“Now you know I’d never steal from you, boy.” He howls out a laugh while I dig a wad of money out of my pocket and peel off a twenty.
“Get you something good.” I shove it in his hand, walking inside.
“‘Preciate you!” he yells, letting the door swing closed. “I’ll keep my eye on lil’ mama from now on.”
Lucky’s smells like only a fifty-year-old gas station can. Arnez says the staleness of it is what makes it special, but her brain is just as strange as her mama’s because ain’t shit special about Lucky’s except the garage bays that are still intact after three renovations and one raid.
It’s quieter than it is on Sundays. People ain’t parked out front blasting music or trickling through the back doors to get to the pit.
“Pup-Pup…” Lucky’s son, Donovan, murmurs from behind the counter, looking at his phone. “What’s going on, big man?”
“What’s up, D? Gimme thirty on pump two and…whatever she gettin.”
I nod toward Lovie as she wanders down the candy aisle with a handful of Honey Buns. The loud crinkling from the Honey Bun’s plastic wrappers makes Donovan glance up and stare at her with a bashful smirk.
“You get one for me too, Slim?” I ask.
She looks up from the floor and her throat jumps violently as she gulps.
She glances at the Honey Buns. “There might be one for you.”
“Might?”
Her eyes scan the wrappers until a sweet smile coats her lips because she’s still too tender—especially with men.
“What are you doing here?” she asks.
“I’m getting gas for Faye. What you doing walking with your head down?”
“I didn’t realize I was.”
“Well, now you know. Pick it up. How you gon’ be tough if you walking around here with your head down?”
She rolls her eyes, lifting it slightly.
Something’s wrong.
She doesn’t look any different from how she looked when I dropped her off at the Commons last week, but Ialwayssee her, even when she doesn’t want me to.
“Give ‘em here. What else you want, mama?” I hold my hand out, and for a second I think she debates about running toward me because of the way she steps forward.
She walks closer, leaving a foot of space between us, and drops the Honey Buns in my hands. “I don’t think I want anything else.”
“Not even more Honey Buns?”
She shakes her head and I dump all of them on the counter while Donovan stares between us with his eyebrows raised.
Every word we exchange feels easy, and I guess it should after all the energy we swapped while we argued at the end of Joliet. There’s no awkward moments like the ones I have with Rasheeda when she comes back to me after trying to find me in other places and people. It feels like we haven’t missed a beat.
Donovan picks one Honey Bun up, scanning it six times with a glazed look in his eyes because Faye let Slim be silly and cut her shirt all up. It drapes off her shoulder, so Donovan’s eyes keep brushing her toasty brown skin.
“How’d it go last week with your homegirl—the braider?” I ask her.
“Her name is Terrica.”
“A’ight.” I chuckle. “How’d it go with Terrica?”
She looks away, shrugging.
