I pinch my eyes together again and open them to focus. They trail back up his body, pausing at the diamond pendant that dangles from his neck: a paw print.
It’s real. I can tell by the diamonds’ luster. They cover each part of the paw. There isn’t a space that’s not sparkling underneath the recessed lights in his kitchen. The necklace looks dainty enough for a woman to wear, yet perfect for him. It’s quiet unlike the loud jewelry AJ wears.
I finally look away from it and glance up at his face.
He stares at the fork in my hand with low, bedroom eyes. One of them has a shiner like Uncle Kenny would say. It’s a perfect black ring I can clean up with some concealer if he needs me to.
His eyes veer toward the weed and money scattered across his kitchen floor, and his straight brows wrinkle. Words are forming in his head, but they won’t come out, and now I think I understand Uncle Kenny’s frustration because I think I want to hear him again…and maybe again.
He looks up at me.
There are no feminine curves or dips on his face—just pure masculinity. I can hear Aunt Faye now, talking about what a shame it was that a man as nice looking as him would want to box for a living. Really, it’s a shame she didn’t warn me he looked likethis, but why would she? I shouldn’t be looking at him in that way, anyway.
His face settles into a straight expression, and he nods toward the fork in my hand. “What you gon’ do with that, Slim?”
Slim?
Now he’s calling me whatever he wants because that’s what fighters do. They’re cocky. Over the years, I’ve learned that cockiness is woven into their DNA. It can’t be built. It’s why EJ did what he did, why Rich thinks he can call me “Slim,” and why Uncle Kenny’s always wasting his time with fighters no matter how many times they fuck us over.
Another shard of glass crunches beneath his foot as he steps closer to me. “You gon’ stab me for sneaking up on you?”
My palm sweats around the fork’s handle.
There’s no wild look in his russet-colored eyes, but that doesn’t mean anything. He’s still bigger than me…taller than me…harder than me and now he’s standingrightin front of me frowning.
His jaw that Aunt Faye gossiped about, bulges and makes his mouth hang open just enough for me to stick a finger inside.
I push my body closer into the sink, squeezing the fork. He raises his hand toward me, and I rush to cover my face, but he thwarts my attempt by wrapping his hard hand around my wrist. It’s calloused just like I expected and so big that my wrist disappears underneath it.
I try to close my eyes to prepare for what’s next, but they stay wide open, gaping at the look of betrayal on his face until he pulls my arm down.
“I don’t think you gon’ do no real damage with a fork, huh?” He snorts, thumping my hand like I’m a mischievous toddler who can’t be trusted alone.
It’s just a soft thump I should laugh at, but it makes heat creep onto my face instead. Now I look stupid with wide eyes and trembling hands because I’ve never had a man scold me in such a soft way. I don’t think I even know what soft is anymore.
“Gimme this.” He pries my fingers open and slides the fork out of my hand, being careful not to disturb my bandaged fingers.
I hear every breath I take, and I know he can too, but he doesn’t even mock me as he slams the fork on the counter behind us.
“Stay right here until I clean this glass u?—”
Aunt Faye’s horn blares from outside, cutting right between his slurred words.
I pull my hand from his and take off, trampling over the broken glass, weed, and hundred-dollar bills. I run all the way through the foyer and out onto his porch.
“Oh my God…” I gasp out a painful breath while the afternoon sun brushes my skin and the loud music from next door pierces my ears.
I looksostupid.
Aunt Faye’s soft cackle floats out of her car that’s parked in front of the house. She sits behind the steering wheel with her eyes shut and her head against the headrest while Ms. Vera’s voice blares through the car’s speakers. Suddenly, she opens her eyes and stares right at me, then waves her hand at me to “come on” with a confused frown on her face.
I look over my shoulder and wait for Rich to come running out of his house to tell her what I did. Instead, a small gust of wind blows a leaf across his empty driveway.
“Domino, motherfucka!” somebody yells.
My eyes snap over to his neighbor’s house where a balding man slams a domino on the rickety card table they’re sitting at in the front yard.
Aunt Faye honks her horn again, and they turn to look at me. I look away as if they can see the embarrassment on my face while Aunt Faye motions toward Rich’s door and twists her hand.
