Chapter One
“T, why you still here?”His voice came out flat, but the look he cut over his shoulder was sharper than the words. Irritation was written all over him. But irritation was Rolani's middle name most days.
He checked his Rolex for the third time in five minutes — late, and Giovanni had been blowing up his phone for the last hour. Still, he couldn't walk out. Not with Tahlia planted in the middle of his bedroom like she hadn't heard a word he'd said.
“Baby, I'm just trying to figure out why I wasn't invited to your boy's premiere. I could've been your date, looked good on your arm. You know I need to be seen with you—” She caught herself, but not quick enough.
He yanked his duffel bag from the closet and dropped it on the bed. His suit for the premiere was already in L.A. He tossed in T-shirts, jeans, and slides. No need to overpack.
“Need to be seen?” His eyebrows raised. The words hung between them, her truth finally in the air. “And cut that baby shit.”
“Why wasn’t I invited, Ro? I know your friends. It’s not like I’m some secret.”
That whine hit his nerves every time. She’d been circling the same question for weeks, waiting for him to slip. Tahlia wanted the lifestyle, wanted to be seen as the woman on his arm. Her boutique was struggling, and he was her backup plan. He was too self-aware to fall for it.
The game was ending, and she knew it.
“Because you’re not my woman, Tahlia.” He hooked the chain around his neck before knocking her hand down and pressing on. “We’ve been over this a million times.”
“But we could be. I’ve been patient, Rolani. Real damn patient. Most women wouldn’t?—”
“What do most women have to do with you and me? When we started this, you understood. I ain’t tryna be tied down.”
She shifted, her nightgown sliding up her thigh. Tahlia was beautiful, shapely, and, for someone, a catch. She looked good at first glance, but eventually you began to see that the character didn’t match. He wasn’t a build-a-bitch type of man.
“No, you don’t want to be tied down to me.” Her finger jabbed her chest.
For a split second, guilt hit him. But it didn’t last. Just because she pretended, she never heard the words didn’t mean he hadn’t said them.
“So you do understand.”
“Wow.” She let out a short laugh, shaking her head. “You gon regret this. I’m the best thing you had, and you’re too blind to see it.”
“You ain’t been no real woman to me. Fuck is you on. I’ve been straight with you from day one. I'm not fucking with you on that tip, and that ain't changing. Bounce. I'm late."
“Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.”
Rolani pinched the bridge of his nose and let the words roll off his back. He expected this. She could cuss him, scream, as long as she kept her hands to herself and got the picture.
“Okay, and what else?” He laughed, but there wasn’t anything funny. She didn’t know his birthday, his favorite color, or his allergies. The woman meant for him would want those details—would care about the little shit that made him who he was.
He slung his duffel bag over his shoulder and checked himself in the mirror. He looked good. Felt good.
“We both know that ain’t this. And right now that ain’t my focus.”
“You really gon’ keep crying over your dead grandmama like some weak-ass little boy? Grow the fuck up, Rolani. It’s been months. Move on.” Her laugh cracked bitterly, but she knew she had fucked up when his hazel eyes flashed before going dark.
The duffle hit the floor with a heavy thud. He froze, fighting hard not to wring her neck.
“You got a death wish?” His head tilted side to side, heat in his eyes. “You in my shit, talking about the grandmother you ain’t even checked on a nigga about. You couldn’t be my bitch if you paid me.”
“Since you left the streets behind, you ain’t the same. You soft now. That’s all I’m saying.”
“T, don’t ever disrespect me, but more importantly, stop disrespecting yourself. You called me begging for dick, not the other way around.”
He withdrew with a lack of amusement, chuckling dryly.
“T, this is over with. Good times ain’t forever times.”
