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“You paid for Puerto Rico?”

“Sam—”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

“Get a refund.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the money.”

“Well, I do.”

She turned around.

I reached for her arm, then stopped myself before I touched her.

“Sam.”

She looked back.

“I ain’t asking you to forgive me tonight.”

“Good.”

“But don’t stand here thinking everything between us was fake.”

“I don’t know what the fuck was fake.”

“None of it.”

“You don’t get to tell me that.”

That shut me up.

“I gotta figure that out for myself.”

I nodded slowly.

She started toward her car.

“Sam.”

She stopped again.

I could’ve told her I cared about her.

Could’ve told her this had become real.

Could’ve told her Xay hadn’t been in my fucking head when I touched her in weeks.

But right then, all of it would’ve sounded like some shit a guilty nigga said because he got caught.

So I gave her the one thing I should’ve given her from the beginning.

The truth.

“You ain’t owe me shit.”