Page 53 of Free Agent

“I was playing,” she insisted, patting the product into her skin. “Remember after the picture, you said I owed you?—”

“Pussy for breakfast, yeah, and I ain’t forgot,” I told her. “I never did get it.”

“Sounds like they cancel each other out.”

I scoffed. “Nah, it don’t work like that sweetheart,” I told her, watching as she spread another product on her face, a thick cream this time, that left her looking shiny and clean.

“Of course it does,” she laughed. “Hey, seriously though… that game… you good? I don’t know a ton about football but that was kind of a tough loss, right? Overtime, and then another overtime, and then you guys almost had it, but then…”

“Are you trying to make me feel better, or rubbing it in?”

“Not sure yet,” she said, wearing a little smirk as she took off the headband, revealing that her hair was tucked underneath a colorful silk scarf. “I’m still deciding if I’m mad at you or not.”

“You’re not,” I declared. “You wouldn’t be flirting if you were mad.”

“Who says I’m flirting?” she asked.

“Your mouth,” I chuckled, as she picked up the phone and started moving. She wasn’t looking at it. She was looking wherever she was heading, which gave me a perfect opportunity to really stare. “Damn. You ’bout a pretty motherfucker, you know that?” I said, and her eyes went wide before she looked back at the camera.

“Huh?” She was still now, and I could see her headboard in the background. “’Bout a pretty motherfucker… That’s a compliment, right?” she asked, slightly confused.

“Oh, that’s how you gonna do me?” I laughed. “That’s who we are? The big city girl can’t understand the country nigga trope?”

“I’m dead serious,” she giggled. “Are you country?” she asked.

“With a nickname like Country Boy Tate? Niggas calling me Tater and you’re asking if I’m country?” I asked, and she shook her head.

“I don’t know anything about all that,” she insisted. “I hear it in your voice a little I guess, but you don’t have a super heavy accent. Where are you from?”

“Kentucky.”

“Seriously?!” she shrieked. “I… never would’ve guessed that. What else is in Kentucky?”

“Bourbon,” I laughed. “And livestock. Fields. Lots of land.”

“Sounds… remote.”

I shrugged. “It can be, but I love that shit. I’m heading to Wildwood in a few weeks as a matter of fact.”

“Is that the city you’re from? Your family is still there?”

“Yes, my family is there, but it’s not the city. Wildwood is my family’s ranch.”

She pulled the camera closer to her face. “Your family owns a ranch? Like… a ranch? Like on TV?”

“You talking about those messy ass murderous white folks?” I laughed.

“You know I am. Is that realistic?”

“The murder part, nah… not that I would ever say so over the phone, just in case the feds are listening,” I teased. “The rest… is sensationalized, but I can’t honestly say it’s too far off. My mom and sister love that shit.”

“Sounds like my kinda company,” she said. The camera shifted again, she was laying down now. “What about the corporations and stuff coming in? Are y’all like, constantly defending your land and all that?”

“Uh… my pops has had to make a point a time or two over the years,” I admitted. “And if he rode, we all did. It’s been a minute since anybody tried anything like that though. Hopefully it’ll stay that way.”

She nodded. “Yeah… that’s wild. Sounds like fun.”

“It’s never boring, for damn sure,” I chuckled. “You look sleepy.”

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