Page 58 of Ice Me Out

“Picowso doesn’t let anyone ride him except my sister, and he’s hot and cold with her trainers.”

“Picowso? Really?”

I huffed.

“Look. Do you want me to tell you the story or not?”

“Gon’ head.”

The corner of my lips ticked into a smile.

He’s so fucking adorable. I can barely stand it.

“I was dared to ride Picowso. I knew better, but I was too stubborn back then to turn down a dare. I thought it was over for me when that bull repeatedly kicked me in the air like a hacky sack.”

Hart howled until I swatted him with a couch cushion.

“I-I’m sorry for laughing, but the visual was too much,” he said, laughing as he clutched his ribs. “Were you hurt badly?” he finally asked.

“Four broken ribs, a fractured wrist, and a double pulmonary contusion.”

“Fuck, Vera. That could’ve ended badly. I hope you don’t take those kinds of risks now.”

I shook my head.

“Trust me. My Blackass days are over.”

He snorted.

“Are the videos still on YouTube?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Shame,” he replied with a disapproving shake of his head. “I—”

He was interrupted when both our phones started ringing. “Shit. I gotta take this, Sugar. I’ll be back,” he said, kissing me on the cheek before leaving the living room. I answered my brother’s call on the final ring when I was certain Hart wasn’t in earshot.

“Verydian, what the hell are you doing in Toronto?” he questioned before I could even squeeze out a hello.

“Did you talk to Danielle?”

“Not yet.”

“You both need to stop tracking my location.”

“Nah. You’re up to no good. What are you doing in Canada?”

“If you must know, Monica and I went off for a girls’ weekend.”

“Lie better.” I sucked my teeth and picked under my acrylics. “Have you heard from Dad?”

“Nope,” I replied, popping the syllable. “Try Celine. That was how I managed to get through him last time.”

“I already did. She said he wasn’t there. The last time she heard from him was three days ago.”

I scoffed in disbelief. There was no way in Hell I’d be romantically involved with a man I didn’t hear from daily, let alone three days. He’d come crawling back home and be met with a pot of bubbling grits on the stove.

“That’s a shame. Do you think he will grace us with his presence for Christmas?”