“What’s your number three?”
“I miss my family. I’m grateful that I’ll get to see them again in less than a week.” I squeezed him tighter. “No offense. I really like being here with you, but I miss them. Kyle’s going to be an inch taller. He’s only seven, but you know how it is.”
“That’s your little brother?”
The air in the room held its breath in the golden light.
“He’s my son.” My voice was soft and distant, like it was coming from somewhere else. “I had him when I was very young, and as far as everyone knows, he’s my little brother.”
Keith was silent for a while.
I started crying.
He heard me sniff, and pulled me against his chest, tighter. “Don’t be sad. Why are you crying?”
“I don’t know. It’s this secret I have, and sometimes it feels like a balloon inside my heart. Everything aches, and I don’t know if it’s because of the secret, or if that’s how everyone feels about their child.” I sniffed and wiped my eyes on the corner of the bed sheet. “Why were you so quiet? Were you worried that I was a single mom? That I had a whole bunch of baggage and baby daddy drama?”
“Peaches, I was quiet because I’m not very good at math. How old were you? Fifteen?”
“Barely.”
“Well?”
“Well, what?”
Laughing, he said, “Are you going to get out your phone and show me some pictures of the little guy, or do I have to beg?”
I pulled out my phone, realizing my hands were shaking. I’d never told anyone except my closest family members, my therapist, and Shayla. Even when I told people about Kyle, I said his name, and didn’t specify he was my brother, because I didn’t like lying.
I pulled up a photo of Kyle, shirtless and grinning with no front teeth. “This is my son,” I said.
A chill went up and down my spine. It was a truth I felt in every cell of my body, but rarely got to say.
“He has your eyes,” Keith said.
We scrolled through a few pictures. Kyle eating pizza. Kyle having a bath while wearing a cowboy hat. Kyle hammering things with his play set, in my dad’s workshop, next to my father working with real tools.
“He was a nightmare when he was two. Terrible Twos. Always getting into my makeup, the little brat.”
“Typical brother behavior, I think. I’m the same age as Katy, and I used to do terrible things to her dolls and stuff. There’s something about making a girl cry that’s just so appealing.”
I laughed, snuggling against Keith’s warm body. “I hope you outgrew that, because crying sucks. Fuck crying.”
He reached over and touched my cheeks. “Crying happens. I learned that from having a sister. You should always date guys who have sisters. We’re more sensitive.” He rolled over, on top of me. “Why are we both wearing clothes?”
“I don’t know. You started it.”
He kissed me, rolling his weight up and pressing against my chest. I love that feeling, where you’re already breathless with lust, and then the guy shifts his weight on top of you and you can hardly breathe at all. I sucked on his lips and tongue, hungry for him.
Soon the hem of my dress was riding up, and he was between my legs, grinding against me with his jeans still on. Panting, I wrapped my legs around his h*ps and kissed his lips, his chin, his neck.
He shifted to the side, reached his hand down between my legs, and stopped.
His head lifted up. “Did you hear that?”
“What?”
Footsteps.
Someone was in the apartment. A burglar?
Something moved near the bedroom’s doorway. I shrieked.
“Hello,” came a girl’s voice, sounding forlorn.
Not a burglar.
Honestly, I would have preferred a burglar to Keith’s ex-girlfriend, but it was her, Tabitha.
CHAPTER 16
Tabitha stood in the doorway, interrupting our intimate moment. At least she didn’t have Keith’s nasty-mouthed sister Katy with her this time.
Keith rolled off me and started straightening his clothes.
I jumped up and went to the door. Pointing feebly past her, I said, “I clean bathroom now. I clean real good.”
Tabitha staggered back, then forward, both of her slender hands landing on my shoulders. Her hands were cool on my skin, my shoulders bare except for the straps of my sundress. She smelled like a variety of boozes.
“I know you,” she said, slurring her words. “You’re-the-fat-ssssssupermodel.”
“Yes, I was on that show with Tyra Banks. I’m America’s Next Top Fat Supermodel. Very good. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
The girl had a strong grip for a big-lipped girl under one hundred pounds.
“You’re all woman,” she said.
I glanced over at Keith, who was not making this any easier by sitting on the edge of the bed looking mortified.
Tabitha stared down at my br**sts like a hungry baby who smells milk.
“So pretty,” she said, smiling a goofy smile.
I looked over at Keith again. “Dude, I am so not down with having a threesome. Please tell her that.”
Tabitha started to laugh, one of those slow-motion, drunk-girl laughs, then did a full-stop into Serious Mode. “You are so funny and pretty. I see why Keith likes you, because I like you. I like you a lot!”
I squirmed away finally, because she looked like she was about to kiss me. I love my ladies, but not like that. Maybe a tiny crush back in high school, but that was on Chantalle Hart and you’d have to be a robot to not feel something for her.
“The chairs are right over there,” I said, pointing to the romantic set-up. “You’re not driving, are you?”
“Oh, Keith,” she said, transitioning into sobbing mode.
Drunk. Crying. At her ex-boyfriend’s place. Classic. I rolled my eyes pretty hard, but just to keep me from cringing up into a ball of cringe.
“I’ll just leave you guys to talk,” I said, walking over to the other room.
She staggered into Keith’s bedroom, shutting the door behind her.
My eyebrows nearly hit the ceiling. Oh, no. She did NOT just go into the bedroom with Keith and shut the door. No, she did not, because that’s how you get your hair extensions yanked out.
I paced back and forth, then a calm broke over me. Whatever happened, it was out of my hands. I stomped back to the kitchen, being really loud to remind them I was still there, got the strawberries and Cool Whip I’d picked up for dessert, and took them into the spare bedroom.