Chapter 6
amelia
I did not like unpacking.
Dare I say – I hated it.
Did I know I hated it?
No.
But it was the only logical conclusion for why, instead of unpacking, I was taking down box braids that I could’ve easily gotten another two weeks out of.
A month with the right headbands and scarves.
As soon as the last one came out, I was hit with an immediate sense of regret – I loved my natural hair, real bad, but I’d just added at least twenty minutes to my daily morning routine by having it out.
Not to mention the whole wash-day ritual I was about to have to go through.
And all for what reason?
To avoid unpacking them fucking boxes.
Excellent decision-making, Ames.
In the mirror, I surveyed my hairline, making sure it was still intact after a hellish soft-loc experience a few years back. Once I was satisfied that I hadn’t destroyed any follicles this time around, I started gathering my supplies to do a real detangle before I put my head under the water.
A process interrupted by a knock at the door.
Immediately, I frowned – I wasn’t expecting anyone, and my friends and I weren’t “pop up” kinda people. My next thought was that maybe it was Hunter, which set off a confusing mix of emotions – the exact thing I’d been trying to avoid by zoning out on social media while I did the braid takedown.
Two weeks out of a long-term relationship, I was still, in fact… sad.
Hell, two weeks was pushing it – eleven days.
It came and went in waves of course, and life moved on, but the possibility of running into him not just out and about in the neighborhood but in the damn building?
Made me want to stay cloistered in the safety (emotional, and relative) of my apartment.
Or not even go home.
I hated the feeling, but… it was where life had landed me, for now. A repeated knock on the door reminded me this wasn’t the time for musings – and also let me know it was not Hunter at the door.
Whoever was at the door was currently recreating the Clipse Grindin’ beat.
Definitely Calvin type behavior.
Luckily, my preliminary detangle had left me with hair that needing washing still, but was presentable enough to interact with the public. I took advantage of the peephole, frowning a bit at the unfamiliar face.
I recognized the oversized Proxy delivery tote in their hands, though.
“Can I help you?” I asked, opening the door even though I hadn’t ordered anything.
I was met with a – very glittery – grin from the woman standing there, who gave me a onceover as she nodded.
“Whassup – I’m Jeanie,” she said, and I raised an eyebrow.
“Okay… nice to meet you Jeanie… I’m Amelia.”
“Oh I assure you, the pleasure is mine,” she told me, licking her lips.
Is she serious?
“Is that a delivery?” I asked, trying to redirect Jeanie and her grill and tatted arms.
She looked down at the bag like she’d forgotten it was there, and nodded. “Oh – yeah,” she said, maneuvering the top of the tote open to remove a greasy cardboard box and a plastic container of salad.
Why did I accept the food into my hands?
Reflex, confusion, stupidity, some mixture of all of the above.
Whatever it was, I immediately regretted it, because… grease.
And it literally smelled like heartburn.
“So Amelia… what you getting into tonight?” Jeanie asked. “You busy or something?”
“Why?” I asked, already knowing what was happening, but wanting to hear it.
For research.
She grinned – there were dimples! – doing that lip bite thing again before she answered. “I’m saying… you heard of Christina Aguilera, right? That song—”
“Girl!” I cut her off, choking back a laugh. “Are you not mid-delivery right now?”
“I ain’t worried about that – my backpack is downstairs in my car. You got your food, them other folks can wait for me to make some wishes come true, you know what I’m saying?”
I scoffed. “I know exactly what you’re saying – you really shouldn’t be saying it to me.”
Her eyebrows went up. “Oh my bad, you not with the rainbow?”
“That is quite literally not at all the point,” I answered. “You should not be propositioning me while providing a service – and not even doing it well.”
“You saying I don’t have motion?”
“I’m saying I didn’t order this,” I explained, holding up the box that was making a mess of my hands.
“It’s clearly been in this box a long time – longer than it should.
And you had the salad in the hot bag with it, so that’s not even edible anymore.
” I peeked at the ticket taped to the salad container.
