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One was horrible.

One was decent.

And Cornell had earned a second.

That was enough.

I was learning what I liked when I wasn’t trying to keep a husband happy.

Shit.

I was learning who the fuck I was when I wasn’t somebody’s wife.

Levin could either respect that or get the fuck on.

So far, he’d respected it.

Mostly.

“He hates it,” Nesha said.

I smiled.

“That man probably got Cornell’s Social Security number.”

“Nesha!”

“I’m serious. Levin look like the type to know that nigga’s credit score already.”

I laughed.

“He better not.”

The doorbell rang.

Michael screamed from somewhere behind me.

“COOKIES!”

I looked at the clock.

“Jesus Christ.”

Michael flew past us so fast one of his socks nearly came off.

“Don’t open that door!”

“It’s Uncle Levin!”

“You don’t know who’s at that door!”

“Yes I do!”

“How?”

“He got the cameras!”

I paused.