I scoffed. "Nah. Ain't none of that shit goin' on. Trecee was acting like Trecee—what she does best." I paused, then added, "Why you wanna know if you ain't feelin' me?"
I bit down on my lip, taunting her.
"How I feel doesn't matter," she said quietly, looking away.
"What makes you say that?"
She sighed, and I could see the internal battle playing out on her face. "Don't bullshit me, Romelo. I know niggas like you. They come and go. I'm in this for only one thing, and we both know that this works out for the both of us. Even if I wanted to go all in with you, I can't. I'll be dipping my toe in Pandora's Box, allowing some taboo shit to show up at my front door."
"Are you trying to tell that to yourself so you can believe it?" I asked, my tone more serious now.
"Nigga." She cut her eyes at me. "Stop playing with me."
"I'm not." I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, and craned my neck to look at her fully. "But you got some shitty ass ways that anybody can see through. You ain't hard to read, Synthia. You put on this tough act, thinkin' I don't be peepin' it, but I do."
She opened her mouth to argue, but I kept going.
"You want to fuck with me, and we go through this shit like clockwork with your internal feelings. You want to seek validation in the wrong things being right. I ain't got to bullshit you on that. I knew I wanted you for a while now. The right approach didn't present itself until now."
Her jaw clenched, but she didn't respond.
"You say that like it's a good thing," she finally muttered. "It's obvious that you and Trecee still have some loose ends to tie up."
I scrunched up my face in annoyance. "Who gives a fuck about her? Let me handle her. I don't need you doing shit else, 'cause that's making your brain rot. Just ride this wave with me."
"You do know how fucked up this is, right?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
"From the moment I walked into your apartment that Sunday, I let go of any possibility of regret. Despite how crazy things get, I was in my right mind then, and I still am." I reached over and gently grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. "Learn to go with the flow and let somebody else be in control for once, Synthia."
Her eyes searched mine, and for a moment, I thought she might pull away.
But she didn't.
LATER ON THAT NIGHT
"The only reason I'm playing this goofy ass game is because you pulled it out," I said, shaking my head as Synthia set up the Connect Four board on the living room floor.
"Oh, so because I want to play it, it's goofy?" she teased, grinning as she adjusted herself, sitting cross-legged in front of the couch.
We were back at the compound now. After dropping the kids off at Yolanda's house—an ordeal that involved Synthia reading her aunt for filth about how she treated those kids—we'd come back here.
Synthia had been tense on the drive back, her jaw clenched, her hands gripping her thighs. I could tell she was worried aboutleaving them there, but there wasn't much else we could do right now.
I'd have to figure something out. Maybe enroll them in a better school. Get them into some after-school programs. Something to keep them out of that toxic environment as much as possible.
But for now, Synthia needed to decompress.
Hence the Connect Four.
She was slouched forward now, her legs spread apart, a decorative pillow wedged behind her back for support. I was lying on my side on the floor, one arm propping up my head, watching her with amusement.
"Grown men play shit like Dominoes, Chess, and Spades," I muttered, grabbing a red coin and holding it up, analyzing the board.
"What Black man do you know plays chess?" Synthia laughed, her eyes crinkling at the corners.
"I know a lot of Black men who play chess. Why is that so hard to believe?" I placed my red chip in a slot, the plastic clinking as it dropped. "Go 'head and put yo shit down so I can wax that ass."
"Don't rush me," she snapped playfully, then placed her yellow chip carefully. The sound echoed in the quiet room. "So people randomly just choose chess?"
