I stoneface her, pulling an imaginary zip over my lips.
“Daddy.” She stomps her foot. “Tell me.”
“Okay, okay,” I finally release a laugh. “Yeah, it was Niomi.”
“You have to talk to her. Have dinner with her. Something.”
“Is my daughter giving me advice on my love life?”
“What love life?” she asks dryly.
“You got a point. How about you leave the old folks to figure our stuff out and you focus tonight on being Finley’s new queen, huh?”
“Okay.” She tips up to kiss my cheek.
I pull her close and kiss the top of her head. “I love you, kid. You know that?”
She looks up at me and nods, the smile on her face sweeter—at least for me—than I’ve seen in a long time. “I know.”
CHAPTER SIX
niomi
“So wereyour producers happy with the interview today?”
I hear Janelle’s question, but my attention is divided between her and the main entrance. The gym is packed with students, alumni, faculty, staff, people from the community. Every two seconds someone comes up to say hi, tell me they love the show, ask what I’ve been up to. It’s great seeing everyone again, but the one person I want to see most has not made an appearance.
Janelle snaps her fingers in front of my face. “The interview, Ni.”
“Oh, yeah. They loved it.”
“I bet they aren’t used to sexual tension on the morning show.”
My attention jerks to her smug expression. “What sexual tension?”
“Chile, that interview was straight foreplay. I was ‘bout to throw a bucket of cold water on you and Touré. You were probably sweating through that cardigan.”
“I was not . . .we were not.” I blow out a breath. “Shut up, Nelle.”
“Why didn’t you ever tell me he kissed you? Biiiiiitch, that is the hot tea you s’posed to spill.”
“He didn’t say it was me.” I try to keep my face neutral, but I can feel my lips quirking.
“I remember that party. It was at Kyle’s apartment, and you disappeared for like an hour.”
“Everyone disappears at parties.”
“Yeah, but now I remember that he did, too. I was looking for you and Kyle was going around asking everybody if they had seen Touré.”
Damn her vivid memory.
Touré and I made a beer run to the liquor store around the corner. Both slightly buzzed, we stopped walking on the way back and sat on a bench. Neither of us were eager to return to Kyle’s tiny apartment packed with our friends. Someone had vomited in the living room, and despite our valiant efforts to clean, a pungent scent had permeated the air. I was tired of the stench and the loud music by the time Touré asked if I wanted to roll out to grab more drinks.
“Heifer, was it you?” Janelle demands again.
“Damn, Nelle,” I laugh. “What difference does it make? That was twenty years ago.”
“Well obviouslyhewas thinking about it enough to bring it up in the interview tuh-day.”
