Chapter 12
CHAPTER
TWELVE
LOVIE
Cars whizz along the road that runs in front of Worthing as the setting sun casts a hazy glow on the old building.
Before I was born, Worthing used to be a tire shop, and we never had the money to make it look like anything other than that.
Mama’s life insurance settlement only paid out enough to buy this building, secure the supplies to start F&S Home Cleaning, and pay my tuition at Rhodes and Lockwood.
After that, I blew through my monthly survivor benefits on silly, useless stuff like clothes and shoes.
One side of the gym’s doors is still rolled up even though it should’ve been closed two hours ago, but everybody knows Worthing never actually closes except on Family Fun Day.
Learning how to lock up the gym is like a rite of passage for all the guys because sometimes they stay here long after Uncle Kenny leaves.
One of them even lived in one of the empty supply closets in the back.
My throat grows dry and the cake box slips against my sweaty fingers as I sneak a peek at Rich’s massive truck that’s parked two spaces down.
Seeing it makes me antsy, like it’s my birthday. I’ve lied, primped, paced, and now I’m standing in front of a place I never cared to step foot in since I was in college because I’m stupidly sneaking away to see this guy again.
“Just give him the freaking cake and go like Aunt Faye said…” I mutter to myself, finally forcing my feet to move. “Tell him ‘happy birthday,’ sit it down, and leave. You’ve done enough crazy stuff for today.”
It’s a simple thing to do, but my puckering nipples think otherwise because they have minds of their own that center on somebody who should be a non-factor. But this non-factor sees all of me—even the ugly parts I try to hide.
I gulp in another mouthful of the night air and march toward the gym’s garage door, but I falter as soon as I get to the threshold because he’s really here.
I don’t know why I’m shocked about it, or maybe I’m not.
Truthfully, I just don’t know how to differentiate my feelings anymore.
With AJ they all blended together and existed as one big clusterfuck of an emotion that made me hollow, but now they’re slowly separating and coming back to me at the oddest times and right now I think I’m shocked.
Rich lies along the edge of the boxing ring with his hands behind his head, staring up at the ceiling. Today, he’s only wearing a pair of fleece shorts and his necklace, so all of my friends are exposed—his pectoralis major, his biceps, his triceps…and rectus abdominis.
If I were Rasheeda, I’d ban him from walking around half-naked.
I shake my head.
I really shouldn’t be thinking that.
My heels clack against the concrete floor as soon as I take a step inside. The noise makes him turn his head toward the entrance.
“Sneaking away again, huh?” His lazy drawl echoes throughout the empty gym while I stare at his moist stomach.
I open my mouth, but nothing comes out—not even when his brown irises stroke the white box in my hands and rove down to my bare legs.
There are things I forgot about his face in the week that he disappeared—like the flat flesh-colored scar that runs along his cheek and makes my mouth water, and his black eye that looks a little blacker.
“Teaching the boys how to throw jabs? A German Chocolate cake from Copeland’s?” I mutter back. “You wanted me to sneak away again.”
He lets out a low snort, jutting his chin toward the gym’s entrance. “Who was that dropping you off?”
“There’s this nifty service that exists. It’s called an Uber. I took one.”
He laughs harder, mumbling out, “Okay, smartass.”
I teeter around in my heels, waiting for the shame to cover my body because of how easily I let him lure me here, but it never comes. It’s somewhere in the abyss.
“I thought we agreed you wouldn’t sneak away anymore?” he asks. “You don’t know me, remember?”
“I know it’s your birthday. That’s one of the most important things to know about somebody, Pup,” I shoot back, waiting for that mucky feeling to consume me like it had all week.
It doesn’t come, though. It’s in the abyss with that shame he won’t let me feel.
He smirks. “Pup?”
“That’s what people call you.”
“Yeah…but not you.”
“Well, I hear everybody else calling you that. Mr. Copeland says everybody calls you that. He says you’re the last of a dying breed around here.”
He laughs, lazily waving his hand. “Mr. Copeland talk a lot.”
“Right. So where should I put this cake? I have somewhere to be.”
I thrust the box out at him to remind myself of my mission: sit the cake down and go.
He twists his busted lip to the side. “So you told Faye you was gon’ go pick up my cake and bring it to me…straight like that?”
“I—”
“And before you start… lying is a sin, remember?” He blinks down at my empty ring finger.
This time, I stuffed it deep into the bottom of Yesenia’s purse before I left home.
