Chapter 7 #3
“Nah, I’m outta town right now,” he said. “But I’ll have it when I get back; I told you that already.”
Have what?
Adrian’s tone was calm, but that slick tension sat in his voice like something heavy was on the line.
I leaned in slightly, but he ended the call before I could catch anything else. I waited two more seconds, then turned the knob, pretending I hadn’t just been eavesdropping.
Adrian was already reclined against the headboard, phone face-down on the nightstand, settled in as though he’d been relaxing for hours. He wore black shorts and a muscle tee, his body moisturized with equal parts cocoa butter and pure arrogance.
“You good?” he asked.
I nodded, kicking off my shoes. “Great! Are you?” I countered, crouching near my bag to unzip it.
He chuckled, nervous and forced—one of those “ha-ha-nah-but-yeah” kind of laughs.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?” he grinned. “What? You think I’m scared of yo’ ex?”
I paused briefly and looked at him long enough to make him blink twice before answering.
“No. I don’t think you’re scared of him.”
You probably should be, though.
I pulled out my pajamas and turned my back to him.
“But just curious… why didn’t you tell me y’all shared a cabin?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity and a hint of irritation.
Adrian shifted slightly, reaching under the pillow behind him to adjust it, his movement casual but revealing an underlying tension.
I shrugged nonchalantly, trying to keep my tone light. “It was a need-to-know situation, and at the time, I didn’t think you needed to know," I answered politely as I could as I reached for my bonnet. Then added, “Besides, I didn’t know he’d show up here.”
“Well,” he said, tone light but laced with a bit of shade and anger, “do y’all share any other kinds of properties?
Because next time we take a trip, I’d like a little heads-up so I can mentally prepare for somebody pulling a damn gun on me while I’m just trying to eat trail mix and sip orange juice in peace. ”
I rolled my eyes internally, feeling the frustration bubble beneath the surface.
Another trip? Nigga, please! You better take mental pictures and frame 'em, ‘cause after this, we ain’t even sharing air, let alone numbers.
“We don’t,” I simply replied, tucking the pajama top under my arm as I took a step toward the door. “I’m going to shower. I’ll be back.”
“You could just come back naked,” Adrian suggested. “Let the steam work as foreplay; save us both time.”
I stopped mid-step and turned my head just enough to say, “Not tonight. I’m tired, and it’s been a long-ass day. Raincheck?”
He groaned dramatically and fell back on the bed.
“Damn. But aight. I’ma hold you to it. Don’t let me down… don’t let him down,” he added, glancing down at his own lap, a mischievous glint crinkling the corners of his eyes.
I didn’t even dignify that with a response.
As I exited the room, I muttered under my breath, “You won’t be getting none of this coochie this weekend. So I hope you packed patience, baby oil, and a good ass imagination, 'cause it’s just gon’ be you and your hand until further notice.”
I said that, but truthfully, I didn’t know how I was gon’ make it through the weekend without giving that nigga some pussy.
God himself was gon’ have to grant me the kind of strength they write about in Psalms. It wasn’t so much because I was horny; it was the complete opposite.
Adrian was very touchy and addicted to sex.
And being alone with him for days, with no distractions—considering that Bryce and his lil' fling would be gone the next day—that was a spiritual test I wasn’t sure I was gonna pass.
I turned the corner toward the bathroom and almost collided with temptation.
Bryce.
He was returning from the deck. Bryce’s hoodie was slung over one shoulder, and the thin T-shirt clung to him like it had a personal crush on his pecs, leaving little to the imagination. His eyes had a low, sleepy quality that suggested peace, but behind them, a slow-burning fire still flickered.
"You good?” he asked, pausing mid-step, his gaze locked onto mine with an intensity that left me momentarily breathless.
I cleared my throat, straightening my posture to appear composed.
“Yeah. Just heading to the shower."
Bryce looked at me a second too long; the kind of long that made me feel like he was thinking things he shouldn’t be.
The way he was looking at me? If he had dared to ask to join me in the shower, I honestly think I would have said yes… but he didn’t.
Instead, he simply smirked—that damn infuriating smirk—and said, “Goodnight, Chess.”
“Goodnight, Bryce.”
I headed to the bathroom with my heart thumping louder than my slippers.
All I wanted was a hot shower… and for the temptation in the hallway to be less fine, less familiar, and less capable of reading my soul with a three-second stare.
***
“That Bear Didn’t Want Smoke… Just Snacks”
My bladder was the one organ in my body that didn’t care about ambiance, weather, or danger. When it was time, it was time. So when I blinked awake in the middle of the night, it was clear—Pee. Now.
