Chapter 4 Hasheem #2
“I got it, my guy,” I told him automatically, already rolling our suitcases toward the back of the Sprinter. “Just point me where they go.”
He rounded the Sprinter and opened the rear doors.
The cool air spilled out like a blessing.
I tossed the bags inside one by one, muscles protesting a little after that long ass flight, but I wasn’t about to let another man wrestle my woman’s over-packed suitcase even if she was just my pretend girl.
“Careful with that one,” Harlowe directed. “That’s my makeup bag.”
I smirked. “You labeled it in all caps, Harlowe. I know,” I said, stacking the suitcases inside.
Once everything was stacked and strapped down, I dusted my hands off and turned back to her.
The Sprinter sat a little high off the ground, so I extended my hand out.
I knew how to be a real gentleman when needed.
“Watch your step,” I said, and she slid her palm into mine before climbing up into the Sprinter.
I watched her soft little belly and thick thighs on full display the entire way, my hand positioned lightly on her waist. For a second, I caught myself staring and licking my lips.
What the fuck am I doing? This was Harlowe.
I’d never looked at her the way I was looking at her now, like I wanted to devour her ass.
That little plane kiss had my head moving funny, and I needed to get a grip.
I loosened my grip on her and kept my hand there just enough to make sure she didn’t slip.
Once she was settled inside, I checked the step one time and then hopped in behind her. The Sprinter was cool as hell on the inside. Kellon Barnes and his wife were surely pulling out all the stops on this brand trip. I could fuck with it.
“That’s everybody.” The driver called from the front, looking at us in the rear view mirror. “Y’all ready to roll out?”
“Yeah,” I told him, giving him a quick nod. “Do your thing.”
Harlowe found a seat in the middle of the Sprinter and scooted over so I could drop down next to her. The second my thigh touched hers, she straightened up and switched into content mode, pulling her phone out and pointing toward the window.
“Hi, y’all!” One of the girls across from us spoke. She had brown skin and knotless braids, and was really pretty. Her man’s arm was slung over her shoulder. “I’m Tiana, and this is Malik. We do couples content, but I’m a stay at home girlfriend, and he’s a welder.”
“Hello.” Harlowe waved. “I’m Harlowe. This is my .
. .” She paused for half a second. “. . . boyfriend, Hasheem. I’m a bookish content creator, and Hasheem’s a lieutenant firefighter,” she finished, like it wasn’t her first time saying that out loud.
I rested my arm along the back of her seat and settled in.
There were two more couples on board, one was asleep and the other one was busy on their phone.
The door shut, and the bus pulled away from the airport, easing us onto the road.
I watched as Zanzibar slid by like something out of postcards—little shops, palm trees, blue water.
I caught Harlowe’s reflection in the glass.
Her eyes were wide with excitement as she held up her blogging camera and recorded.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out.
It was probably just my mama checking in.
I needed to let her know we’d made it anyway.
When I saw my brother’s name, I remembered that I never responded to him yesterday about needing to stop by and borrow my tools.
Big Bro:
Nigga, where you at?
Just slid by the station and Chief talking about you on PTO until next week. I ain’t know you knew what PTO was.
I laughed through my nose as I texted him back.
Me:
Yea, I’m out the country. Africa. Work trip.
Big Bro:
Work my ass. Its valentine’s weekend. I know they ain’t sent yo ass all the way to Africa to be Yogi bear.
You with a shorty ain’t you?
I smirked and looked at Harlowe as she pointed her phone out the window, recording the scenery.
Me:
Nah, some brand trip shit Harlowe dragged me to.
Big Bro:
LMAO. That girl stays dragging you into some shit.
Tell my first love I said hi.
I shook my head at his wild ass. Harlowe did not mess with Marcus like that. She didn’t hate him, but he was the start of her relationship trauma. So repeating that line was a first-class ticket to getting cussed out.
Me:
You go jokes, huh.
Big Bro:
Nah, you got jokes. Shorty break up with me and keep you. Got you all out of the country and shit. Damn.
I shook my head. Marcus always felt a way about me and Harlowe staying tight. He’d got slick about it once, and I checked him quick. We ain’t circled back to that conversation since.
Me:
You the one that fumbled her. Don’t point the finger now.
Big Bro:
I know I fumbled her, nigga. I’m just saying.
You ain’t have to destiny swap a nigga.
Destiny swap was crazy, but he wasn’t all the way wrong. I was out of the country, role playing her man with our first kiss still sitting on my lips. If Marcus knew the lines were blurring like this, he’d be waiting on my porch when I got back, talking about, “Run me my fade, nigga.”
Me:
Hey, I ain’t have to fumble my friend just because you did.
Big Bro:
Yeah, yeah.
Ma got your spare, right? I need to get those tools.
Me:
Yea. Return my shit in a timely manner.
And let Ma know I’m alive. I’ll hit her when we get settled.
Big Bro:
Alright. Thanks Bro. Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do.
I let the screen go dark and slid my phone back into my pocket as the city passed me by. Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do played on a loop in my damn head. I needed to get a grip on whatever was shifting between me and Harlowe. I leaned back, spread my knees, and enjoyed the sights as Harlowe worked.
The bus eased to a stop, and folks started standing, fixing clothes, grabbing bags, and preparing to get off. The door folded open, and a woman in a Duality polo stepped on, tablet in hand covering her face.
“Good morning, couples,” she greeted. “Welcome to The Duality Experience Couples Escape. We’re so happy y’all made it in safe—”
Her words trailed off as she dropped the clipboard, and her face came into view.
“Simone?” Both Harlowe and I whispered in unison.
I had to be hallucinating. There was no way my ex-fiancée I hadn’t seen in a little under a year was all the way in Africa.
I gazed at her, and she was still beautiful.
Her hair was braided up in a ponytail, and the name tag around her neck read Simone: Brand Experiences clear as day.
Last time I saw her, she was in my hoodie on my couch, crying about how she couldn’t compete with my best friend.
We’d spent two years together. I’d asked her to be my wife, but she called it off.
Her eyes hit my face, then slid to my right, where Harlowe’s hand was looped through my arm.
I could see the moment where she connected the dots in her head.
She blinked once, pulled her smile back on, and kept going like nothing happened.
“We’re gonna ride over to the resort, get y’all checked in, and then you can relax, shower, do whatever you need before the welcome mixer tonight,” she said, moving her gaze down the aisle, not lingering on us again. “If you need anything at all, my team and I are here for you.”
If you didn’t know her, you’d think she was unbothered, but I knew her.
They started letting folks off row by row.
When it was our turn, I stood, grabbed our bags, and stepped into the aisle.
Harlowe slid out behind me, fingers still tucked in the bend of my arm like we’d been doing this forever.
We walked past Simone. Her smile stayed for the crowd, but her voice dropped low, just for us.
“Guess I should’ve been worried about her back then, huh?” she spat softly, her eyes bouncing between our faces. “Looks like I wasn’t crazy after all.”
“Hi, Simone.” Harlowe waved politely, and Simone rolled her eyes. Harlowe tightened her grip on my arm, and we kept stepping. I didn’t stop. Didn’t argue. I wasn’t about to try and prove shit to Simone. I’d done right by her when we were together. I didn’t have to answer to her now.
“You at work, Simone,” I said under my breath. “Keep it at that.”
Then I stepped down off the bus, guiding Harlowe with me.