Page 99 of Body Language
“When a man keeps you in the gray, he keeps you disposable. I survived being disposable once. I’m not gambling my kids’ stability on a man’s comfort ever again. If you want me, it costs clarity.”
I stared at her, and everything in me rearranged. The anger I felt for that man; the respect I felt for her was cold and solid. Shewasn’t being difficult. She was protecting a life she built brick by brick after somebody almost used her as a blueprint for a charge.
“Now you see why I demand a title,” she finished, calm. “It’s not a crown. It’s a seatbelt.”
I nodded slow. “Yeah,” I said.. “I see why.”
I didn’t toss her a pretty promise. Didn’t spit out “be my girlfriend” like a bandage in a driveway. I let the weight of what she said settle where it needed to: in my plans.
I reached for her hand. “If my name touches your life, it’s gonna mean something on paper and in practice,” I told her. “I’m not here to keep you gray.”
She shifted in the seat, fingers tracing the seam of her jeans.
“I want to tell you something before we go any further.”
My eyes cut over to her.
“I met Sincere when I was eighteen,” she started. “He’s the one who took me to my first strip club. He taught me the game—not just how to dance, but how to make my intellect cash checks just as easy as my ass could.”
I didn’t move, just listened.
She leaned back like the memory was playing in front of her. “I already had the body. Already knew how to move. But he sharpened my mind for this shit. I grew up around things that made me wise before my time, and he showed me how to package that wisdom into leverage. And it worked. It’s why I’ve been able to build the life I have.”
My jaw tightened. Not because I didn’t want to hear it, but because I could hear the truth in every word. The kind that comes from living it, not dressing it up.
“Sincere’s never been someone I saw long-term,” she said. “He’s just… one of those people who was there from the start. Someone I’ll always lean on when I need it.”
Her eyes found mine and held. “He knows about you. He knows how I feel about you. So when it comes to him, there should never be a question.”
There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation in her face. No shifting eyes. No nervous smile. Just straight, uncut honesty aimed right at me.
“That’s me being honest,” she finished. “Giving you everything up front.”
I just sat there, taking her in. That wasn’t small talk. It was her putting the cards on the table and trusting I wouldn’t flip them over to see if they matched. And for some reason, that hit me harder than I thought it would.
Her fingers threaded through mine like a test she decided I’d passed for now.
“Come on,” I said, finally exhaling. “Let me get you inside.”
We got out the truck and walked up to the house. She still had her hand in mine, so I unlocked the door and let her step in first.
The smell hit her before the sight did. Her head tilted. “Kendrix… what the hell is that smell? Smells like… cinnamon? And… Play-Doh?”
I bit back a grin. “You’ll see.”
We rounded the corner into the living room, and she stopped.
On my coffee table was the most ridiculous, crooked-ass diorama a grown man had ever made. Colored construction paper, glitter everywhere like a unicorn had a stomach virus, tiny plastic figurines standing on little cardboard cutouts I’d labeled in my own handwriting. At the center was a small cardboard stage I’d built, with a Barbie in a purple two-piece—cut from a piece of felt—standing in front of a crowd of mismatched LEGO men, Hot Wheels, and two GI Joes. Off to the side, I’d glued a Monopoly “title deed” card, but instead of “Boardwalk,” I’d written in black Sharpie:
“Official Title: Girlfriend.”
Applicant must be fine as hell(checkmark drawn next to it)
