Her arms folded. “Is this your version of an apology? While I don’t need an expensivemy bad, I have feelings. Andyouhurt them.”
“Okay.” I set up my lips to say the words. Failed. Pinched the bridge of my nose. Tried again. Framed my beard. “I am ….”
“Don’t kill yourself,Big Country.”
“Holler that when we get close. Real close.”
“I’ll say it when you’re stubborn”—she listed off her fingers—“prideful, narcissistic, arrogant, egotistical, pompous, smug, ego?—”
“You said that.”
“No. I aimed foregocentricthis time. Yeah, that. If I have an enormous head, your ego fills outer space.”
Head tilted, I scrubbed my jaw. “There’re infinite galaxies—which part of space? Be specific,bébé.”
“All. Of. It.”
“Appreciate the clarification. Where should we eat tomorrow?”
“I’ll take dinner in your momma’s kitchen—preferably without you.” She let out a breath. “I don’t mind … withyou. I just hope you’ll be the funny guy. My friend … Montana.”
“Friends? Nah.”
She scoffed, getting up. “Then what do you want?”
“We gotta fake date again.”
zuri
. . .
The next morning, I checked out the contract while Montana and I sat at the cast-aluminum table on his mom’s porch.
Pinching off a piece of Virginia’s famous chocolate croissant and dunking it into my coffee mug, I weary-eyed section seven. “What’s this?”
“Well, Doctor Sweet Cheeks, I’ve included a contingency after our discussion. I’ve signed so many contracts. Gotta protect us both.”
“This is negotiable, right?”
“Nah. Other portions, yep. This part? Nah.”
I scoffed. “The contract says, I, Zuri Sweet Cheeks, MD. So adorable. I’ll usethatsurname for my next alias. Let’s see, Sasha Von Sweet Cheeks.” My eyes flicked to him, and I swore his laser-dark gaze almost made me combust. Guess me leaving wasn’t funny.
Clearing my throat, I continued, “Will date Montana Babineaux until the Sunday immediately after Valentine’s. Wait, that’s a month away from today?”
He shrugged.
“She will receive a sports ut-utlity—should it spell utility?”
He snatched the paper. “That’s what it says.”
“Made ya look.” I sniggered, bummed that this pretend thing included an expiration date. Why so soon? Not that I’d always been ten-toes-down. “You made the honor roll through high school. Oh, and your fifth-grade spelling bee photo is totes adorable. You got second place. Did your mom cut your hair?”
“Non.” Creole. Yep. I’d gotten under his skin. “That style was in. Zuri, did you live under a rock until Big Country brightened your life?”
I blinked at his attempt to draw from my past.
Something in him seemed genuinely interested before the eye roll. He said, “Keep it up,bébé, and I’m adding more to this contract.”
