Page 29 of You Deserve Good Things

“I can’t change what happened,” I admitted. “But I can try to do better moving forward.”

Daniale smiled. “That’s all you ever needed to do.”

I nodded slowly, letting her words settle in my chest.

Then I smirked, pulling her closer.

“But just so you know, baby,” I murmured, “you keep pressing me like this, you might fuck around and end up falling for me.”

She snorted. “Who said I haven’t already?”

And just like that, I knew I was in big fucking trouble.

First Date Jitters

I had never beenthe type to get nervous over no damn date. I mean, come on—I survived trauma, moved to a whole new city, got my degree, started healing, and somehow didn’t lose my mind in the process. But this? This wasn’t just dinner and drinks with some random nigga with a fade and a beard tryna sell dreams. This was Jacory. This washim. The man who lived in the pages of my past and still somehow ended up between every line of my present.

So yeah. My nerves were tap dancing on my spine like they had Timberlands on.

The sky outside had dipped into a golden-pink gradient, the kind of sunset that made Houston look like it was tryna flirt with you. Warm breezes danced across my shoulders through the window as I tried to pick the perfect outfit, which felt like trying to pick a weapon in battle—’cause this was war. War between what I told myself I didn’t need and the man I couldn’t stop needing.

Daniale was sprawled across my bed like she owned the place, legs crossed, bonnet tilted slightly like it was tired of fighting gravity.

“Bitch, what is the issue!” she barked, launching a pillow at my head with sniper-like precision. “You done tried on four damn dresses and still talking ’bout, ‘it don’t feel right.’ Baby, you tryna impress your man or the Met Gala?”

I adjusted my neckline in the mirror and shot her a glare. “I just wanna look . . . good.”

She sucked her teeth. “Youalwayslook good. Even when you ugly crying on FaceTime with crust in your eye talkin’ ’bout, ‘Dani, what if he don’t want me no mo’.’”

I gasped. “I hate you.”

“And yet, I’m still here like your emotional support bad bitch.”

I finally landed on a wine-red bodycon dress that hugged my hips like it had a crush on me. I grabbed my gloss and hit a final swipe across my lips, still not sure if I wanted to throw up or cry.

“I just . . . I need to breathe,” I mumbled.

“Nah.” Daniale stood up and snapped her fingers like a hood fairy godmother. “You need to stop playing. That man has been ready to risk it all for you since puberty. You were the dream before he had facial hair. Go claim what’s yours.”

And claim I did. Or, at least, Itriedto—until life decided to give me a detour in the form of a crusty-ass Houston hoodratwho had the audacity to step in my path with some dollar store confidence and half a lineup.

“Damn, lil’ mama, where yo’ fine ass been hiding at?” he slurred, stepping into my space like he paid rent in my aura.

I gave him the courtesy of a glance and a hard “I’m not interested,” but he kept pressing like a cracked iPhone screen.

“You one of them bougie-ass bitches, huh?”

Cue record scratch.

I turned slowly, my heels clicking against the concrete like punctuation marks in a read session.

“I’m sorry—whatdid you just say to me?”

This grown man-child had the audacity to smirk, eyes crawling over me like I was an appetizer he couldn’t afford.

“You heard me. Stuck-up, tight-ass, self-righteous ho?—”

And that was when it happened.

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