Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Throat thick, I murmured, “Okay, Judge Lo Mein, we’re having this conversation, huh?” I impaled my stick in the orange chicken, as if I lacked the skill to grab it correctly. Washington was messing with my desire to be bitter and alone. “Red Velvet Velma had never gotten a cake. When I told her the flavor, she repeated it, mouth puckered like she’d drunk pickle juice. Nope. Like I’d said I’d ground up unicorn bones. Then she fell in love with my upgraded box cake.”
“Yep, classy choice. Shame she never had it before then.”
“Seriously!” After unintentionally flicking orange sauce at him, I acted as though it was all part of the plan.
Washington shook his head and then dug through the bag for napkins. He gave me one, and his hand brushed mine. A tiny contact. But the spark caused enough electricity to run Vegas.
I shifted in my seat to ignore the electric current that coursed through me from his touch. “Let’s find her parents, Wash. Make them bake an apology cake. A tier for every year they were absent from her life. If the layers come out lopsided, we’ll …” Okay, insert something heinous here, Maddy.
“I’m loving the look in your eyes.” He chuckled, sipping his cola. “Menacing. I’m good with whatever you say next.”
On instinct, my hand pushed his chest. The solid fortress burned my palm like lava, and a wave of memories hit me. Us. My manicured fingers clawing into his smooth, hard chest. So many positions. But I played it off. “Mm-hmm, that’s not the type of reform you care about. And I had better stop with the name-calling, Judge Babineaux, before your momma brings the holy oil over.” My cellphone rang on the dresser, and I popped up, annoyed that Red Velvet Velma encouraged me to care for other children. I’ll never abandon you, Elijah.
Mr. Snitch texted me again. I swiped the notification up, keeping Omari on read, while settling back onto the floor.
“Who’s that?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I picked up my container and steered the conversation toward why this man had usurped my evening. “You know, when Montana and Zuri fake dated, your brother gave her $50k on each occasion. We should discuss compensation for our dates.”
“One, he plays for the Dodgers, Maddy, and she had that crazy baby daddy. Montana didn’t want Zuri to disappear out of fear.”
See! I need a You situationship. Or that old Sanaa Lathan movie. Lord, how did that slip my mind? Black women needed way more screen time. Especially as the primary obsession. Morris Chestnut and Michael Ealy chased her down in The Perfect Guy like the last Thanksgiving slice of sweet potato pie. The unhinged one only needed to dial his fatal-attraction energy from a ten to a solid six. Seven, maybe.
“Did you hear me?” Washington cut into my fantasy flick.
I blinked away the very vivid, very shirtless mental slideshow. “Hmm?”
“I said, and two, we aren’t fake dating.” Washington slowly rubbed a palm over his bald head. He knew exactly what that did to me. His deep-set eyes locked onto mine, dark pools of water.
Oh, yesss …
“Madison, are you still seeing your therapist?”
Um, what? “Excuse me, Lifetime Ex-Husband, are you worried I’ve missed my meds?”
“Shonda gave you meds?”
His stare pricked me with a thousand stigma stabs. “Baby No, you’ve outstayed your welcome.”
“Are you on medication, Maddy? How can I help? You need reminders? Wanna talk about it?”
I lurched up from my seat. “Time to go!”
“Mad—”
“If I want to be psychoanalyzed, I’d schedule with Shonda.”
“How come you never understood that was the furthest thing from my intentions, Madison? Do you … still blame me for Elijah’s death?”
I’d kept quiet about that at first. Didn’t need my parents to have ammunition against the man my heart would forever love.
“I forgive you.” The lie choked out. I’d hurt this man a lot, but I never blamed him for losing our child. I’d rather let him feel the sharp sting of my words for some unnecessary crap than watch him wallow in that guilt. Who could recover from that? I wasn’t that type of evil.
I murmured, “Wash, I never blamed you for the accident. You still gotta go, though.”
My phone popped up with a text. Omari. Again.
Ugh. But if Mr. Riche hadn’t snitched …?
Yeah, right. I had no business craving romance when I’d never replace my son.
Still, I glanced at the phone to keep from staring at my ex-husband. Omari had left another funny message.
A smile creased my lips, pure and automatic. When I looked up, Washington pinned me with a glare. “Whoever it is, tell him y’all need a break.”
It’s not like that … but maybe I could use it to make Washington jealous. I straightened my shoulders. “Good night, Wash.”
“Bonswa, amour.” He muttered, Good night, love, in Kouri Vini, leaving me conflicted about the messy state of our lives.