“When I got tired of being scared,” I said.
Her lips pressed together for a moment, then another soft question. “How old was that?”
“Too young,” I said.
She nodded and left it alone.
“Okay,” she said, lifting her chin. “My turn. You ever been in love?”
It took me a second to register the question, but when I did, I smiled. Such a girl question. Now, answering it… suddenly, the overhead light felt hotter. She watched me, trying to look patient and casual, but failing.
“Nah,” I said.
She clicked her tongue. “Cap.”
“I ain’t lying,” I insisted. “I’ve fucked. I’ve been, um, attached once. But I haven’t been in love.”
She didn’t look triumphant about getting that out of me, like I expected. She just looked thoughtful. “That girl at the ballpark?”
I just looked at her. She gave me a half smile.
“You scared of it?”
“Maybe scared of the consequences. Love makes niggas do sloppy things. I don’t like sloppy.”
“Mm.” She tapped the table with her nails. “You think love is sloppy. Have you seen real love?”
“Have you?” I shot back.
“Yes. I come from it,” she said, no hesitation.
“Yeah? Well, must be nice, Little Thug,” I muttered.
“The good thing is, you don’t have to come from love to have it, Mekhi,” she asserted.
We just stared at each other, left that loaded statement sitting right there.
“How you learn to stop?” she asked quietly, suddenly.
I frowned. “Stop what?”
“Whatever had you in these rooms.”
“I ain’t want death or jail,” I said. “And I had somebody older and smarter telling me to run while I still had free legs when I got the opportunity.”
“That somebody still around?”
“Yeah,” I said, thinking of Carlos Morales.
“You thank him?”
“Every month when he invoices me.”
She smiled at that. “All about that bottom line. All that matters, huh?”
Looking down into her beautiful face, I murmured, “Not all.”
“Tell me what else matters,” she invited softly.
