Page 100 of ClickBack

She lifts her head from my arm. I don’t like spoiling her good mood. I like the idea that she believes I need a rotation of women even less.

“I know you can,” she says. “That was cheap.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

I rest my hand over hers. “Thank you.”

For a while, she looks out the window. I give her the quiet, watching the clouds instead of trying to pull another joke from her. When she turns back, she touches the seam of my shirt.

“I wasn’t seeing anybody when we met,” she says. “I’m still not.”

“Me either.”

“We already said that.”

“We did.” I turn toward her. “I want us to keep it that way.”

Her fingers stop against my shirt.

“I called you my woman the other day talking to Cam,” I admit. “Felt right coming out. Then I thought I should probably have that conversation with you.”

“Probably.” She is trying to keep her face serious. “What conversation?”

“You know what I’m asking.”

“I want to hear you ask it.”

That gets me. I look down at our hands, then back at her. “I want to be with you. Just you. Can we agree on that?”

“Yes,” she says.

No joke after it. She kisses me, her hand closing around mine, and I forget there was anything difficult about asking. When she settles back beside me, I keep looking at her until she laughs and tells me to stop.

In Atlanta, a driver takes us downtown. Graves sits in front, talking to somebody about picking up a package later. Giselle watches the streets and points out a building she remembers from a trip with Rae. At Centennial Olympic Park, she wants to walk, so we do. I leave the duffel in the car.

Children are testing how far they can get through the fountains before the water rises again. Giselle applauds a little girl who gets across dry, then refuses when I suggest she try it.

“In these clothes? I have sense.”

A ball rolls toward us while the jets are down. She stops it with her sneaker and bends to roll it back to the boy chasing it. The water comes up while she is straightening. She jumps out of one stream and into another, and I get a cold blast across my shirt trying to pull her clear.

She is laughing so hard she can barely tell me what I did wrong.

“You came in like a superhero and got baptized.”

“I was helping.”

“You brought me toward more water.”

“I got you out.”

“You got yourself in.”

Her romper clings to her legs. She pushes wet hair away from her face, still laughing, while I lead her toward the car. Graves sees us coming and opens the door. He says nothing. Giselle laughs harder.

“Go ahead,” I tell him.