“Baby, can you put some sunscreen on my back?” she asked, holding out a bottle of La Roché-Posay.
He glanced at her for a second before darting his eyes back to his phone.
“Don’t piss me off.”
Her smile faded. “Romelo, I can’t reach?—”
“Ask Synthia,” he snapped.
My head whipped from where I was sitting a few feet away from them. Trecee’s eyes narrowed.
“Why the fuck would I ask her?”
“Because I ain’t doin’ it,” Romelo said flatly.
Their tension was suffocating.
Trecee stared at him for a long moment, her jaw clenched and her hands balled into fists. Then she stood abruptly, grabbed the sunscreen, and stormed off toward the water.
I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
“Juicy, you good?” Romelo’s voice startled me.
I glanced over at him.
“Yes,” I lied.
He didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t push it. Still, I felt his energy. Felt the unspoken words hanging between us.
This shit was a mess…
And it was only day one.
One day before Trecee’s birthday.
They went to dinner, I stayed behind. I didn’t want to be in the know or around crowds, pretending to be okay. I could take any more of it. My face would give it away before my body language could. I couldn’t stomach Trecee hugging him, kissing him.
The beach house was eerily quiet without, minus the sound of the ocean waves and the occasional sound of the house settling.
I opened the massive stainless-steel refrigerator, scanning the contents. It was fully stocked with fresh fruit, vegetables, deli meats, cheeses, condiments—everything.
But I wasn’t hungry. Not really.
Still, I needed to do something. Needed to keep myself hands busy so my mind wouldn’t spiral. I pulled out ingredients for a simple pasta dish—something easy—penne, marinara sauce, ground turkey, garlic, onions and anything else needed. As Imoved around the kitchen, chopping vegetables and browning the meat, I tried not to think about them. The pasta came to a boil and I dumped in the penne, stirring it absently.
My phone buzzed on the counter. I picked it up, expecting a text from Mimi, but it was from Romelo.
RJ: Juicy, you good?
I stared at my screen, my heart rate picking up.
He was at dinner, with his girlfriend and he was texting me. I contemplated on responding, encouraging his bullshit, but my thumbs moved before my brain could catch up.
Me: Yeah. I’m fine. Just making dinner.
He didn’t respond in a text. Instead, he FaceTimed me. I didn’t answer, so he texted me.
RJ: I want to see your face. I miss the fuck out of you. Ion really want to be here for real.
