Moments like that reminded me of how much history we shared that I still couldn’t remember.
So, I asked, “But why would that make her nervous?”
“Depends on what you forgot.”
I looked toward the phone again while it continued buzzing across the coffee table. Up until now, the calls had only irritated me, but I was starting to feel smothered.
When we first reunited, Giani would check on me here and there, but now? It was constant. She was texting, calling, wanting to hang out, and needing reassurance that I wasn’t mad.
I guess that was what friends did when they messed up and wanted to make things right.
“You think I’m overthinking this?” I asked Booda.
He scratched his jaw before shrugging. “Nah. Yo’ feelings valid. She shouldn’t have made the joke. Nothing about a muthafucka’s struggle is funny.”
He was right, so I decided to leave the conversation there and get back to my happy place.
The last of the movers finally cleared out about thirty minutes later, leaving the apartment quiet again, outside of the music still playing from the television. The second the door closed behind them, I locked it and let out a long breath while looking around at everything.
My apartment looked so good that I almost got emotional. I honestly hadn’t seen this for myself, at least not anytime soon.
Booda walked past me toward the bedroom. “Come on, bae. Let’s put the rest of yo’ shit up so we can relax a little before we go hunting. I can’t rest easy knowing them niggas still out there.”
Shit. Things had been going so great over the past couple of days that, for a minute, I’d forgotten someone tried to kill me. The comfort had been needed, but I couldn’t afford to let it distract me. Not when I had dangerous enemies.
“Okay,” I replied, following behind him.
As soon as we were in the bedroom, I pulled everything out of the bags and started putting them away in the closet. Dresses, jeans, matching sets, heels, and jackets slowly filled the empty space while Booda sat across the room, cleaning one of his guns with the television playing quietly in the background.
“You bought a lot of black,” he pointed out.
“I always wear black.”
“You also used to wear color.”
“I still do.”
“You bought one blue dress.”
I rolled my eyes as I slid another hanger onto the rack. “Whatever.”
“You scared of color?”
“I’m not scared of shit.”
Booda smirked without looking up from the gun in his hands. “That’s debatable.”
I opened my mouth to argue when my phone started vibrating against the dresser nearby.
I sighed immediately. “This girl again.”
Booda chuckled. “You should probably answer before she file a missing person report.”
“You might be right.”
I walked over to the nightstand and grabbed the phone.
“What now?” I answered, annoyance creeping into my tone.
