Page 44 of Before I Say I Don't
The question wasn’t really a question—it was a warning dressed as one.
Terrence chuckled, suddenly finding the bottom of his beer bottle real interesting.
“Yeah, yeah. Just messing.”
I didn’t say a word, but I did make a mental note.
The shift in Viangelo’s tone and the look on Terrence’s face… that wasn’t “just messing.” That was a man who’d let too much truth slip through his teeth.
I’d seen it too many times—the cover-up smile, the deflection, the way a man’s body tensed when his truth was dangling by a thread. And the way Viangelo looked at Terrence? Hell, I’d seen softer stares before a fight broke out.
“Make sure those Tuesday nights turn into date night after ‘I do,’” I slid in, light but pointed. “Consistency is cheaper than apologies.”
The tension loosened a notch, and the hum of conversation found its rhythm again.
The table laughed—the kind of laugh people give when they’re not sure if it’s a joke but decide to laugh anyway so they don’t feel awkward.
Viangelo shot me an appraising glance—like he was trying to decide if I’d just tossed shade or wisdom across the table. Then he smirked, slow, that smug little curl of his mouth that always said he thought he was untouchable.
“Look at Roman dropping Pinterest quotes and shit,” he quipped, lifting his glass in my direction. “To good friends and even better wives.” His smirk lingered like he believed his own toast.
I clinked my glass with his but kept my eyes steady. “To truth and loyalty,” I included.
Viangelo laughed like he didn’t notice the difference, but I could see the flicker in his eyes.
Moments later, his phone buzzed under the table. He angled it away from the group, thumbs moving with a speed nofiancéeever inspired. That wasn’t a “hey baby” smile; that was a secret smile.
“Be right back,” he announced, sliding out of the booth before anyone could even nod.
I checked my watch after five minutes… then ten… then fifteen. Nobody else seemed to notice. They were all caught up in gossip, wings, and whiskey, but I saw it for what it was. That wasn’t a bathroom break… more like a rendezvous.
When Viangelo finally slid back into the booth, his collar was shifted like somebody had tugged it, his face a little too freshly wiped—like he’d just rehearsed his innocence in the mirror. Then, as if the universe wanted to testify, his phone lit up again. A woman’s name—not Kamira’s—glowed across the screen, and the smirk he tried to hide said more than any excuse could.
Tell me you’re sloppy without telling me you’re sloppy, nigga.
I sipped my drink slow; lips pressed to the rim. Outwardly, I was just another friend at the table. Inwardly? I was seething and gearing up.
Viangelo didn’t know it yet, but court was already in session. Every smirk, every too-long bathroom break and every name that lit up across his phone—I filed it neatly like evidence.
Exhibit A: the crooked collar. Exhibit B: the smirk he couldn’t swallow. Exhibit C: the text that had him grinning under the table like a middle-schooler with a hall pass.
The jury in my chest was already deliberating, and the verdict wasn’t looking good.
I wasn’t rushing the trial, though. Sometimes the best way to win is to let a liar talk themselves into a conviction. By the time the gavel dropped, there wouldn’t be any room left for reasonable doubt.
The rest of the night blurred into small talk, sports scores, empty laughter, and wings we didn’t need… but none of it mattered. My focus never left Viangelo. Every easy smile he flashed, every shoulder slap, and every casual “bro” he said—it all screamed performance. And Kamira? She didn’t even know she was watching a play.
And if his shadows ever touched her? I’d drag Viangelo into the light myself. He’d find out fast I wasn’t built to let shit like that slide.
“You settled back in yet?” he asked, leaning back in his chair like he was king of something.
“I’m just here for a month; I don’t plan on doing too much settling,” I replied, calm. “Just letting the city reintroduce itself.”
“Good… we need your kind of energy at the wedding to balance my chaos.”
I let a slow smile tilt my mouth. “I don’t balance men; I tell ’em the truth.”
Jax whistled, low. “Bars.”
