Chapter 3 Amelia
amelia
A trip to Urban Grind always hit the right note for me.
Every.
Freaking.
Time.
I got myself there early enough to get my preferred, perfect little spot in a cozy chair next to the window, got a latte and a pastry, and locked in on things with Proxy.
The technical side of things was largely over my head – at least where the coding and databases and cyber security of it all were concerned. Ideas and implantation, all the operations?
All me.
And I adored it.
The Heights was very important to me, so being able to create something that impacted the community in such a positive way really made all the bullshit fade to background noise.
I couldn’t bring myself to give a fuck about what was happening in my personal life when my daily customer experience check told the story of an elder getting consistent transportation to her sewing club thanks to a teen who needed funds for their college applications and graduation expenses.
Or the new mom who was thriving thanks to a weekly meal delivery from a private chef who was trying to get her business off the ground. And so many other stories.
Yes, a nominal fee was exchanged, but it was still neighbor helping neighbor and I was glad to facilitate.
The few hours I had to run through my administrative tasks flew by in a blur of refills and short –welcomed – interruptions from people I knew. I hated to break when I did, but I had to be available for my appointment time for the movers.
Not something I could miss.
Which made my decision to leave thirty minutes before, even though it was only a ten minute walk feel even wiser when I ran into Winnie, who was coming in as I was leaving.
“Ames – you haven’t been to KANAOS class in like two weeks – what’s going on?” she asked, greeting me with a hug, and stepping outside with me so we weren’t blocking the door.
I returned her hug, but frowned at her words. “What is… what class did you say? Is that an acronym?”
She grinned. “It is – I’m workshopping the name,” she explained. “It’s the usual cardio kickboxing, but I want to promote it as kick a nigga ass or something,” she said, with a flourish of her hands like she was visualizing it on a billboard.
“Kick a—Winnie, please,” I giggled, and she shrugged.
“What?!” she asked, that grin getting even bigger.
“Tell me I’m not on to something. Imagine it, you’ve been victimized physically or emotionally or hell – knowing some of these motherfuckers, spiritually, and you decide to get stronger, get some movement in, you know?
You go looking for classes, you run across the acronym, and you wonder, what’s that.
Then you read the description, which includes the explanation of the acronym…
,” she said, still painting the picture. “Tell me what your reaction would be!”
I laughed. “This is insane… but… I think that’s the class.”
“Boom,” Winnie nodded. “See? Jonathan thinks I’m bugging, but I think it’s going to be a hit.”
“You know Jonathan likes to keep it cute, so I understand him, but… I kinda like it. Keep talking to people about it, get some more feedback.”
“Bet – but uh… my question still stands, friend. Where you been?”
“Well last week I just had a meeting, so I couldn’t make it.”
She squinted at me. “And… this week?”
“You already know what happened this week.”
“Yeah,” she sucked her teeth. “I’m saying – that shit is a perfect reason come kickbox, duh.”
“I know,” I laughed. “I just… I’ve been in a weird place.”
“I get. You want me to kick that nigga ass or something?”
“Winnie!”
“What?” she shrugged. “I want the record to show that I never like him. For you specifically or otherwise. Like never, ever, at all.”
“I’m aware,” I nodded.
She had never, ever, at all, been quiet about it either, even to his face. In fairness though, her reasoning had never been like… break up with him sis type reasons.
She thought he was corny.
And physically weak.
And she didn’t like his face.
And he didn’t drink enough water for her liking.
Really random – and admittedly funny – stuff that I probably should’ve taken a little more seriously, considering how it all worked out.
“Okay, so like… do you need me to handle that?”
“No,” I assured her. “There’s nothing to handle. Just… two people it didn’t work out between. Nothing more.”
She twisted her lips like she was considering my words for a moment before she nodded. “Okay but if you change your mind – I’ve got a two piece for his ass I’ve been waiting to drop off.”
“I’m not going to change my mind.”
“Fine,” she rolled her eyes. “I’ll see you in class next week then, right?”
“I… yes. You will,” I agreed before we parted ways. She was on a break between the fitness classes she hosted at the gym she owned with her boyfriend, and I had an appointment time to make.