“This order was placed two hours ago. The pickup time was an hour and a half ago. Bella’s is literally five minutes from here. What were you doing?”
Jeanie shrugged. “I had other orders, my bad.”
“There’s no way this doesn’t mess with your rating in the app.”
Her eyes went wide. “You gone one-star me over a little flirting? That’s cold, pretty girl. It’s also giving a little ‘phobic… a little anti if you know what I mean.”
“I know you need to be so for real right now,” I countered, trying to hand her the food back. “I can’t rate you, because it’s not my order, first of all. Second, I was referencing you taking your sweet time to deliver food that cannot be eaten.”
She sucked her teeth. “Man, whatever – I got my girl waiting in the car, and other orders. I don’t have time for this.”
“You were offering to go get your backpack while you have somebody waiting in the car for you? Get the fuck on somewhere, and take this shit with you,” I said, not even trying to keep it even slightly professional anymore.
“What the fuck am I gonna do with that?” she said, heading down the hall. “I’ll just mark it delivered in the app.”
“That’s a lie!” I called after her, and she turned to me with that glittery grin.
“What can you do about it?” she shrugged. “You can’t rate me, and Calvin from the second floor didn’t have enough sense to put his apartment number, so… fuck it. Y’all have a good night.”
And then she was gone, taking the stairs instead of waiting on the elevator.
Leaving me standing in the hall with calzone grease dripping on the floor.
“What can I do about it?” I asked myself out loud. “She said what can you do about it like I can’t fucking do something about it,” I muttered, stepping back into my apartment and closing the door. “I’ma show you what I can fucking do about it.”
Inside, I started to drop the food into the trash, then opted for the counter instead. I scrubbed my hands – and then cussed Jeanie’s ass out a little more as I cleaned up the trail of grease on the floor.
Once that was done, I went for my computer, navigating to the Proxy system that contained our database of “partners” – the people who provided service to others in whatever capacity.
For now, I was looking for the food delivery drivers.
I was able to find the profile easily – there was more than one “Jeanie” in various spellings, but the ratings and reviews made it simple to pick out the right one.
She was consistently late, often inappropriate, and the person pictured on the profile was not actually her, which was a security violation I made a note to speak to that team about.
The only thing keeping her account from being restricted due to low-performance was the occasionally five-stars that I suspected were coming from women who’d waited on the backpack.
“VERY satisfactory delivery, would rate ten stars if I could. Attentive and focused. Hands-on service. Very communicative. Timely. Highly recommend if you need a personal touch.”
On a fucking bbq plate dropoff?
There was no damn way.
For now, I simply flagged the account to have a discussion with the right people, instead of restricting it, or simply shutting her down like I wanted. Because I’d had a direct – contentious – interaction with her, there would be a need to speak with legal, blah, blah, blah.
It was all so annoying.
Especially since she’d introduced two new considerations - how were people getting around the identity verification, and at least equally concerning, were folks slinging dick on my app?!
Wait, correction.
Were folks slinging strap on my app?!
This was the kind of thing Hunter would’ve complained about – me getting derailed from what I was doing in “non Proxy” time, which was usually giving him my attention, to do “Proxy” things.
Yet, when he was busy with work stuff, and I had to entertain myself during time that was supposed to be ours, it was fine.
Another red flag I never should’ve ignored.
My air conditioning kicked on, bringing a little hint of a “breeze” with it - a breeze that brought that nauseating scent of Calvin’s misdelivered food wafting into my space. I immediately wrinkled my nose, trying to keep it at bay, to no avail.
I had to get it out of here, one way or another.
A glance at the time told me it was later than I’d even realized – certainly too late on a weekday to order something else. There was music coming from his apartment, but I’d come to understand that didn’t mean anything – there was always music, even when he wasn’t being obnoxious.
This was a time when I wished we’d exchanged numbers – I could just shoot him a text, or call. Very briefly I entertained the idea of grabbing it from his customer profile, or messaging him in the app, but that was a privacy violation I definitely didn’t need to be getting involved in.
I was going to have to go knock on the door.
Shit.
