Catch Up!
“Jamal, you’ve been awfully quiet.” Shayla’s voice was thick with suspicion, her nails clicking against the rim of her glass.
I stabbed at my salad, barely tasting it. “Just got a lot on my mind.”
“Mmm.” She tilted her head. “You mean Mr. Sexy has you all twisted up, running circles in that head of yours. He must’ve put it down.”
I swiped a grape from her plate, rolling it between my fingers before popping it into my mouth. “Just stop. You know it’s not that simple for me.”
“Oh, I know.” She smirked, propping her elbow on the table. “All I do know is that since we got back to Chicago, you’ve had this dumbass grin stuck on your face. Someone’s in love.” She broke into an exaggerated melody, making a spectacle of it.
I straightened my back, reached for my napkin, and dabbed at my mouth with deliberate care. “Shayla, please. You know I don’t believe in that love shit. Be serious.”
She rolled her eyes and took a slow sip of her spiked ginger ale. “Just because you don’t believe in love doesn’t mean it isn’t real.”
Before I could argue, a voice cut through the conversation—deep, smooth, and distracting.
“Would you like to try our dessert special today?”
I looked up.
And there he was.
Had to be new. There's no way I would’ve missed him before.
Tall. Firm. That fresh, barely-touched kind of temptation. Six-foot-four built just right—broad shoulders, thick thighs, and a face too pretty for his own good.
I liked them tall. I liked them solid. And I liked them hard.