Page 9 of Ex- Factor
Before he could answer, the doorbell rang.
I frowned. “I wonder who that is?”
He gave a lazy shrug, and I got up to check the peephole. It was Cassius, holding a duffel bag.
I opened the door. “Um. Hi? What’s up?”
Cassius smirked and shoved the bag in my direction. “I came to pick up my car and I brought a change of clothes for your boy.” As soon as I took the bag, he turned and left.
Silas was picking up hair from the floor and couch when I turned around, avoiding looking at me.
“Why did he bring you a change of clothes here?” I asked, stepping back into the living room and holding up the duffel like it was evidence in a trial.
Silas rubbed the back of his neck, eyes darting toward the bag.
“Oh. Uh…” He hesitated. “I got a thing later. Like a meet-up. I figured I’d just go from here. Less running around.”
I tilted my head. “You figured you’d get ready at my house?”
He shrugged again, trying to look innocent, but there was a little smile playing on his lips. Like he knew damn well what he was doing.
“I mean, I was already here. Didn’t want to waste time going back and forth.”
“Mmhmm.” I narrowed my eyes and sucked my teeth. “You’re lucky you cute.”
He nodded like he agreed. “I get that a lot.”
I tossed the duffel bag onto the couch. “Fine.”
Again, I don’t know why I was letting him do what he wanted—but I was.
Chapter six-Silas
I hadn’t meant to invade her space for so long. Even though I’d originally lied and said I only planned to stay Saturday, I found myself making excuses to stay until Sunday.
And Eshe let me.
She let me hold her in bed. She cooked for me. We had long conversations. I didn’t even have to try that hard to stay.
I could tell she wasn’t used to being alone—and I was taking advantage of that, because I really didn’t want to be away from her.
She let me wash her hair.
That’s how I knew.
Angel and Naomi always said Black women don’t just let anybody play in their hair. I understood why now.
It felt like the most intimate thing I’d ever done with a woman—more than sex, more than any confession whispered in the dark.
I felt this stupid, possessive pride because she trusted me.
Then I felt bad for Charmaine, because that was what she’d always wanted—and I just couldn’t give it to her.
That left me wondering why.
Was it me? Was it her?
Why couldn’t I give Charmaine what she wanted—or the women before her?