I stuck the food in a Proxy bag I had from a delivery of my own, cleaned the grease off my counter, and then headed for the door. I was halfway out when I made a quick u-turn back to my bedroom to put a hoodie on over the lounge shorts and tank I’d been wearing.
I did not want to knock on that man’s door looking like a booty call.
With a little more coverage on my side, I resumed my task of closing this loop I’d been pulled into, through no fault of my own.
I knocked… and didn’t get an answer.
Knocked a little louder… no answer.
Knocked as hard as I dared… and still no answer.
Hm.
Probably sleeping, I told myself, then turned back for my own apartment. I’d just tell him about it when I saw him next, or maybe slip him a note.
Yeah.
I’d slip him a note.
I was already formulating it in my head as I opened my door – and then his door opened, finally.
And his dick stepped outside.
I mean… Calvin stepped out.
Dick first.
He was wearing boxers, sure.
But like… damn.
Why can’t I look away?
Is it… hypnotizing me?!
Damn.
“Amelia… what’s up?” he groggily asked, unaware of the commotion the protrusion in his boxers was causing in my head.
Heart.
Panties.
“Oh. Uh… you ordered food?” I asked, holding the bag up. “The driver came to my apartment instead – I think you didn’t put the apartment number?”
He squinted at me, leaning in the doorway. Behind him, the apartment was dark and still, not even the flicker of a TV. Just his music.
He scrubbed a hand over his sleep-swollen face like he was still trying to shake it all off. “Damn,” he muttered. “That was some hours ago.”
“Yeah – the driver kinda took their time delivering it. I don’t think it’s really edible anymore. Sorry.”
Calvin shrugged as he scratched his head, inadvertently giving shape to the flattened coils on his left. I could tell exactly what side he’d been sleeping on.
Hard.
“You didn’t do shit,” he muttered, taking the bag from me. “Thank you for letting me know. I would’ve been wondering what the hell happened.”
For some reasons, my eyes followed the bag as his hand dropped to his side… which led my gaze straight back to his dick.
He didn’t notice.
When I forced my gaze back to his face, he was still clearly halfway out of it, enough to make me step forward a little.
“Hey… uh… are you okay?” I asked, and he immediately focused on me, nodding.
“Yeah, sorry. Just… shit, I didn’t mean to crash like that.”
I nodded. “Yeah, then you wake up all confused, and still tired…”
“Exactly,” he nodded. “And now I’m about to be up all night looking stupid.”
I laughed. “Yeah… can unfortunately relate. Busy day?”
“I wish,” he scoffed. “Just… workout, sit around. Work out some more, sit around. Living the dream,” he said, words dripping with a kind of bitter sarcasm I’d never heard from him before. “Shit,” he mumbled. “Uh… thank you again for letting me know what happened with this.”
“Of course,” I replied. “I kinda feel bad for waking you up.”
“You can wake me up for anything, Sweetheart.”
Ooh.
In that low, groggy, tone, that shit made my stomach flip.
“I told you to stop calling me that,” I said, trying to deflect from my visceral reaction to him.
“My bad Li-Li.”
“Not that either!” I insisted with a groan. “See? Nevermind about feeling bad.”
He put a hand to his chest. “You’re turning on me so easily in my vulnerable moment, damn.”
“Vulnerable moment?” I asked, and he blinked a bit, like was processing his own words before he shook his head, shuttering whatever had been there the moment before.
“You don’t see how exposed I am right now?” he asked, gesturing at his dick.
Deflecting.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m trying my hardest not to.”
He grinned. “Why? You can look. We love attention.”
“We?”
“Me and my dick. We could use some comfort.”
“Is that so?” I laughed. “Well, I’m going to let the two of you get right to it. Y’all have fun,” I said, taking a step back.
“Without you?” he asked as I opened my door.
I shrugged. “Uh… I’m there in spirit?”
Now why the fuck would you say that?
No, literally.
Why the fuck did I say that?
Calvin clearly thought the same, based on the surprise registered on his face, followed immediately by a downright lusty grin.
Shit!
I couldn’t close that door fast enough.