I wanted to flip this greasy pizza, shove the whole damn table aside, and get to her. Hold her. Fix whatever had caused this strong Black woman, who lived for her son, to break in front of me.
Big Country, though?
That fool got to stretching in my brain, likeThis is good. We could use her tears. Later. Let’s kiss them away. Let’s strip them away … in bed.
I ignored him.
Momma ain’t raise me like that.
My moral compass was out here, gleaming like it had just been detailed.Ididn’t mess with good girls. Never had. That’s why I put the brakes ontalking feelingsin the kitchen. Yep. She was dangerous. Looked innocent, like she’d hold me if I cried.Dangerous.
But now?
“What’s wrong,chère?” My response? Gruffer than expected.Damn, my voice didn’t know how to act when Journey cried. She did so much to protect her son from her baby daddy, or whoever she’d run from. But my respect for her passed the point of no limits the night I sat outside her place. This woman—this doctor, or nurse, or whatever—was fighting to survive. In hiding. A shadow in her own life. Yet, she carried herself with a sharpness that cut through the fog of fear around her. Her mind, her fierce love for her son—those things? They didn’t belong in the shadows, man. She was too smart, too alive to waste away in secrecy.
And now, she hid her tears with a quick swipe of her soft palms. She shook her head, eyes darting to Darius. Little Dude clutched his dinosaur in one hand while demolishing a slice with the other, face painted in sauce.
Journey opened the gift bag and pulled out the book. A gag gift. A conversation opener. Hell, her escape from the struggle. My escape from my Dodger suspension and reduced merch sales.
She muttered a portion of the title. “How to Fake Date a?—?”
That’s what caused the tears? The damn paperback?
Heat crawled up my neck. This was supposed to be funny and segue into LaShawn’s idea. Plus, I assumed women loved this romance nonsense—fake dating was a throb …? Nah, Google called it atrope.
I dragged a hand over my jaw, forcing a smirk I didn’t feel. “Don’t tell me that lil’ book got you in your feelings?”
With lashes glistening, Journey didn’t crack a smile.
Darius beamed. “Mommy can read it to me at bedtime!”
Please. “That ain’tGood night, Moon,Little Dude.” It wasGood Night, Don’t tell Momma What’s in Chapter Two. That book was for grown folks. I tried to act cool, but lil’ momma was crying, Little Dude was grinning, and me? I was over here regretting literary tropes. “C’mon. Let’s see if Momma got any hoop skills.”
“Oh yeah!” Darius popped his wrist like I’d taught him with a basketball. Every bit my protégé.
We got up and weaved through the arcade. Journey slipped nextto me, her whisper barely audible over the climbing score of an arcade game. “Why the book?”
I slung an arm around her waist, pulling her close like she already belonged there. “Fake date me,chère?”
Her eyes snapped to mine. “Wi-with you?”
“Who you think?” I squeezed her hip.
Journey shoved my arm. “Watch it before I tell yoursweet darlingthat you’re coming on stronger than The Isley Brothers.”
“Do it.” I grabbed a Skee-Ball flying toward the corner of her face. She gasped, making me want to smack those kids.
“Sorry,” a kid called out.
“Oh, you saved Mommy,” Darius said as I tossed the Skee-Ball toward the wooden alley.
At the hoops machine, I swiped the play card, and a basketball rolled forward.
As I reached to grab it, Journey snatched it up. “Maybe I will tell Adele.”
I laughed. “Journey, we weren’t monogamousinhigh school, still ain’t. I’m glad your mind is on us movingin between the sheets.” I finished with the same Isley Brothers’ reference. My head tilted at the sudden spark in her eyes. “So, you know them.”
“The Isley Bros? Hello? I brought them up.”
