36. My Body Is a Cage #2
He offers me a nod, but his eyes are all over Celie, refusing to leave her. “Nice to meet you.” He reaches for Celie’s hand first. “You must be Baby.”
Celie chokes on her coffee.
“Wrong,” I say, tapping the edge of the pen against the table.
He lifts his hands in surrender. “My bad,” he says, then looks right at her. “Saw her smile and got hopeful.”
I can’t blame him. I’ve seen that smile get free drinks, free weed, and get her out of three parking tickets.
Celie glances away, cheeks blushing.
I gesture to the chair. “Sit.”
He grabs a handful of Starburst—reds, pinks, a rogue orange—then drops into the chair without looking at me.
Celie cups her mouth, side-whispering,
“Define what handful means, please.
“We talkin’ greedy or generous?”
My eyes narrow on him.
“Let’s just say he takes what he wants and doesn’t ask permission first.”
He’s watching Celie smile,
subtle as siren.
“So.” I flip the folder open. “Treyson Morales. Bronx native. Massage therapist. Personal trainer. CPR-certified.” I scan down. “Cool. So if you happen to choke on that thirst for my friend here, you can resuscitate yourself.”
He glances at Celie again. “I just—” His eyes steer back to me, but they don’t stay long. “Look, I know I’m here for you. But your homegirl got a pretty smile that’s messin’ with me, and I ain’t tryna be rude not acknowledgin’ it.”
I shut the folder. “You’re aware this is an official interview?”
He shrugs. “Baby, I’m officially into her. Respectfully.”
Celie snorts while pretending to scroll through her phone.
I fall back in the chair, tossing the pen on top of the folder. “Interview’s over. If she wants you, I’ll slide her your number.”
Treyson stands, grin slanted as he looks between us. “To be real? I’mma keep thinkin’ about you ‘til you hit me up.”
He looks at her with that wrecked, starry-eyed gaze, the same gaze Andrew wears whenever he’s looking at me, and seeing it from the outside guts me.
I shoo him out the door. “Alright. Alright. Show’s over. Go.” The second the door clicks shut, I tip my head back with a groan. “You gotta be kidding me.” I shove the folder forward across the table. “I’m tryin’ to run a business here.”
“Oh hell no.” Celie waves her hand. “You’re not goin’ to say what you said and move on. We’re gonna back the fuck up like five minutes.” She slaps the table. “You had sex with Six-Point-Five and you droppin’ it on me all casual like that?”
She chucks a red Starburst at my head. “I need a warning. A drumroll. Shit—somethin’. I’m over here thinkin’ you just flirtin’ and fingerin’, and you tellin’ me you rode that boy? SIX-POINT-FIVE AND ALL?”
Door opens, and the last guy enters.
“Yeah,” I say. “Then I fucked Brandon.
“Twenty-four hours later.”
She flings herself up from the chair,
legs screeching across waxed floors,
big curls bouncing,
eyes wide,
arms flailing,
starting to go off—
// BOY #3 //
The door echoes when it shuts hard,
and Celie and I look up at the next guy.
Brown hair finger-brushed back,
tattoos riding the edge of his throat,
six-one,
cheekbones cut from Carrara marble.
“Hey… I, uh… bad time?”
He hooks a thumb back.
“You want me to come back?”
My smutty gaze swings to Celie,
smirk rising.
She’s standing statue-still,
hand frozen in the air,
mouth still hung open.
“Nah, nah, you good,” she finally says, breaking free from her freeze. “Come in, Daddy Tragedy.”
He scans the room first, then walks in, trousers low on his hips, button-up untucked, and the closer he gets, the more he breaks—smile rising, gaze falling to the ground, like I knocked the wind out of his expectations.
Then his gaze climbs back up again,
a blush painting his cheeks.
It’s that holy-shit panic.
The I-wasn’t-expecting-you-to-be-hot kind.
He reaches the table, stepping in—one foot forward, hand out. “Name’s Honor,” he says, palm flat against his chest. “Nice meetin’ you.”
“Honor? That’s what we callin’ you for real?” Celie says.
His eyes stay on mine, even when he takes Celie’s hand next.
“Group home in North Philly. Strict as hell,” he explains.
“Stripped our names and gave us values instead. Said it’d build character or some shit.
” He squares his shoulders. “Worth. Hero. Noble. Prosper. Mercy. Creed.” He points at himself. “And Honor.”
“Honor,” I repeat, jerking my chin toward the glass bowl. “Pick one. Then have a seat.”
His fingers hover, hands veined. Orange.
The second he turns his back,
Celie’s in my ear. “Mm-hmm. It’s over.
“Baby’s stamped on his forehead.”
The chair legs scrape back as I stand.
“There’s only one way to test it.”
Honor slides into the chair,
one leg stretched out.
I step around the table. “She’s going to ask you questions,” I explain, nudging my head toward Celie. “I want you to answer every single one… eyes never leaving mine. Got it?”
He nods.
“Take it away, Celie.”
She scoots her chair under the table,
sits up taller,
then clears her throat.
“You eat ass?”
