Page 40 of Roman Blake
“I’m locked in,” I said.
He gave me one more look like he didn’t believe me, then headed for the door.
At the doorway, he paused. “One more thing.”
I lifted my chin. “What?”
“Melissa been havin’ to be the man for herself and her parents for a long time,” he said. “If you really want her to be your woman, you gon’ have to show her she safe enough to put all that down. That ain’t gon’ happen from you playin’ cool. You know that.”
He left without waitin’ for an answer.
Soon as the door shut, I pulled my phone back out.
Scrolled up.
Saint Lucia.
Her sendin’ me pictures of the water, her food, her toes in the sand. Little shit. But she was sendin’. She was initiatin’.
Back home, I was the one startin’ most of the conversations.
“You good?”
“Did you eat?”
“What you doing?”
Half the time she’d answer, half the time she’d leave me on delivered for hours.
I called her.
The phone rang damn near to the end before she picked up.
“Hello?” Her voice was breathy, like she’d been movin’ around.
“You busy?” I asked.
“Kind of.” She let out a small sigh. “What’s up?”
I ain’t like that.
That “what’s up” like I was some nigga from Instagram askin’ where she at.
“Where you at?” I asked anyway.
She let out a little laugh. “Wow. You not even gon’ ease into that?”
“I wouldn’t ask if I ain’t wanna know,” I said. “Where you at, Melissa?”
“Why?”
That one word rubbed me wrong.
“‘Cause I asked you,” I said, in a flat tone.
She went quiet for a second. I could damn near see her rollin’ her eyes.
“I’m at Charlee house,” she finally said. “We goin’ out later.”
