Page 5 of Broken Clocks
“God, if you send him back to me, I promise to—” I stopped myself mid-thought and let the rest evaporate like smoke, because I didn’t actually want him back—and I realized that in that exact moment.
I didn’t want him. He was just a bad habit I had trouble breaking. I knew that.
I wanted peace.
“Eshe!” Sinica called my name loud enough to cut through the music. I turned, already annoyed, surrounded by six of herfriends who looked like carbon copies of her: light-skinned, lace fronts, thin, lithe bodies. I almost rolled my eyes.
“Yeah, what?” I asked, deadpan.
“Sherry asked if you ever thought about taking out your locs. You might lose a few inches, but you’d look so pretty with relaxed hair.”
I barely heard anything after that because the white boy sitting with a group across the way had my attention. He was staring at me as if he knew me.
I squinted to get a better view of his face in the dim lights. Something about him was… magnetic. I didn’t usually find white boys interesting to look at, but he was too handsome to ignore, and he was sitting with a crowd full of Black folks.
I licked my lips.
He smiled and nodded at me like he was inviting me over.
I shook my head, even though something in my chest tightened at the idea. I already had too much going on with the man I was dealing with.
I ran my tongue over my teeth, gave him one final look, then turned away.
Everyone at the table was waiting for me to respond. I had to mentally rewind to remember she had asked me about my hair.
Why in the fuck would I risk damaging my hair to fit their standards?
I picked up my drink—a Crown Royal, straight—and took a slow sip before answering with a simple, “No.”
I spat it out. The question had left a bad taste in my mouth. This was exactly why I didn’t bother with Sinica and her friends. I wastipsy enough not to let it really get to me, but I wasn’t about to play with them either. It was time for me to go home.
I gathered my things, stood up slowly, and threw my purse strap over my shoulder.
“I’ll see y’all at the wedding,” I said flatly. No hugs. No fake smiles. Just walked away.
My patience was damn near nonexistent. Cordial was the best they were gonna get.
Sinica called after me—like she hadn’t just sat there and let her friends fuck with me.
I didn’t turn around.
Moving through the club made me feel like I was suffocating. The thick heat was stifling, and the bass thumped through my ribcage like it was trying to crack me open from the inside. Perfume, sweat, spilled drinks all mixed in the air and made my stomach queasy. I ignored the urge to cover my nose.
I pushed past a group of girls twerking near the bar and squeezed between two men dapping each other up.
I was halfway to the door when a hand wrapped around my wrist.
I froze.
My head snapped to the side, ready to snatch my arm back and cuss somebody out—but when I looked up, it was him. The white boy from across the club. The one with the smile that made something low in my stomach clench.
I yanked my hand away, still.
“Don’t be grabbing on strange women,” I snapped, narrowing my eyes up at him, trying to look intimidating.
A wide smile split his lips. Then he gave me this look—like he’d just figured something out about me in a few seconds.
He leaned in, and my heart ticked up. He smelled sweet and hot, like the spicy candies I remembered eating when I was little.
