“No. I get it now. Splashtown isnotan appropriate first date—Ason Williams’ Shooting Stars Gala is.”
“That wasn’t a date.”
“It wasn’t?”
“No...it was just everyday life shit.”
“Oh, now you in your feelings? I only broke one tiny rule, but it’s—it’s because you weren’t here. Fuck, I just wanted yo—”
“Lourdes?” I call out, glimpsing at Brandy’s wild blonde curls in my front passenger seat.
“Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
“O—kay,” she gurgles out, pushing her lips against my neck with a loud sigh.
It’s been a long time since I had to control two girls in the same space. As misogynistic as it sounds, Mom was the one who taught me how to do something so backwards because in our world, jersey chasers and perfect girls had to co-exist at some point. Phat’s drunk and she’s mine, so she’s the most malleable and the wildest. Mom said control always started with the girl that belonged to me.
“Baby?” I call out again, bouncing her up while crossing over another hunk of mud.
“Uh, huh?”
Honesty comes next, even if Phat will only remember incoherent chunks of my voice tomorrow like I wanted.
“Can you listen to me real quick?”
“Uh, huh. I’m listening.”
“Brandy is in our front seat right now—not because I wanted to make you mad or hurt your feelings.” I talk slowly, being careful to think about each word before I say it, because that’s just as important as being honest. “She’s there because I’m a man and sometimes men do stupid shi—”
“Dumbassshit.”
“Don’t interrupt me.”
Another hiccup gurgles from the back of her throat as she nods into my neck.
“Sometimes men do stupid shit when we can’t control certain things or situations, and tonight I did a stupid thing.”
The only way I know she’s listening is by the tight squeeze she gives my neck.
“I been drinking and you have too, so if anything happens between you and her in that truck, I’m going to be the one in trouble—never you or her. I’ll never let anything happen to either of y’all despite what you think about each other. Do you hear me?”
Her legs squeeze my waist this time and now I have to direct because direction is the second rule of control.
“I want you to get in the backseat and act right for me until I can get her back to her apartment. The less trouble you give me, the easier it’ll be for me to get rid of her and the quicker we can go home.”
Her body gets still.
Maybe she can see Brandy taking selfies in my front seat from our spot between two cars.
I hope not.
“Tell me how you feel right now,” I demand. “Tell me what you need from me.”
Support is always last. It’s like the cherry on top of an emotional rollercoaster of a conversation like this. Sometimes it was how I ended up in bed with both girls at the end of the night, but this wasn’t that type of situation. This one is delicate. My little lady is having her first grown up night.
“Lourdes?”
