We glide through his living room where he slides my purse off my arm and sets it on the floor beside the couch. Afterward, we leave a trail of wet, dusty footprints across his vinyl floors, but he doesn’t seem to mind, even though his house is spotless like always.
He nudges me onto the back porch where the man who answered his front door leans against the deck’s wooden banister, patting the bottom of a pack of Newports.
“I say it’ll take us another two weeks, Pup,” he mutters out in a jumbled mess of words. “We can stagger the plywood and seal the other pieces on Tuesday when you ain’t so worn down.”
I glance at Rich, searching for the part of him that’s worn down, but his low eyes are lit with energy and he isn’t moving like a man who fought in a lion’s den just a few hours ago.
Whatever they’re building sits in the middle of the backyard next to a lawnmower. It’s just a big mess of wood scattered around. Some pieces are stained and others aren’t.
Rich nudges me toward the man. “She said you been calling her a thief, Smitty.”
“Ain’t that what she is? I saw her running up outta your house the other week, and I saw that broken jar. Seem like thievery activity to me.”
So this is Smitty?
I snort to myself.
I try to remember him clunking through my graduation party two years ago, but I can’t. There were so many faces and voices in my memories from that day that I’ll probably never see or hear again. A lot of them had heard about AJ and just wanted their chance to sneak a peek at him before he flew out to Vegas for the draft. Most of them didn’t even know me—they knew Uncle Kenny.
“See how she smiling?” Smitty points at me. “I had a gal like her before. She stole everything I had but my drawls after we made love then smiled about it when I hunted her down.”
Rich belts out a loud laugh. “You sure she was real and it wasn’t that dope talking to you?”
“Nigga, I know the difference between real and fake pussy.”
“Man, don’t be talking like that in front of her.”
Smitty holds his hands up, crumpling the box of Newports.
I raise my eyebrows at Rich. “I’m grown. I’ve seen and heard worse.”
“Yeah, you grown until Kenny get down here and remind you that you ain’t.” His hand slides to the top of my ass as heavyraindrops splatter against the porch and onto the wood that’s still sitting in the grass.
I scoff, rolling my eyes. “He doesn’t control me.”
“Sounds like it’s some trouble over on Chantilly. They better be treating you right over there.” He tosses his head back, exposing his Adam’s apple bouncing as he laughs.
My tongue grows heavy as if I just finished running it across it and picking up the traces of salty sweat that lingered on his skin.
His laugh drifts off into a chuckle, and he slides his hand lower…and lower until it grazes the center of my ass.
He pats it. “You better shut Smitty up.”
“Huh?”
He pats it a little harder. “Ball that fist up and shut him up while I go move the rest of this wood. You gotta stop letting these stupid ass men call you names.”
He steps back, leaving me on the porch with hard nipples as he tramples down the steps and strolls toward the pieces of wood. He picks up the big 4x4s like they’re weightless and marches across the yard toward the shed.
I glance over at Smitty, who’s already staring at me.
“Faye know you be hanging around this cat?” He lazily points his thumb at Rich.
“What’s wrong with me hanging around Rich?”
“Rich?”
“That’s his name, isn’t it?”
