A total catch.
One that I threw back into the ocean.
It was silly of me to think that just because he flirts with me every Sunday that he was carrying a torch for me.
He doesn’t owe me a thing.
And yet, I’m standing here dangerously close to tears wanting to say things like “How could you?” and “I thought there was something between us.”
Experience has taught me that I almost always regret the things I say when I let my emotions lead.
I turn and head for my car. Words are meaningless and there’s too much to unpack from this evening. And I’m not sure I can believe a single word he says.
It’s cowardly to leave like this, but I don’t owe that man a damn thing.
He told my mother he was home sick when heclearlyisn’t.
He says he’s a lawyer, but he lives in a mansion fit for royalty.
My head is spinning with so many questions and warring emotions as I get into my car and drive away.
The Kwame who comes to our house on Sundays rides an old bike and doesn’t have a fuck buddy.
I don’t knowwhothis man is.
I’m not sure I want to.
Chapter Twenty
Kwame
Split
I stalk back into the yard and slam the gate closed behind me.
I can’t believe this happened.
I grab my half full bottle and drop into one of the cushions around the fire pit.
“Well, that was exciting,” Lo drawls and sits down on my cushion.
“No, actually it was a disaster.” She’s too close for comfort and I bring my body up to sitting and move to the next cushion. “She’s probably thinking about never speaking to me again.”
“Not probably. Definitely.”
I flash her a murderous glare before I turn to face the fire pit, my cold fingers extended toward the flames.
“Kwame’s got a crush. I never thought I’d see it.” She giggles.
“There’s nothing funny about any of this.”
“Tell me about it. Peeping Thomasina killed my vibe just when it was finally getting hot, and now I have to figure out how to get it back.” She reaches over to run her fingers down my forearm.
“No, Lo.” I grab her wrist and place her hand on her lap and let go. “Our friends with bennies situation is past it’s sell-by date.”
“Jeez, fine,” she huffs and falls back in her seat and crosses her arms over chest. “Do…you want me to leave?” she asks in an uncharacteristically quiet voice.
Guilt takes the edge of my annoyance. None of this is her fault. I’ve given her mixed signals all week. “I’m sorry. No. I wasn’t expecting her. I’m rattled.” To say the least.
