I squinted at the text in the streetlight, just to be sure Peaches ran me the correct address. I pushed the seat back, letting the engine run, the air conditioning the only peace I’d have this abnormally hot December evening, and waited.
After a while, my manager called. LaShawn had this ’90s Whoopi Goldberg demeanor, and her crusty cigarette voice always meant business. “Babineaux, Nike wants to meet with me next week. I’d thought we’d have until after Christmas. They are serious.”
“What aboutme?”
She took a drag. “I squeezed you out, so you won’tsaysomething stubborn. Why cost you Nike? That’s messing withmymoney.”
“Understood. Keep me posted, LaShawn. How are the kids?”
“Dangling on their mother’s last nerve. Whatchu think?” Then she mutteredmotha, motha …“Hey, Montana?”
“What?” My brow lifted.
“You know a single mother out in Louisiana?”
My eyes landed on a nasty apartment door that wouldn’t stop anyone from getting in. “Maybe.”
“What about a cross-eyed single momma? Better yet, one leg?—”
“Damn, LaShawn. I hired you when I was a rookie because of your wild thinking.”
“Here you go! Find you a disabled, single momma. Fake date her. People will respect you for that. We need public sympathy. You threatened a man’s life. He didn’t press charges.”
“So the situation will die down. I ain’t dating?—”
“Montana! I’m worried. Families are your bread and butter. That’s like Dwayne Johnson kicking a kid in the raisinswhilehyping up his silly ass movies.”
“See what I can do.” I hung up and pinched the bridge of my nose. Then I called my brother from another mother.
A Scottish mother.
“Lach, you know what your manager just proposed?”
“Did LaShawn just bring up that thing about Dwayne Johnson kicking a kid in the bawbags?” Lachlan’s slight brogue ended on a chuckle.
“Yep. Does Natasha have any equally sexy single-mom friends?” His wife was Russian and Black. But as I spoke, my eyes flicked out the window, searching for the Black Queen Big Country would ask in a heartbeat. “Even half as cute. LaShawn wants me to fake date.”
“Don’t mention my love’s appearance, and I’ll ask.” He snorted.
“Alright.”
“Listen, how about you not break any hearts? I’ll go on record saying the lad came at you. The video only showed the aftermath.”
“Nah. You were at The Red Door, Lach, celebrating your marriage to the Bratva Princess. Can’t be multiple places at once.”
“Hear me out,” he began. “Would anyone contradictherfamily if they all agreed I wasn’t there after our win? Snitches would napforever in the LA River. Where you thought I’d end up for proposing.”
“Damn straight. But, bruh, you’re already at your father-in-law’s mercy. I ain’t adding to it.”
Hours later, a loudslapsnapped me out of my nightmare about getting kicked outta the league and the Angels being my only offer.
Sneering, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes, then hit the button to sit forward. It didn’t work. Still half asleep, I pulled myself up. A smile broke off as Journey glared outside the driver’s window.
I pressed the power window switch. Jabbed it. Bruh. The keyless ignition and the dash must’ve gone dark sometime last night. Gesturing for her to step back, I opened the door.
“Really, Baby Huey, really? This flashy SUV died?”
“Relax, Sweet Cheeks. I’ll move by the time you change into your work uniform.”
