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“I ain’t asking you to forget shit. I’m telling you I’m back because I want my bitch back.”

“I’m not your bitch.”

“You will be.”

I laughed. “There go that hood nigga confidence.”

“Call it whatever you want.”

His second phone started vibrating again.

I looked down at it.

“You got bitches calling that one?”

“Money.”

“Same fucking thing with you.”

Keith laughed.

I shook my head and looked out the window, but I couldn’t stop the little smile that came across my face.

Okay.

Dinner was nice.

He admitted he fucked up.

And he wasn’t asking me to jump right back into anything.

Still didn’t mean I trusted his ass.

But like I said before⁠—

It was a decent fucking start.

7

XAVIER, SAMANTHA & HEATHER

XAVIER

By the time I left the construction site in Jersey City, I felt like somebody had beat my ass all over again.

And considering that shit had actually happened less than two weeks ago, that was saying something.

Motherfuckers at work wouldn’t let me live that shit down either.

Every fucking day since.

Didn’t help that Lev had pulled up to my actual job and beat my ass in front of damn near half the crew. Niggas ain’t give a fuck why it happened. All they knew was some big-ass nigga came up there, asked for his money, then proceeded to beat the brakes off my ass.

Dre had been calling me Muhammad Ali ever since.

Not because I could fight.

Because, according to him, I had “took them punches like a champ.”