I sat up, squinting into the dark. Adrian snored on his side, mumbling incoherently, clearly battling an overdue payment in his dreams.
“I can give you half now and pray about the rest.”
I rolled my eyes, then slid out the bed with my bonnet lopsided like a gang member who clocked out early, and toes cold from the rude little draft whispering under the bedroom door.
I stretched, cracked my back, and padded down the hall toward the bathroom.
Business was handled in record time. I washed my hands, adjusted my bonnet, and was halfway to the kitchen for a midnight snack when I heard a rumble.
I froze in full Jim Carrey–in–The Mask fashion, when the cops yelled, “Freeze.” My pose was locked, breath was held, and body was stiff enough to qualify for a wax museum.
What the…
My eyebrows knitted together. I backed up slowly, then hit a light jog-walk combo back to the bedroom. Once inside, I dropped to my knees, reached under the bed, and snatched my gun. I stood, flicked the safety off, and then jabbed Adrian’s shoulder.
“Adrian! Wake up! I heard something!”
He groaned. “You heard something? Chess, go back to sleep. It’s probably Santa Claus.”
I reared my head back. “Nigga, what?! It’s the week before Christmas!”
Adrian rolled over, unbothered. “Maybe he came early. Prime delivery.”
I snatched the nearest pillow and clocked him straight across the forehead.
“Yeah, and you’re liable to meet your maker earlier than expected if you don’t get up and help me check this damn noise!”
His eyes popped open real fast, all discombobulated. “W-What?! Jesus?! And what noise?!”
“Oh, now you wanna be alert? When I first said something, you were apparently in your REM cycle, talkin’ terms and interest rates, sounding like you were setting up a layaway plan for rent… with the damn dreamcatcher as your landlord.”
I held the gun up, ready.
Adrian blinked at it like it was a spider on his pillow. “You got a gun? What you plan on doing with that?!”
“We have a situation that requires both of our attention. And yes, I have plenty.”
“You said that like it was a damn warning.”
“It was. Now come on.”
Adrian got up hastily, wearing nothing but socks and boxers, tiptoeing behind me with the caution of a man avoiding child support and accidental eye contact with his baby mama at Walmart.
I turned around with my brow lifted. “Why are you behind me?” I grumbled.
“Hell, you got the gun!”
“Aren’t you the man, though?”
“Yeah… but I’m smart enough to let the woman with the gun go first!”
Red flag number three was loud and clear.
This man is definitely “not” a protector… and that’s non-negotiable in my relationship commandments. But honestly, it didn’t even matter. Because the moment I got home, this whole “whatever we are” was going straight in the trash right next to his weak game and open-mouthed snores.
We crept into the hallway. Every step we took on the old hardwood floor was loud enough to get subpoenaed.
Another deep growl.
That wasn’t my stomach that time; that was nature—angry and hungry.
With my finger pressed lightly to my lips, I motioned to Adrian to be quiet.
He nodded in understanding. His eyes were wide like we were characters in an intense action movie on BET, with the sound muted but the tension palpable.
With the gun held firmly in my hand, I crept toward the edge of the kitchen wall.
Then cautiously, I peered around the corner, channeling the poised confidence of an FBI agent on a rare day off.
And there it was.
A black, giant, fur-covered menace, with the shadow the size of an SUV, was sniffing the air and stumbling clumsily around the living room like it had the munchies.
I braced myself to tell Adrian.
His reaction would’ve either saved our lives or been the reason our obituaries said: “Cause of death—panicked man screamed and bear felt disrespected.”
I whispered over my shoulder, “Don’t panic… but it’s a bear.”
As I feared, Adrian did the exact opposite. “A Bear!” he shrilled in horror. “What the fuck, Chesteria?!”
The bear stopped, stood tall, and sniffed.
I whacked Adrian upside the head with the butt of the gun—not hard, but just enough to reintroduce him to common sense.
“Nigga, I said don’t scream… and damn sure not in my damn ear!” I fussed. “Are you trying to get us killed? Well… yourself. Bears attack solo targets, and you look like a snack. I’m the entrée, so he gon’ sample you first.”
Adrian winced, holding a hand where I clucked him. “Damn, Chess… that’s cold.”
I shrugged. “Welcome to a bear-eats-bitch-and-nigga world. Survival of the smartest... not the softest.”
“Whatever. And don’t come for me about screaming,” he muttered. “It was a natural response.”
It was a “bitch-made” response, I almost blurted.