Because of the time spent talking with Winnie, I had to put a little pep in my step to make it back with a little lead time before the movers arrived. Summer was in full effect, so by the time I made it to the building, I was a sweaty mess, debating on if I had time for a quick shower.
Which… actually wouldn’t make sense, since I would just sweat through my clothes even more in the process of getting my stuff moved in.
Thank goodness for aluminum-laden deodorant I guess.
A thought occurred to me as I stored my few belongings out of the way on the kitchen counter, so I pulled my phone out to open the Proxy app for a new transaction.
Snacks and water.
Yeah, I had the few items I’d packed for my personal fulfilment, but I was sure the movers would appreciate cold drinks and a sandwich platter. With that order placed, I went back downstairs to navigate the truck to a more accessible, albeit temporary space.
And then I waited.
And… waited.
It was normal enough for the time to have five or ten minutes of wiggle room, but once that time had passed with no communication, that’s when I got a little concerned.
I grabbed my phone, intending to check my appointment one more time, even though I knew I had the right date and time, and had gotten the confirmation and all.
Well… I tried to check it.
What actually happened was that I discovered my phone screen was frozen – a stupid glitch that been happening since I finally stopped postponing the last hardware update a few days ago.
Shit.
As soon as I restarted and unlocked it, the device started pinging with notifications.
A you definitely fucked something up amount of notifications.
“No,” I groaned, already pouting as I read through the notifications letting me know the movers were arriving.
Had arrived.
Were waiting.
Would wait five more minutes.
Were giving me another five minutes as a courtesy.
Regrettably had to go.
I was still charged the full rate, plus the tip, because I always checked that box. And I couldn’t even be too mad, because the movers had showed up.
On the right date.
At the appointed time.
At the agreed-upon location.
The townhouse I was supposed to be moving into.
Not this building.
I…
Okay.
Okay.
I tossed the phone onto the dashboard.
Closed my eyes.
Clenched my fists.
And… fuck it, I screamed.
And… I felt the tiniest bit better.
Until I opened my eyes, and locked gazes with my neighbor, who was standing on the sidewalk in front of the truck.
If his expression was any indication… I looked exactly as crazy as I felt.
Maybe crazier.
And then his face cracked into a laugh.
“No! No!” I declared, turning the ignition off and opening the door to climb down. “You do not get to laugh at me!”
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s wild, considering that I’m definitely laughing right now.”
“Nothing is funny!”
“You sitting alone in a moving truck screaming bloody murder is objectively funny as hell,” he countered. “Are you cool?”
“No, I’m not fucking cool. Clearly I am not cool. I have not been cool. Are you cool?!”
“Breezy, actually,” he grinned. “What’s going on though? Seriously.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes,” he nodded. “This is a nice, peaceful neighborhood, and you’re killing the vibe.”
My mouth dropped. “I’m killing the vibe? I’m kil—you know what… no. No, I do not need your help.”
“You clearly need help. Like… this a textbook case of someone needing help. Maybe on a clinical level.”
“Oh is it clear? Really?” I sucked my teeth, turning back to the truck as he called behind me—
“In Eight-K-Ultra-High-Definition Sweetheart.”
I couldn’t keep the snarl off my face as I turned. “Sweetheart?! Who the fuck even are you?!”
“Calvin Cross,” he answered, extending a hand in my direction with a stupid grin.
It took all my self control not to slap it away, opting instead to simply ignore it as I crossed my arms. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”
A look of surprise moved over his face as he pulled his hand back. “Oh. You’ve never watched—never mind. Look – like I said, you clearly need help. Whassup, your movers bailed on you or something?”
“Definitely something,” I muttered under my breath, looking back at the truck as if… hell, I don’t even know.
I was still in disbelief that I’d dropped the ball in such a manner.
“Ay – I’ve got other shit I could be doing right now,” Calvin spoke up again, immediately inciting a raised eyebrow as I returned my gaze in his direction. “I’m telling you I can give you a hand, but that offer expires in five… four—”
A countdown?
Is this nigga giving me a countdown?
“Three…”
He is giving me a countdown.
“Two…”
This is some bullshit.
