouth like she hadn’t just lit the wrong fuse.
Bryce leaned back, jaw clenched, already knowing I wasn’t gonna let that slide.
I halted my steps. My patience with that bitch waspastthinning; it was exfoliated, steamed, and scraped clean off like a layer of dead skin.
I turned to Isis with my chin tilted just enough to be rude. “And you’re so pressed, it’s embarrassing,” I quipped, my voice smooth but slicing. “You keep popping slick like you’re relevant, talkin’ like somebody threatened by you. Girl, don’t flatter yourself. I don’t give a damn about you. Now I don’t know what type of female you take me for, but I’m not thebitch anyhoe can bully. You showed up with sweaters, expectations, and audacity; I showed up withpeace. But the moment you started talkin’ sideways, you invited the old me. And guess what? She still got hands, vocab, and scriptures… and she’ll show yourealquick how a laugh can turn into a lesson and a prayer can turn into apunch.”
Isis blinked like she didn’t expect me to clap back like that.
Rookie mistake.
“Oh, shit,” Adrian said, mid-bite of a marshmallow he was toasting with a lighter. “Somebody hold my beer and my Bluetooth speaker.”
“Chess…”Bryce warned.
He knew when in that mode, I could go from zero to ‘snatch-a-wig-and-still-make-the-soup-simmer’realfast.
“No, Bryce! I’m not backing down this time! Ain’t no hands about to be thrown or wigs about to cartwheel across this cabin like tumbleweeds,” I reassured calmly. “But youdidsay we had a five-minute argument time limit, right?”
He nodded. “I did.”
“Exactly! So let me go ahead and clock in, ‘cause clearly it’s some shit she needs to hear! And once I say what I gotta say, I’m done! You can keep talking to the steam, the bubbles, or the damn wall for all I care, but you won’t be talking to me!”
I took one step closer, demeanoruntouchable.
“You up here bragging about matching sweaters to a man who clearly doesn’t even match your energy; hell, he probably barely matches your texts. See, I ain’t one of these ‘matching-sweater, Starbucks-in-the-snow’ type girls trying to finesse my way into a man’s cabin. That ain’t my ministry.” I smirked. “ButifI wanted him? Hmph! Matching sweaters wouldn’t be needed; we’d be matchingmoans. He’d be spooning me like I’m Sunday peach cobbler, and waking up talking ‘bout, ‘We should’ve never broke up!”
