Page 32 of Gang of Roses: Rebel

Mm-hmm,” she laughed. “Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

Sebastian looked up at both of us, grinning from ear to ear. “Can we put this one on the fridge?”

Rebel and I looked at each other for a split second before our eyes darted away.

“Yeah,” I answered, clearing my throat. “We can do that.”

The day kept rolling, and somehow Rebel and I never separated. We just kept kicking it, laughing, roasting each other, and following Sebastian wherever he wanted to go. Before I knew it, hours had flown by. Truth be told, I wouldn’t have had it any other way.

Chapter 8

Rain “Rebel” Crawford

Most people believed men and women couldn’t be platonic, but with Crow, that shit was simple. We chilled together, gave each other relationship advice, talked about life, and always had each other’s backs. To those looking in, our friendship didn’t make sense. They were convinced there had to be more to it, but we never paid them any mind. That’s why I enjoyed spending time with him. We were homies, and it never felt complicated. So, when he asked me to go to a basketball game, I canceled the date I had with some nigga without thinking twice. I stood in front of the ironing board with nothing on, but a towel wrapped around my body, running a hot iron across my fitted Warriors jersey. Steam hissed with every pass as I glanced over at the clock.

“Shit,” I mumbled.

I was running behind. But Crow should’ve been used to that shit by now. Still, it never stopped him from running his mouth about it. Before I could press the last wrinkle out of my jersey, I heard the familiar rumble of Crow’s truck pulling into my driveway next to my motorcycle.

A few seconds later, he started knocking on my door like he was the damn police. Usually, he waited for my slow ass to come outside, so I figured something had to be wrong. Although I didn’t care about him coming into my place, I was still standing there wrapped in nothing but a towel. I cracked the door open just enough to see him standing there with one hand shoved in his pocket and the other clutching his stomach.

“The hell you doing?” I asked. “You know I be walking out. Nigga, this ain’t no date.”

He waved me off. “Studly, get out my way. I gotta shit.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Man, you couldn’t do that before you came?”

“You live five minutes from the arena. I wasn’t about to risk it.”

I stepped aside to let Crow inside my place. As he walked past me, his eyes slowly traveled from my bare legs up to the towel wrapped around my body before landing on my face. He smirked and shook his head.

“You know...you could’ve at least put some clothes on.”

I rolled my eyes. “I was ironing them until somebody showed up about to shit on himself.”

He laughed all the way down the hallway toward the bathroom while I hurried back to my room. I quickly threw on my fitted Warriors jersey, a pair of baggy cargo pants, and my fresh pair of Timbs. I was comfortable, but still fly.

A minute later, Crow stepped out of my bathroom, drying his hands on his jeans. The second he looked at me, his eyes slowly traveled from my Timbs all the way up to my face.

“The hell you looking at?” I asked.

He smirked. “Nothin’.”

“Liar.”

“I was just making sure you match my fly.”

“Always,” I winked.

We walked out to his truck, and I climbed into the passenger seat. Anytime we went somewhere together, Crow insisted on driving. I quit arguing with him about it a long time ago. The ride to IndieHood Stadium didn’t take long. After parking in the garage, we made our way inside the building. The second we stepped onto the concourse, my eyes got big seeing that we had courtside tickets.

“Damn...”

Crow glanced over at me. “What?”

“You ain’t tell me the seats were like this.”

He chuckled. “I wanted it to be a surprise.”