“O—”
“Fine!” I cut in. “You can help me.”
His face wrinkled into a scowl. “Uh… thanks for the opportunity?”
“You’re welcome.”
“You’re mean as fuck,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he walked around to the back of the truck. “Open it up, let me see what we’re dealing with.”
For a moment, I could even think about the instruction – I was caught up on the accusation – mean.
Was I being mean?
And if yes, enough for mean as fuck to be accurate?
Damn.
Okay.
I needed to chill.
None of this is his fault.
He’s trying to help you.
Don’t be a bitch.
“It’s not a ton of stuff,” I explained as I unlocked and unlatched the roll-up door. “I tend towards minimalism anyway, and even half of that is in storage from moving in with Hun—with my ex,” I corrected.
“That’s tough – you moved in with a ni—well, let me not assume.”
My eyebrows shot up. “Not assume what?”
“That your ex was a nigga,” he shrugged. “You kinda give those vibes.”
“Excuse me?!”
“Not in a bad way,” he continued, peeking into the truck. “Like you only fuck with white boys. In you’ll fuck with anybody kinda way.”
My frown deepened. “You realize that’s more offensive, right?”
“Shit – I’m not articulating myself well,” he chuckled. “You’re the equal opportunity type.”
“An equal opportunity whore?” I questioned, propping hands on my hips.
“No judgement here.” He hit me with a dazzling grin, then looked back to my stuff. “This shouldn’t take that long sweetheart.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“My bad – what do you prefer? Babe? Shorty? Ma’am?”
I rolled my eyes. “Amelia is just fine.”
“Cool – let’s get to it, Amy.”
Who the fuck is Amy was the question I successfully kept in my brain, off my lips. It was clear at this point that he was hellbent on wrecking my already flayed nerves, and I was not trying to give him any more encouragement.
We did, indeed, get to it.
Me struggling with plastic totes I’d overpacked in effort to use as few as I possibly could, him carrying them two at a time like they were nothing. We worked together on the furniture, including the deceptively heavy mattress box I undid as soon as we had it in the room.
It would take hours and hours to get to proper size, and I wanted that process starting ASAP.
We were on the last trip up the elevator, just waiting for the doors to close when they suddenly reversed course, letting another resident onto the elevator.
Immediately, I wanted to sink through the floor.
Hunter saw me first – I watched the surprise, then confusion register on his face before he noticed Calvin, whose presence brought a different, unfamiliar something to his expression. I quickly shifted my gaze away, sinking back deeper into the elevator – unfortunately closer to Calvin.
Who, for some inexplicable reason… wrapped his arm around my neck.
Pulled me into him.
Lord it felt good.
I forced myself not to close my eyes, giving myself – completely inappropriately – over to the feeling of being touched by someone who wasn’t Hunter.
A practical stranger, but still.
“You good sweetheart?” Calvin asked, lips brushing my forehead to really sell… whatever story he was painting right now.
I… was too shocked to do anything but nod.
He looked right at Hunter, who’d stepped into the elevator now, and said, “What’s good, man? What floor you on?”
Six.
“Uhh… six,” Hunter answered, and Calvin nodded before he pressed it.
I didn’t dare look at his face, but his shoes were still facing us as the door closed.
Slow as hell.
“Just moving in?” Hunter asked, and Calvin was quick with the answer.
“Nah, I been here for a while, on and off – she is, though. Couldn’t let her bring all this in by herself with the week she’s had, you know?” Calvin replied, giving me a little squeeze before he took the box I was holding and stacked it with the ones he’d sat down.
Oh my God.
“Is that right?”
I could feel Hunter’s eyes on me, feel the questions radiating.
Thank the lord we were on two.
Those doors couldn’t open soon enough.
I shot past him without looking, not caring how crazy I likely appeared. Behind me, Calvin was moseying off the elevator, boxes stacked three high.
“Hope to see you back on the court,” Hunter called after him, and Calvin gave him a head raise in return for whatever the fuck that meant, and then… the elevator chimed and moved on.
I got my door unlocked and held it open for Calvin to put my boxes down, and as soon as he had, he looked at me with a grin.
“So… who was that?”