“You only got three properties,” he pointed out.
“I’m saving my money,” I lied.
“You saving it for what? The rapture?”
My eyes narrowed. “I’m saving it for the right investment.”
My voice was all haughty, like I knew something he didn’t.
I didn’t know shit.
“Farrah, you missed three good opportunities already. If you need some help?—”
I would never admit that shit! I might as well keep lying. “That’s because the math wasn’t mathing.”
He stared at me.
“That don’t even mean anything,” he said flatly.
I turned my nose up at him. “Don’t worry about what it means.”
“I’m very worried. You make sure I review your retirement plan… when you get one.”
“You too emotional,” I said, waving him off. “Roll the dice.”
He scoffed. “That’s wild, coming from you.”
“I’m chill. Not emotional at all,” I denied.
“You chaotic as fuck, Little Thug.”
“I like to call it whimsical,” I argued.
“I like to call it delusional.”
I swear I couldn’t stand this man. “Roll the damn dice, Mekhi.”
He rolled and landed on his own property, of course. I stared at the board frowning.
“This game is racist.”
He laughed then, a real laugh. It was low and warm and rich. Man, I loved that sound. It made me feel like I was easing his mind, exactly what I wanted to do.
“Your turn,” he said.
I rolled. The dice clattered across the board, bumping a few houses before stopping. Onhisspace. Again. His most expensive one. That mothafuckin’ Boardwalk. With a hotel.
I froze.
He leaned back slowly, hands on his knees, eyes locked on me, smug with amusement.
“Go ‘head and run me my twelve hunnid, shorty.”
“Twelve hundred?” I screeched. “Why is a piece of cardboard costing twelve hundred American dollars?”
“Property value,” he said simply, shrugging those broad, beautiful, brown shoulders.
“You lying. You rigged this game,” I accused.
