I called her again.
I almost threw the phone when she didn’t answer.
I needed to calm down.
I was going to get dressed and give her a couple hours before I went looking for her ass.
That was the plan.
I hit the shower, cranking the water hotter than it needed to be. Steam filled the bathroom fast.
She really dipped on me.
I braced my hands against the tile and let the water hit the back of my neck.
“Relax,” I muttered to myself in the mirror once I stepped out. “Even if she don’t fuck with you no more, you’ll get over it.”
The words felt like bullshit. That shit would break my heart.
I got out when the water turn cold. I dragged the towel down my body, drying off, jaw tight. I slapped on some lotion and cologne, ran a comb through my beard. I could feel my muscles coiled.
Four years.
Four years of me showing up for her, and she couldn’t even make it one day?
That’s weak.
I got dressed slow on purpose. Black T-shirt. Simple black True Religion jeans. Black and white Taxi 12s.
I checked myself in the mirror.
Calm face.
Eyes not calm.
I grabbed my restaurant paperwork from the kitchen counter, flipping through it just to keep my hands busy. Numbers. Vendor invoices. My business plan.
Focus on work.
Not on her.
But every few seconds, my brain kept going back to her—
I called her again. Straight to voicemail.
I thought about calling her momma and telling on her.
I laughed at that.
Fuck it. I was about to ride to her house.
I grabbed my keys, jaw flexing.
The lock clicked, and the heavy door to the loft swung open.
I froze, keys mid-air. Sky walked in looking winded. She was juggling a white box tied with string and a heavy shopping bag, her eyes scanning the room until they landed on me.
She met me at the island. She didn’t seem to notice I was on edge.
