Chapter 2
ADRIAN BELL
I couldn’t tear my eyes away from Kwamé. A nigga was all in her mouth, trying to read her lips while she talked to Antonias. I stared so hard that I didn’t notice Adir standing at the nurse’s station, peering down at me ogling the fuck out of Kwamé.
“Damn,” he chirped. “Won’t you go crawl in her skin or something.”
I grilled my older brother. “I know you ain’t talkin’. You the same nigga who refused to hire ya now wife. Do we need to replay that shit?”
Adir chuckled. “Nah, mane. I’m just sayin’. You’ve had at least five women stalkin’ yo’ ass this year alone. You know Antonias ain’t right in the head. Leave his sister alone, before you fuck up the vibe ‘round here.”
I shooed Adir away. Neither he nor Adrian were going to get in the way of the love of my life. I’d give up every ho I fucked with to have Kwamé.
I’d been away for five months. That was five months I spent losing my shit over not physically seeing Kwamé and Jessie every day. My second year of medical school was complete. I still had clinical rotations ahead of me, but I was determined to do that shit with Kwamé and Jessie.
After discovering that Kwamé was moving back to the farm, I knew this was my chance to finally tie her ass down. She was running like I was after her with a knife, but I was really after her with my fucking heart.
I hated being away from them. School was rigorous and took up most of my time.
They stayed on my mind, though. Between classes, I called.
Whenever I was out shopping, I bought them something.
Just because she deserved them, I sent Kwamé flowers as often as I wanted to.
Now that I was back face to face with her, I was about to shower her with my attention and whatever else she fucking needed to see that I was the one for her.
“Dada!” Jessie’s squeaky small voice pulled me out of my thoughts. Kwamé, Jessie, and I were at a burger place not too far from her house.
Without missing a beat, I asked, “‘Sup, baby?” She was six months old the last time I was in her presence, and she couldn’t walk or communicate with her baby words at the time. Hearing her call me daddy caused my heart to bang against my chest. That shit sounded perfect.
As for her real daddy, it was fuck him. I still didn’t know who the nigga was and it wasn’t because I wasn’t trying to find his ass. Not once had she mentioned Jessie’s father. As close as I was to my own father, that shit was strange to me.
Jessie handed me a French fry that she’d already half-way eaten. “Thank you, mama,” I said anyway and placed the fry on a napkin.
“Daa daa,” Jessie replied with her version of thank you and kept eating her food.
Kwamé’s giggle brought my eyes to the amusement written all over her face.
“What’s funny?” I questioned. “You see how Jessie calls me daddy? She knows what’s up. Mind you, her mama acts like I’m hideous or something.”
Kwamé cracked up. “I do not think you’re hideous.”
“Got to,” I countered. “Ain’t no way a sexy muhfucka like me can’t even get to first base wit’ you.”
She threw her head back and laughed harder.
“Ya mama thinks I’m a joke,” I mumbled to Jessie. She offered me another soggy-ass French fry.
“I don’t think you’re a joke either,” she stated. “I’m pregnant now, Adrian—”
“And?”
“—And even if I wasn’t—”
“What you mean even if?”
“—I don’t think we would work,” she finished.
“Jessie, I sure hope you don’t inherit that lyin’ spirit ya mama got,” I said.
Kwamé smacked her teeth, then burst into laughter.
“You’re laughin’ ‘cause you know I’m right.”
Her laughter sobered, and she peered across the table at me.
“It won’t work because I want someone who’s willing to love me now and forever.
Not someone who wants to play with my heart and decide to discard it when he’s done.
I don’t want the awkward talking stage or the meaningless ass sex that follows. ”
“Is that what it felt like with Jessie’s dad?” I asked. Since she wanted to talk about feelings and shit, this was the perfect time to slide that nigga in.
“This isn’t about him.”
“It definitely is,” I disputed. “Whatever he did to you makes you question even the most honest and genuine of niggas. Me.” I looked into her eyes and dared her to lie.
“Matter fact, sex with me would be everything except meaningless. Can’t you tell by the way I look at you that this shit ain’t a game for me. Must I beg, my baby?”
She glanced away.
“Bet,” I replied. I’d get on my knees for her. “Of course, you can tell it’s more than the way I look at you. Right?”
