“Aight.”
That was it. No questions, no nothing.
“You good?”
“Yeah,” he said, nodding once.
But it wasn’t right. His voice was flat, his eyes still halfway on the TV like he was trying not to think about something.
“No, you not,” I said. “What’s going on with you?”
He exhaled, rubbing his hand over his beard. “I said I’m good, ma. Go ahead and clear your head.”
I didn’t move. “Not until you talk to me.”
His jaw tightened.
“I’m good, shorty.”
The edge in his voice hit different this time.
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“Do what?”
“Try to push me off like I’m one of them.” My tone stayed calm, but it carried. “I’m sitting right here talking to you.”
Silence stretched between us before he finally spoke.
“You always do that.”
“Do what?”
“Act like you don’t see what you’re doing.”
My brows lifted. “And what exactly am I doing?”
A small smirk pulled at his mouth. “You be pushing me… then looking at me like you ain’t the reason I’m sitting here like this.”
“How am I the reason?” I shot back. “I’m not the reason you’re in that cast—you are.”
He let out a low laugh, shaking his head. “Aight.”
“What?”
“You really don’t get it.”
“Then explain it.”
He shifted, adjusting his arm. “You think I’m talking about this?” he asked, lifting the cast slightly.
“That’s what you brought up.”
He leaned forward just a little. “Nawl, I’m talking about you.”
My brows pulled together. “What about me?”
“The way you look at me,” he said. “The way you act when I’m next to you.”
