“Can’t help it,” I grinned, pulling onto the street.
She glanced over, her expression softening. “It was Marcus, wasn’t it?”
“How you know?”
“That nigga gave me weirdo vibes at the club. The way he was looking at her…” She shuddered. “Something was off. But she kept telling me he was harmless.”
“Hm,” I hummed. “So, who you had over at your place?”
She scoffed. “Here you go with this shit again.”
“What you mean?” I asked, tightening my grip on the steering wheel.
She turned to face me, narrowing her eyes. “One minute, you act like we go together, and the next, you’re laid up with one of your bitches. I’m sure that’s what you were doing before you picked me up.”
I pressed down on the gas when the light turned green.
“Exactly,” she said, shifting in the seat. “Like I fucking thought.”
I huffed out a frustrated breath. “I told you—I’m sorry.”
“Yeah, youaresorry,” she muttered.
“I’ve been trying to show you I’m serious, Mo’.” I said, pulling into the hospital lot. “It’s just hard to balance everything.”
She sucked her teeth. “Balance? Jelani, the only thing you know how to balance is a bitch on your dick. And you can keep doing that, ‘cause I had a life before you and I’ll have one after you. It’s not like there’s a shortage of niggas outside.”
I didn’t say shit because I couldn’t argue with the truth.
“Can’t keep your dick in your pants, but ready to knock somebody’s head off if they look at me. Like I said—a nut ass nigga.”
Monica hopped out as soon as I parked, like she couldn’t wait to be out of my presence.
“Yo! Mo’, wait up.”
She paused long enough for me to catch up. “This is about Jasmine, not us. Save whatever sob story you got for later.” She spun on her heel and kept walking. Even with her face all screwed up, she was so damn pretty.
I ran my hand down my face as I followed her. “You don’t gotta act like this,” I muttered under my breath.
She gave me another dirty look. “Lani, shut the fuck up and focus.” She plastered a smile on her face as we reached the reception desk.
“Hey, Ms. Wanda,” she chirped at an older Black woman behind the counter.
Ms. Wanda looked up from her phone and smiled over her readers. “Monica! What you doing back here? I thought you got off already. Forget something?” She side-eyed me curiously. “And who’s this? Your boyfriend?”
Monica jumped in before I could answer. “Uh, actually, Ms. Wanda, I think I left my badge somewhere. Just wanted to check if it ended up with security. Who’s down there tonight?”
Ms. Wanda flipped through a stack of papers. “Looks like Richie.”
Monica’s smile stayed perfectly sweet, like she wasn’t just cursing my ass out. “Thanks so much, Ms. Wanda!”
“Why you ain’t introduce me?” I fell in step beside her and hooked a finger in her belt loop. She slapped my hand away and pressed the elevator button.
I really hated the silent treatment from her. I cleared my throat. “Baby Doll?—”
“Don’t call me that,” she snapped, giving me another hard look as the elevator doors slid open. We stepped inside, and she hit the button for the lower level. She stared ahead, arms crossed, tapping her foot impatiently as the numbers ticked down.
She moved with purpose toward the security office when we reached the basement. I trailed behind her and watched as she pushed open the door labeledPeachtree Memorial Security.The room was cramped, lined with filing cabinets and glowing TV monitors. Richie, a Black man in his mid-forties, was chillin’ at the desk with his feet kicked up. He looked up and smiled when he saw her.