My eyes slowly close.
She’s an ass-eating evangelist
with zero anal experience.
Honor lifts his chin toward me.
“For you, yeah.”
Then Celie fires off after that: “How you handle jealousy? You strike me as the type to slash tires.”
Him: “Nah, I don’t do jealousy. I do loyalty. Raised in a Catholic foster home. You give me rules. I follow ‘em.”
I stand tall, pop the button on my dress pants slow, dragging the zipper down as I walk toward him.
He shifts in his chair,
eyes not leaving mine.
Her: “Can you be loyal without attention?”
Him: “If I’m yours, I stay yours. Whether you lookin’ at me or not.”
My pants slide down my thighs and puddle at my ankles.
I step out of them.
Her: “Have any dreams or aspirations to be in the music industry?”
“Nah. That ain’t me.”
Her: “How long’s your mouth game last before your jaw tap out?”
I reach for my halter,
starting at the top,
pulling one string at a time.
“Long as you need,” he says, gravel in his throat. “I’ll give it to you.”
I continue walking toward him,
one step after another.
Her: “What’s your attachment style? Don’t play dumb. I’ll know.”
Him: “Secure when I’m chill.” His chin lifts, eyes staying with mine as I step between his spread thighs. “Get real clingy when I—” He sinks back and he clears his throat, “—when I slip up and catch feelings. Act a lil’ obsessed when I care too much. Rare, but shit happens. Better you know now.”
Her: “You understand the rules: no intercourse, no head, no nuttin’.”
“Yeah. You’re safe with me.”
I slip my halter off my shoulders, baring my tits to the cold room, my nipples hard.
“Okay, fuck—” He breaks the word off,
then lets out a breathy laugh. “Okay.”
Her: “Last relationship?”
“Uh—” He chuckles, then bites his lip. “Three years ago. First and last.” His Adam’s apple jumps. “You’re… you’re gorgeous, you know that?”
My stomach’s turning. As if this body isn’t neutral ground anymore. It’s Andrew’s territory. And now just standing naked and exposed in front of someone who isn’t him feels like cheating.
It shouldn’t.
It’s my body, not Andrew’s.
But it still feels like cheating,
and I hate that.
Her: “Ever been in love?”
Honor’s eyes are locked on mine so tightly, knowing if he looks anywhere else it might get him kicked out. “Nah.” He’s breathing heavier now. “Thought it was it. But figured if it were, she wouldn’t’ve cheated. So guess it wasn’t.”
Her: “How many inches is your dick?”
I tell myself to move, tell myself to slide onto his lap, but I’m stuck in this spot, praying this sick-to-my-stomach feeling shuts up.
“Shit. Yeah. Uh. Five and a half.”
Her: “Head or heart?”
Heart? My heart’s screaming at me to step away from the boy. My head, on the other hand, is lost in a fog.
“Heart,” he chokes out.
“Head be lyin’ when it gets scared.”
Her:
“The worst lie you ever told a girl?”
For a second,
I think his eyes might fall to my tits,
and I go rigid at the thought.
“Promised I wouldn’t leave,” he says.
“Then I did.”
My heart turns slow,
her eyes narrowing at him.
“Why?” I snap.
He flinches, then shifts in place.
“She cheated. So I stepped off.”
His words leave cold
and impale like hail.
“Say I hire you,” I say, my fingers shaking behind my back. “You ever leave me, you gonna man up and say it to my face first?”
His eyes drift between mine.
“If I walk? It ain’t without a reason. But I’d never leave without two weeks’ notice.”
I hate that he said it like that.
As if this is nothing more than a job.
Which is true, but still.
Feels impersonal.
“That’s all I needed to know.” I turn fast and collect my clothes on the way to the table, step into my pants, zip, button, then slide back into my halter, tying the strings one by one.
“I’ll keep in touch,” I mutter, keeping my back to him, listening for the door click before I unclench my jaw.
When I risk a glance at Celie, she’s glaring at me. “Start from the top. What the hell happened?”
“Honor seems like the most obvious choice,” I say, nodding. “I think I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”
“Nah—” She drops back in her chair, arms crossed. “You wearin’ the face. I seen that face that one time you hit a squirrel and mourned for a month. There’s more to this already fucked up story.”
I fucked Andrew once
and now nothing else feels right.
Is it ‘cause I took him raw?
Is his cum still inside me, and now he’s somehow controlling my body?
Is something like that even possible?
“He texted me,” I mumble.
“HE TEXTED YOU—” She pauses and cocks her head, squinting confused. “He texted you? The fuck he text you? Did he threaten you? Say the word and I’ll—”
“Chill out.” I slide my phone off the table and open his text. “‘Thanks for showing up yesterday,’” I mutter, holding the phone out and showing her the text. “I gave him my whole body, and this kid sends me a thank-you card?”
I scoff before reading the best part, “‘Thanksgiving meant a lot.’” My face falls deadpan. “Meant. Past tense, Celie. Like he's saying, thanks for the memory, Allison.” I set my phone back on the table. “Like that was the peak, and now it’s over.”