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I didn’t even know what the fuck they were called until Sam corrected me the first three times I called them regular braids.

Now I knew.

And worse?

I had grown to like them on her.

I stared a second too long.

She caught me.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“You staring.”

“I’m looking.”

“Same thing.”

“Nah.”

She smiled a little.

I shook my head.

See.

That shit right there.

No.

I wasn’t supposed to know what hairstyles I liked on this woman.

Wasn’t supposed to know how she took her coffee.

Wasn’t supposed to know she hated hotel pillows that were too soft because they fucked with her neck.

Wasn’t supposed to know she liked to shower before getting into any hotel bed because, according to her, I don’t know who nasty ass was laying in these sheets before me.

I damn sure wasn’t supposed to know when her smile was real and when she was forcing one.

But I did.

And the one she gave me right then?

Forced.

“You eat?”

She shrugged. “Not really.”

“Why?”

“Wasn’t hungry.”

“You need to eat.”