“I told her I’d drop it off to you on the way to my friend’s place—not that it’s any of your business or anything.” The words shoot out of my mouth and my stomach sinks until Rich flashes his white teeth at me.
His gums are healing. Their natural pink color enmeshes with the purple that’s disappearing, and ever since I saw him at Lucky’s, I’ve been imagining what my tongue might feel like gliding against them.
“Oh, that mean friend you always lying on when you tryna come see me? The braider?”
“‘When I’m trying to come see you?’” I scoff, rolling my eyes.
“That’s what I said.”
“You know, this is what I get for trying to do something nice for somebody so cocky. Faye acted like the world would end if she didn’t get this cake to you today, so I did her a favor and brought it to you while I was on my way. That’s it and that’s all.”
I look past him, inhaling the mixture of metal and sweat that sits in the air inside Worthing.
He lets my words linger in the quiet space between us, and I start to apologize for taking things too far until he rasps out, “You wore shoes like that in New York?”
I look away from the George Foreman poster tacked on the wall and find Rich’s eyes trailing down my legs again. They stop on my boots that I fretted over. I don’t think he even heard anything I said.
I twist my ankle, looking down at the heel. “Yeah. Why?”
I can’t even dissect the obvious red flag he waved at me because I’m too consumed with hearing his answer. How’d he even know I lived in New York when I never told him? Maybe Aunt Faye told him.
“So you wore shoes like that while you walked all around that place?” he asks.
“I’ve been overdressed since I was born. I didn’t wear a pair of pants until I was six…so yeah.” I sigh. “I wore heels like these all over the city. Pretty stupid of me, huh?”
I wait for him to ball his face up, but he smiles, sitting up on his elbows and turning his head to eye the suede knee-high boots from every angle he can. My stomach rumbles while I wait for the “hell yeah, that was stupid of you” to fall out of his mouth.
“Ain’t a goddamn thing about you is stupid, Slim,” he finally says in a matter-of-fact tone. “Believe that.”
He looks away while I hold on to the huskiness in his voice. It sounds better in person than it did in my head while I tossed and turned at night, and I can’t believe I missed that stupid nickname—Slim.
The elusive compliment he gave me replenishes the momentum I lost in the days we spent apart, so I finally ask, “Who told you I lived in New York?”
“People talk.” He shrugs.
“Oh, so you gossip with Faye while she pretends to clean your house? Because she’s obviously the people, right?”
He belts out a loud guffaw, thrusting his head back. “Them fancy boots got you thinking you can talk sideways to me?”
If I were Rasheeda, I’d always talk sideways to Rich just to hear that silky laugh he kept hidden. I forgot how its smoothness caressed my eardrums.
“I can talk however I want, with or without the boots. They’re just the icing on top.”
“Damn, straight like that? You see why I’m scared of your lil’ ass?” he casually admits, wagging his finger at me.
I wait for him to laugh his comment off as a joke, but his face settles into an even expression instead.
It reminds me I’m losing the plot. In fact, I don’t even have a plot.
Terrica would say I’m moving off of vibes at this point and we always said that was dangerous.
It’s how she ended up getting that abortion our senior year.
“You know, I know what you are,” I blurt, trying to bring myself back to Earth.
He raises his eyebrows. “What am I?”
I open my mouth, but I don’t know how to say it without sounding like the sheltered nerd he’s always accusing me of being.
“You fight.”
He lets out a low whistle, eyeing the punching bags to our right. “Damn, I ain’t know I was tryna hide it.”
I close my eyes, shaking my head. “No. You fight…down at Lucky’s.”
“Who told you that?”
“Faye.”
“Hm. What she telling you about that place for?”
“I…I was being nosy I guess.”
“Oh Lord…” He chuckles. “So, what, you gon’ do now, Slim? Call the laws on me for illicit fighting? Try to get me sent to jail or something? Because Myra Monkhouse would never do that to Steve.”
I blubber out a sloppy laugh.
He’s not as passionate about his “job” as Aunt Faye.
There are no long soliloquies about respecting what he does to feed his family.
His voice doesn’t even crackle with anxiety like Zaire’s did when he talked about “work.” And just like I suspected, it doesn’t sound like he’s running away from anything.
“No, it’s just…you shouldn’t be scared of anything—let alone somebody like me if you’re doing… all of that,” I mumble.
“First of all.” He snorts. “Stop closing your eyes when you talking to me.”
I pinch them tighter.
“And second, what you mean somebody like you?”