Page 5
“I grabbed it and my grapes from The Marketplace this morning before I came in.”
“Shit, I should have gone there. This leftover spaghetti looks mid next to that sandwich.”
“Order one. They deliver,” I say, then pick up my sandwich and read the label. “This is the Turkey BLT—basil, lettuce and tomato. It also has provolone on it.”
“I’ll get one tomorrow for sure. I’ll just eat this dry ass spaghetti,” she says and I laugh.
“Girl, that spaghetti looks good.”
“Then, shit, let’s trade.”
“It don’t look that good.” I smirk and she laughs. The minute I crack the seal on my sandwich, a call comes through my console. “Duty calls,” I tell her and answer. “911. What’s the location of your emergency?”
The calls return and our reprieve ends. By the end of my shift, between my lunch and very brief moments of no calls, I manage to eat only half of my sandwich and a handful of moon grapes. Needless to say, I’m hungry and looking forward to Oreos and milk when I get off. What I am not looking forward to is seeing Langston, so when I clock out, I call Shae as I head to my ride.
“What’s up, chick?” she answers.
“Your house, your shower, and your Oreos,” I tell her.
“Langston being an ass again?” she asks sympathetically.
“You know it.”
“Then come over but I need you to go out with me tonight.”
“Go out? Where?” I sigh. “I just worked ten hours. I really don’t feel like going to nobody’s club.”
“A bar and I have to for work. I need you to go, and before you say it, I have something for you to wear.”
“Of course you do. I’m coming, but can I at least take a nap before we go out?”
“Hell yes because I need a damn nap too. My caseload is heavy as hell and I need a little break.”
“I thought you said the bar was for work.”
“It is but I’m still drinking and hopefully having some fun. A nap is warranted. Supposedly, the bar doesn’t really pop off until late anyway. You hungry for something other than Oreos?”
“Oh, I definitely can eat.”
“Mr. Chans?” she asks, referring to our favorite Chinese spot. It’s only five minutes from her office at the courthouse.
“All day and you know I want the sweet and sour—”
“Shrimp and beef fried rice,” she says, completing my sentence. “I got you. You want tea too?”
“It’s Mr. Chans. I want Kool-Aid,” I tell her. Nothing beats hood Chinese food. It just hits different. Between the thick, red, sweet and sour sauce, big ass pork egg rolls, and Kool-Aid, it’s heaven.
“Okay. See you at my place.”
We end the call and I unlock my Jeep. After grabbing my small Langston-pissed-me-off duffle bag from my trunk, I get in and start the engine. Shae’s duplex is about twenty minutes from the call center. With her picking up Mr. Chans, I’ll beat her to her place, but it’s cool because I have a key.
After parking on the right side of her driveway, I grab my things and get out. I’m showered, relaxing in some boxers and a tee, and eating three Oreos when she walks in. I stand, rush toward her, and relieve her full hands of the food and drinks.
“Whew! Thank you. I didn’t want to make two trips. My damn feet hurt,” she scoffs as she drops her work bag and purse by her front door. She removes her shoes next and tosses them into the closet to her right. “I’m never wearing new shoes to work again. I knew I should have broken them in before today.”
“They are cute though.”
“You can have them.”
