“And you call me cocky.” Booda grabbed my thigh as he backed the truck out of the parking spot.
“You love it.”
Streetlights streaked across the windshield as we pulled onto the road, and music played low through the speakers while the city drifted around us in blurred golds, reds, and neon.
I watched him drive for a second. Really watched him. One hand rested on the steering wheel while the other stayed on my thigh. Gold flashed from his watch every time passing headlights swept through the truck, and his expression stayed alert even while we joked around.
Booda never truly relaxed.
“I tolerate it,” he said, and I gasped dramatically.
“See? I be telling people you don’t appreciate me,” I joked.
“I appreciate you too much. That’s the problem. If I didn’t…” His words trailed off, and that piqued my interest.
“Finish your sentence.”
“Nah. Just do what I say and stay away from Giani.”
My smile faded slightly.
“Nah?” I repeated. “What were you about to say?”
“Nothing.”
“That wasn’t nothing.” I turned toward him fully. “Finish your sentence.”
Booda kept his eyes on the road as the truck rolled through the industrial district, tires crunching over loose gravel before hitting pavement again.
“It don’t matter.”
“Yes, it do.”
He exhaled through his nose.
“Ko—”
“No.” I shook my head. “Don’t do that. You started it, now finish it.”
Silence stretched between us, and I could tell he was debating whether to say whatever was sitting in his head or let it die right there. I knew that look. Booda didn’t hesitate often, so when he did, it usually meant the truth was ugly.
“You not gon’ listen anyway,” he muttered.
“Try me.”
He glanced at me briefly before looking back at the road again. “You really wanna know why I don’t trust that girl?”
“Yes.”
His jaw tightened.
“She tried to fuck me.”
The words hit me so hard I actually laughed, not because the shit was funny.
“What?”
Booda kept driving.
