Page 28 of Collateral Love
“And you don’t care.”
“No.”
He leaned back against the couch, studying me.
“You ever think about what this makes you to me?” he asked.
“Yes,” I said. “A partner.”
“And nothing else?”
I met his gaze steadily.
“Nothing else,” I said.
The lie tasted bitter coming from my lips, but I was committed to him seeing me as his equal and not just another girl with a wet and tight pussy.
Sometime after midnight, the house grew quiet in that way that meant the city was finally catching its breath. The only sound left was the scratch of the pen and the low hum of the fridge.
Zayden leaned back, rubbing his face.
“You eat?” he asked suddenly.
“No. But I could go for some food.”
He stood, disappeared into the kitchen, and came back with two plates—sandwiches cut in half.
I took one.
That was another thing I liked about Zay. He noticed what people needed without making it a spectacle.
We ate in silence, legs stretched out in front of us, the maps still scattered between our feet like we’d built something fragile we didn’t want to disturb.
“I get the feeling you don’t talk about your brother much,” he said quietly.
I swallowed.
“There’s nothing to say,” I replied. “He’s gone.”
“He’s not gone Kenya. Don’t forget about Niggas just cause they’re inside,” he said. “That’s dangerous,” he added.
“You’re right.”
He nodded, understanding exactly what I meant.
“You serious about those Niggas who set him up?” he said.
“I don’t say things I’m not ready to finish.”
“Okay, I’ll set shit in motion,” he commented.
When I finally stood to leave, my body felt heavier than when I’d arrived, as if I’d stepped deeper into something that would never let me pretend again.
Zayden walked me to the door.
“You coming back tomorrow? I want to talk more about the cover-up companies you wanna clean money through,” he asked.
“Yes.”
