He let out a breath through his nose. “I hate this conversation.”
I nudged his arm lightly. “Hey. You want me to tell you something fucked up about myself so you feel better?”
He gave me a look, “…sure.”
I kept messing with my earring, suddenly avoiding his eyes.
“I lowkey miss Jason sometimes.”
“Oh, fuck off with that.”
“I’m serious!” I stepped in front of him now, forcing him to look at me.
“Get the fuck outta here. No way you actually care about that goddamn waxmaker.”
“He was nice!” I said, hands moving as I spoke. “Like, I know it’s my brain being a little bitch and only picking out the good shit and completely ignoring all the bad, but when it was good… it was so good.”
He went quiet, watching me.
“…you think about him when you with me?”
I groaned. “Oh, come on, Marlon.”
“Nah.” He stepped closer. “Answer the question.”
“No! I don’t.”
“You lying?”
“Why would I?” I folded my arms. “Besides… you make it hard for me to think about anything else.”
He hummed under his breath. “Hm.”
I tilted my head. “Do you think about other people with me?”
“No.”
My lips curled slightly. “Aww… really?”
“Yeah. Guilt does that to people.”
I smirked. “I bet it’s eating your ass up too.”
“Munching.”
I laughed, but he didn’t.
He shook his head. “Tch. I still can’t believe that lame ass bottle nigga got you thinking about him all these years later.”
I rolled my eyes. “Why do you even care?”
“I don’t.”
“Right…”
He stepped closer again, voice dropping slightly.
“You been at his house?”
