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“Call niggas. Yes, I remember.” He leaned back in the chair.

The server appeared and gave Cardez a curious look as he ordered a whiskey neat, then glanced at the empty bottle of wine. “Bring another bottle of whatever that was.”

The waiter glanced at me and I nodded.

“It’s been three weeks,” I said once she was out of earshot.

“You feel a way about that?”

“You disappear and now you’re here like shit is sweet, asking me if I feel a way? Are you dumb?”

“So that’s a yes.”

“Ugh!” I wanted to throw my wine at him. “You’re annoying as fuck, you know that?”

“I’ve been told.” He thanked the server when she brought our drinks. He poured my glass, which pissed me off even more because it was charming and I didn’t want that from him right now.

He sipped his drink with a smug expression while I glared at him.

“What did you say to Ian?” I asked after a beat.

“I ain’t say shit to that nigga, Belle.”

“So, he just said fuck me and this date?”

He shrugged. “Sounds like he has piss poor manners.”

“Alright.” I shook my head, realizing this conversation wasn’t going anywhere.

He sipped his whiskey, unbothered. “Why you even worried about a nigga you wasn’t even feeling? You looked bored out of your mind when I walked in.”

It didn’t matter that he was right. The fact that Cardez could read that from wherever he’d been sitting, watching me without me knowing, made me feel exposed in a way I didn’t appreciate.

I crossed my arms and stared at him as the restaurant hummed around us. This was stupid, why was I even entertaining him?

I grabbed my purse and stood to leave. “I’m not doing this with you.”

“Sit down, Belle.” He didn’t raise his voice, but his hand tightened slightly around his glass.

I stood there, clutch in hand, caught between my pride, and the fact that his tone was making me wet.

“Sit. Down,” he repeated, softer, but no less firm. His steely gaze held mine—he already knew I wasn’t going anywhere and was just waiting for me to get with the program.

I huffed out an annoyed breath and sat, picking up my wine glass to take a long sip. My heart was hammering and my panties were soaked. I simultaneously wanted to snuff him and climb into his lap.

“You done throwing a tantrum?” he asked.

“I’m not throwing a tantrum,” I grumbled.

“You sure? Because you’re sitting there tryna act like you not turned on right now.”

My face flushed. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You don’t?” He licked his lips as a wry smile spread on his face. “So if I slid my hand between your thighs, you wouldn’t be wet?”

I sucked in a breath.

“That’s what I thought.” He chuckled. “So let’s dead the bullshit. You’re feeling me. I’m feeling you. All I’m asking is that you pick up the phone when you’re thinking about me, and I’ll do the same. That’s it.”