Page 59

I worked front desk at a dental clinic now for Dr. Q.

Fine-ass chocolate motherfucker.

Dr. Quincy Harris.

Married.

Of course.

And I would’ve bet my entire next paycheck his little dental assistant was sucking his dick before he went home to his wife.

I ain’t have proof.

Didn’t need it.

You could tell by how that bitch brought him his coffee.

Women knew.

I looked down when Carter made a little noise around the bottle, her eyes getting heavier by the second.

“Don’t you go to sleep yet. Mommy gotta get dressed.”

I glanced at the time on my phone.

9:17.

“Shit.”

I had to be at work by ten-thirty.

Friday was my short day, thank God. The clinic closed at three, and most Fridays I was out of there by three-thirty unless Dr. Q decided to squeeze somebody in at the last fucking minute because they had an “emergency.”

Emergency meaning they ignored a toothache for six months and suddenly decided Friday afternoon was the perfect time to give a fuck.

I pulled the bottle from Carter’s mouth when she stopped drinking and sat her up against my chest.

“Come on. Burp.”

I started patting her back while getting up from the couch.

One-bedroom apartment plus a baby meant I could pretty much get from one side of my house to the other without ever putting her down.

I carried her into my bedroom.

My bed wasn’t made.

Clothes were spread across it because I had already changed my mind twice about what I was wearing.

Carter’s crib sat against the wall on my side of the room, and her little white dresser was squeezed underneath the TV. Half my dresser had become hers too.

Babies really came into your house and evicted your ass one drawer at a time.

I put her over my shoulder and reached into my closet.

“What we wearing today?”

Carter burped.