“Fight me later.”
Diablo’s voice comes through the phone. “Shady.”
“I heard.”
“Don’t let her out of your sight.”
I look at Lady.
Too late for promises I can’t keep cleanly.
“She won’t be.”
I hang up.
The elevator opens with a soft chime.
Empty.
I step in first, check the corners like a psycho because that’s what living long enough in this world teaches you. Lady follows, arms crossed, chin up, smelling like expensive shampoo and fury.
The doors slide shut.
For forty floors, neither of us speaks.
That’s fine.
Silence has always made more sense to me than words.
But Lady uses silence like a blade, and by the twentieth floor I can feel every inch of it.
“You should’ve told me about Cherry,” she says finally.
I stare at the steel doors. “Yeah.”
That makes her look at me.
“You’re agreeing?”
“I’m not stupid.”
“Debatable.”
“I should’ve told her there was no chance.”
Lady’s throat moves.
“Why didn’t you?”
I could say because it didn’t matter. Because club whores flirt, text, pout, rotate through men and drama like it’s part of the furniture. Because Cherry has always liked thinking she knows things about me nobody else does. Because I never promised her shit.
All true.
None good enough.
“Because I didn’t think anything I did before you counted,” I say.
The elevator hums.
