“What?” He turns around. “What’s wrong?”
“Ain’t no girls over there.”
He rolls his eyes and swings an arm around my neck. “Chill. It’s the team. They know you with me.”
His croaking voice doesn’t convince my wild nerves to settle like Ace’s does. It makes my pounding heart speed up while I tug at the sarong around my waist.
“I never seen you dressed like this.” He smiles, pushing his lips to my ear like I did his.
All of his moves mirrored mine since we left the house. On the drive here, he didn’t touch my arm until I touched his by accident when I took the aux cord from him. He didn’t grip my hand until I reached out for his when I saw the line of people stretching outside the building. I forgot how much of a scary boy he was. I even forgot how different his Honda was than Ace’s spaceship, even though I’ve ridden in it a thousand times. Planet Ace had a weird way of wiping my memory of the tiny unimportant shit other boys do on Earth.
“Uh... thanks?” My mouth turns down.
He laughs, pulling me in closer. “It’s a compliment. You look… good.”
“I do?”
“Yeah...you don’t see all these dudes staring at you.”
“No.”
Having a boy stare at me while under Bryson’s arm isn’t the same as having a man stare at me while under Ace’s at a gala. Ace would’ve curled his arm around my stomach and introduced me as “Lourdes” to any man that was dumb enough to think he wasn’t with me, but Bryson doesn’t.
“Y’all know Phat, right?” he yelps, dragging me into that corner with all the boys he plays ball with.
I know some of their names from practice. A couple of them even follow me on Twitter. I recognize the rest of them by the positions they play. Marquise almost snaps his neck in two when he tries to peek behind me, but I tied my sarong so tight I’ll probably have to cut it off when I get home.
LaQuan nods, gripping a bottle of Hennessy by its lip. “We know Miss Attitude.”
“Miss Attitude?” I scrunch up my face.
They laugh hard and I follow their eyes to my titties I couldn’t cover up. I scoot behind Bryson, but he pulls me back beside him.
“Yeah. You went ham on Hollywood.” Marquise smirks.
“Don’tnobodygo ham on Hollywood.” LaQuan chimes in, squeezing his solid body between Marquise and us.
“Y’all so scary.” Bryson rolls his eyes, yanking me closer.
“Nah, you the scary one! He almost had your ass crying at practice. Don’t act like we forgot!”
“Fuck y’all! He ain’t have me about to do shit but knock his ass out.”
They all howl out deep laughs at the ridiculousness blaring out of Bryson’s mouth like I ain’t been fighting his battles since we were six.
“Man, go ‘head with that. Hollywood don’t even be on that type of time.” LaQuan flings his hand out, pursing his lips.
“What he gon' do? We all know who he like to fuck up and it sure as hell ain’t niggas.”
It’s the type of low blow somebody throws out in a nasty argument with a person they never want to talk to again, but Bryson said the insult so easily, like he practiced it when Ace wasn’t around.
Nobody answers while I bite my tongue. I didn’t forget that girly giggle from Ace’s phone call with Mama, just like I didn’t forget that bruise on my ass, so I bite harder to make sure I don’t give Bryson the same treatment I gave Blake Harvey. It’s a weird space to be in but it’s the confusion boys I hate and like cause.
LaQuan shakes his head. “You trippin'. Don’t bark if he not here.”
Exactly,but still fuck Ace. Maybe Mama was right. Maybe I am spoiled. Maybe it’s why I don’t know who to hate more—him, Brandy, or that silent girl in Los Angeles I’m always battling with because we’re all his little Pavlov girls.
“Yeah, whatever.” Bryson shrugs. “What y’all drinking?”
