“Roman,” Royce said under his breath. “Bro.”
I knew I was dead wrong sayin’ it out loud.
Didn’t matter.
Melissa looked from me to Sean, then back. Her jaw tightened.
“Get up,” she told him. “Go home. I’ll check on you later.”
He glared at me, then struggled to his feet, stumblin’ toward the door.
Once he was gone, she turned back to me, eyes full of fire.
“You a fuckin’ psycho,” she snapped. “You know that?”
“Probably,” I said. “Let’s go.”
The ride to my house was quiet… too damn quiet.
She sat stiff in the passenger seat, arms folded, lookin’ out the window. I could feel the anger radiatin’ off her, hot and sharp.
“I ain’t ask you to do that,” she said finally. “You embarrassed me.”
“He embarrassed you bringin’ his ass in there like he belong with you,” I shot back.
“I invited him,” she said. “You don’t own my time, Roman.”
“I don’t own your time,” I said. “I own what I’m willin’ to watch. I wasn’t gon’ sit there and watch that.”
She sucked her teeth. “You coulda walked out.”
“I don’t walk away from what’s mine,” I snapped.
“I’m not yours.”
“I know what you ‘not,’” I cut her off. “I also know I’m not about to argue in a hood bar in front of twenty niggas with cameras out. So yeah, I handled it quick.”
She went quiet after that.
When we pulled up to my house, I killed the engine and got out without sayin’ nothin’, walkin’ to the door.
She followed, still fumin’, but she followed.
Inside, it was quiet.
I ain’t bring her to the bedroom like all the other times.
We ended up in the living room instead.
She dropped down on the couch, arms still crossed, eyes roamin’ around like it was the first time she’d actually seen the place.
Pictures on the walls.
Her gaze landed on one in particular, a photo of me and Mo at some cookout, her sittin’ on my lap, both of us laughin’. Another one next to it, her kissing my cheek.
Melissa went still.
“Who’s that?” she asked, voice softer.
