Cyren giggled. “I swear I forgot. It’s cold. I was trying to hurry up.”
Turning the volume down on the radio, Heavy eyed her and smiled. She’d been on his mind all day and having her in his presence eased him.
“A’ight. What’s up, though? You still got an attitude with a nigga?”
“No. I never really had one. I was just telling you to call me back once it was quieter,” she informed. “Hanging up was the only way to get you off the phone.”
Heavy nodded. “I hear you. But it’s gon’ be times you call me, and I can’t answer, or if I do, I’m busy, with shit going on around me. That doesn’t mean I ain’t wanna talk to you, or for you to hang up in my face.”
Cyren realized her actions had bothered him, but so did his.
“I’m sorry about that. It won’t happen again. But if I’m asking or telling you to do something, it’s because I know you are busy. Me staying on the phone with you, halfway listening to me, was only going to piss me off. Or get you blocked.”
Heavy chuckled. “Damn. Blocked is extreme. I got you, though. Glad we could come to an understanding.”
Smiling, Cyren nodded. “Mhm. I am, too. You didn’t have to stop what you were doing to come see me.”
“Yes, I did. Was tired of being ‘round them niggas anyway,” he said, yawning, running a hand over his goatee and beard. “Had to come see my baby.”
Cyren’s eyes had been on his lips, but the bruises on his knuckles drew her attention away. Her hand touched his before she could stop it. Heavy didn’t pull away; just let her caress the scars. He kept his eyes on her French-tipped, almond-shaped nails as she rubbed his hand. Her fingers against his rough skin was like butter sliding across a slice of warm, toasted bread.
“Did you win?”
Heavy wasn’t sure if she was talking about the fight or the dice game, but the answer was yes to both.
“Yeah,” he mumbled, clearing his throat.
“Good.” She pulled her hand away, while his went into the pocket of his joggers.
The sound of him counting and peeling off bill after bill from the thick stack echoed around them, and her nipples tingled. Cyren had no idea the sound and act alone could arouse her, but it had. Shamed, she shifted in her seat.
“Here,” Heavy said, handing the money to her.
Cyren glanced at it and back at him.
“You were on my mind the entire time. This your cut,” Heavy explained without her asking questions. He knew she had them.
She took the bills and slid them into the pocket of her jacket. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
Before he could say something else, Tish’s name flashed across the dashboard screen. Here she was again, calling at themostinconvenient of times. Heavy declined it without a second thought. Cyren wanted nothing more than to ask him who Tish was, but then she thought about how easily he’d just declined her call. He’d answered for her, so in her mind, whoever Tish was, wasn’t important. Yet, she couldn’t stop her thoughts from tumbling out of her mouth.
“You could’ve answered that.”
“Nah. She didn’t want anything,” Heavy replied so honestly and quickly, Cyren didn’t know what to say.
He hadn’t come right out and said who she was, but he didn’t outright ignore Cyren’s suggestion either.
“Oh. Okay. Well, I’ma get back in here so I can eat,” she said. Heavy chuckled, causing her to frown. “What’s funny?”
“You. What you running from?”
Cyren blinked, almost insulted. “I’m not running from anything. I’m just gonna let you get back to your night, and I’ma go eat my food.”
“But who said that’s what I was trying to do?” Heavy asked, pressing her.
Cyren had mistaken him for a man who gave up easily. He was down for the chase, so she could try to escape, but he was going to be on her heels at each turn.
