I scrunched up my face, flipping the card in my hand. “Why? I’ve never even been to a baby shower.”
“‘Cause my wife wants to be your friend, that’s why,” he said, exasperated. “You do need some women in your life. No one’s saying you gotta be all froufrou and shit, but come through, socialize. Your man will be there.”
I skimmed over the details—it was this weekend. “I gotta figure this stuff out with my dad’s money…”
“Oh brother.” He waved me off, already turning back to his computer. “Whatever, come or don’t. I did my part.”
TWO YEARS AGO
Fontaine had started finding excuses to see me after that night at the Emerald Lounge, saying he had extra intel, but it was usually fluff shit that I had no use for. The first time we slept together, I knew there was something different, but I ignored it. I’d been trying to convince myself it didn’t matter, because none of this mattered. And when it was all over, I’d leave and we could forget this ever happened.
Lies I told myself when I insisted we sneak around. We were two grown adults acting like teenagers because I didn’t want Cash and the others to know. It was getting harder to ignore how easily we kept finding our way back to each other.
It was Thursday night. My feet were kicked up on his lapwhile some obscure horror movie played on the TV. I liked his condo more than mine. Fontaine was a bit of a neat freak, but there was a warmth to his place that mine didn’t have. Pictures of his mom, sister, and nephew were all over the walls, and collectible action figurines lined his shelves. Awards from Duke hung in his office.
My condo was fine, but it was just somewhere I slept when I was in Atlanta, which wasn’t often.
His hand kept tracing circles on my ankle, and every so often his thumb would press into the arch of my foot in a way that made me want to crawl into his lap.
I didn’t though, because I had self-control. Allegedly.
“Wanna watch something else?” he asked without looking away from the TV.
“Huh? I’m paying attention.”
“You’ve been staring at me for the past fifteen minutes.”
I kicked him lightly in the thigh. He caught my foot and held it, looking over at me with a half-smile that made me want to punch him and kiss him at the same time. He pulled my legs further into his lap and pressed a kiss to my ankle.
Heat spread through me as goosebumps covered my skin. I hated that my body was so reactive to him.
“I like this,” he said, leaning his head back against the couch.
“What?”
“This. You being here.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You getting soft on me?”
He laughed, the sound rumbling through his chest. Fontaine had this way of being so steady, so solid, that being with him made everything feel less heavy. I never realized how wound up I was until I started spending time with him—how much tension I carried in my body. Years of it. And how his presence gave me the ability to just be. To unravel and truly exhale.
He tugged me toward him so that I was sliding across the couch until I was tucked against his side. His arm wrapped around me and I settled into his chest, my ear pressed against his heartbeat. Slow and even. Everything about him was steady.
“You’re like a bear,” I murmured.
He looked down at me. “A bear?”
”Mm. Big. Warm.” I traced a lazy line down his chest with my nail. “Protective. But you could snap someone in half if you wanted to.”
“That’s how you see me?”
“That’s what you are.”
He went quiet, rubbing my arm and mulling over my words the way he always did.
“Aight,” he said. “Then you’re a kitten.”
I pulled back. “Excuse me?”
