“I didn’t say you were.”
“You were thinking it.”
I wasn’t. But I didn’t argue.
We drove in silence for another few minutes. Then I saw the sign for Lakeside Mall and my stomach dropped.
“Amai!”
He pulled into the parking lot.
“What the fuck?” I said, sitting up straighter.
He didn’t answer. Just found a spot near the entrance, put the car in park, and turned off the engine.
Then he turned to look at me.
His eyes were dark. Unreadable.
“First thing you need to know about me,” he said, his voice low and precise, “is Amai Landry gon’ make sure you get your lick back every single time.”
I stared at him.
“Ain’t nobody about to play in your face,” he continued, “’cause that’s like playing in mine.”
My heart was pounding.
“Amai, what are you?—”
He opened his door and stepped out.
I sat there, frozen, watching him walk around the front of the car.
He opened my door.
Held out his hand.
“Come on,” he said.
“I don’t?—”
“Trust me.”
I looked at his hand. Then at his face.
Then I took his hand and let him pull me out of the car.
He walked to the trunk, popped it open, and grabbed the duffel bag. Locked it inside. Then he came back to me and reached for my hand again.
This time, he didn’t just hold it.
He entwined his fingers with mine.
The touch was warm. Firm. Possessive in a way that made my breath catch.
“Don’t trip,” he said, looking down at me. “Just go along with it.”
“Go along with what?”
