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Just…different.

Last few days, she hadn’t tried shit with me.

No grabbing my dick in the kitchen.

No coming to bed talking about she wanted some.

No little comments.

Nothing.

Then when I tried initiating something two nights ago, she rolled over talking about she was tired.

Tired?

Samantha?

The same woman who damn near tried sucking my dick at midnight after working twelve hours?

Now she was tired.

I didn’t know what the fuck happened that night she went out with Nesha, but ever since that night, her energy had been different.

Then I still had Levin’s fucking money hanging over my head.

I had seven.

He wanted twenty.

And after the way that nigga punched on me at my job, I knew he wasn’t playing.

I hadn’t gambled at Freckles since.

Fuck that.

Too many eyes.

Levin owned the shit. His security would tell him I was downstairs gambling before I even finished my first hand.

Didn’t mean I stopped gambling.

I just stopped doing it there.

Little spots in Newark.

One in Irvington.

Private game in Elizabeth somebody put me onto.

I was trying to flip what I had without losing the shit I already had.

Which sounded smarter in my head than it probably was.

By the time I pulled in front of Heather’s house, my phone was ringing again.

Sam.

I stared at her name.