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“Ain’t shit funny about this.”

“You’re right.”

His smile disappeared.

“Because Samantha ain’t laughing.”

I stared at him.

“While you was running around making babies and promising Heather a future you knew damn well you wasn’t giving her, Sam was home thinking she had a husband.”

“Don’t talk to me about my fucking marriage.”

“What marriage?”

My fists balled.

“You got one more fucking time⁠—”

“Or what?”

Levin stepped closer.

“What the fuck you gon do lil nigga?”

He went back toward the couch.

“And that wasn’t some one-time revenge fuck either.”

I looked at him.

“Hotels. Dinner. Spa. She comes here. I see her whenever the fuck we feel like seeing each other.”

“You taking my wife on dates?”

“Yeah.”

Something about that pissed me off worse.

Sex was sex.

I knew that better than anybody.

But dates?

My fucking wife getting dressed and going somewhere with another nigga?

Sitting across from him?

Laughing with him?

Letting him learn shit about her?

And suddenly Henry’s birthday flashed through my head.

Sam laughing with Levin.

The way they moved around each other.