Page 275

“What?”

“You giving me the safe-sex talk at damn near eighteen.”

“I missed a few years.”

That shut both of us up for a second.

Not in some sad-ass way.

Just the truth.

I went in when Henry was ten.

By the time I came home, this nigga had facial hair, a deep-ass voice, was looking at colleges and apparently had a whole girlfriend he was fucking.

Seven years was a lot of shit to catch up on.

I pointed my pizza at him.

“How old is Charlene?”

“Seventeen.”

“Parents?”

“Yeah.”

“They know you?”

“Her mom does.”

“What about her father?”

Henry took another drink.

“Yeah.”

“He like you?”

“He don’t really talk to me.”

I laughed. “He don’t like your ass.”

“I ain’t do nothing to him.”

“You fucking his daughter.”

Henry put the juice down.

“How he know that?”

“He got eyes, nigga.”

He laughed and reached for another slice before I could take that one too.

I looked at him for a second.

Almost eighteen.