Reluctantly, she nodded.
“How can you tell? I wanna hear you tell me how you know I’m serious as fuck about us,” I coaxed.
Sighing, she replied, “You’re here.”
“I’m here,” I reiterated. “What else?”
“You want to be here.”
“That’s my girl. I don’t just want to be here. I need to be here ‘cause this is where I’m supposed to be. The sooner you get on board, the sooner we can move down the aisle.”
She giggled again. “If you don’t quit talking like that. What do you even know about me?”
“I know that you’re stubborn as fuck. You have a PhD in psychology and yet you refuse to tackle ya own feelings. That’s confusing.”
“What else do you know?”
“You like pound cake and prefer soul food over any other meal. You sleep with the television on ‘cause you hate the dark… Should I go on?”
She cleared her throat and said, “Those are all superficial things—”
“You were born in Atlanta and left at the hospital. You’ve never met ya biological parents and have no desire to.
You’ve settled it within ya’self that everything happens for a reason, and they did what was best for you.
Although you don’t hold any grudges towards them, you still mourn them and wish you could meet them, if only once.
You gave to birth to Jessie alone…” I was pushing the envelope by divulging that I knew her business.
Just a little, though. It was enough to let me know that Jessie’s father wasn’t shit.
“Jesara Adrianna Stone was born June 8th and weighed six and half pounds. Again… Should I go on?” One day soon, we would discuss how Jessie’s middle name came to be a version of my name.
Briefly, she peered at me before she shrugged. “I should’ve known you’d dig into my life.”
“There are still things I don’t know about you, Kwamé. Like the way you taste, or the faces you make while being properly pleased.”
Her eyes fluttered with passion, but she recovered quickly. “If you know so much, then you should’ve easily stumbled upon who Jessie’s father is.”
“After my second attempt at pinning down who the nigga was, I stopped lookin’.” I pointedly observed her. Unsettled, she fidgeted in her seat. “You’re purposely hiding his identity, and because I know you, I know that means a hell of a lot.”
“Why do you want to know so badly?”
“Once we make the move to change Jessie’s last name, I need to know what I’m up against.”
Tears coated her eyes. “It shouldn’t matter.”
“It doesn’t matter. Not in the way you think.
” I was good at judging shit. Something was off with the nigga who fathered Jessie.
I felt that shit in my bones. I needed to know who the nigga was for no other reason than to see why the hell Kwamé was protecting him.
Or worse. Why she was afraid to out the nigga.
“If I tell you, you have to promise to drop it,” she said minutes later.
“Sure,” I appeased her, knowing good and damn well it depended on the situation.
“Damon Brooks,” she mumbled. “Are you happy now?”
Shit, I thought. Fucking a client was as good as career suicide in Kwamé’s line of work. If anyone found out about her and Brooks’s relationship, she’d never work a decent psychology job ever again.
“What happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about what happened, Adrian. We were… He got me pregnant, then turned around and got married. End of story.”
It wasn’t the end of the story. I saw it in her eyes.
“Promise me you’ll drop it,” she requested.
Reluctantly, I said, “Aight. Don’t make me regret agreeing to drop it.”
She blinked a few times and was relieved when Jessie got my attention again. As I accepted another nasty ass fry from Jessie, I couldn’t help but think that Kwamé was going to find a way to piss me off. Between her and Damon Brooks, something still wasn’t sitting right with me.
Later that evening when we made it back to Kwamé’s place, I crashed on the sofa and divided my attention between the ceiling and the NBA game playing on the television. The Jets weren’t playing, but I found myself searching for their highlights.
On the screen, I watched a cocky ass Brooks prance up and down the court like he owned the shit. Granted, that nigga was a beast and was easily the league’s MVP for the year. He’d made a lot of betting ass niggas plenty of money this season and it didn’t look like his momentum was slowing down.
Somehow, his ass finessed my damn girl. I was down bad over Jessie and would never wish that she wasn’t here.
So, despite the fact that her daddy was a piece of shit, Jessie wouldn’t have to worry about him.
I was here now. She was mine, and I was going to raise her like my own daughter.
If that nigga dared get in the way, I was going to cave his chest in and ball his ass up like some shoelaces.