Page 47 of Before I Say I Don't
My lips curved in a smile I couldn’t stop.
I snapped a picture with the mug in my hand, sunlight catching my collarbone, and my hair still pinned up from sleep. It wasn’t flirty or posed—just me.
Me: Don’t say I never gave you anything.
Roman: Damn, Kam. You call that “just woke up”? You look better than most females do after a whole glam team.
I laughed under my breath, covering my mouth.
Me: Stop it. It’s coffee and good lighting.
Roman: Nah, it’s you. And don’t downplay it. If you were mine, I wouldn’t let you leave the house looking like that. Matter of fact, I’d have you staying home in that robe all day. I wouldn’t even let you leave the bedroom.
My cheeks burned hot, traitor smile tugging. Fingers typed faster than my senses.
Me: Dangerous words for before 9 a.m. Mr. Hill.
Roman: I like danger… especially when it’s wrapped up like that.
Before I could fire back, I heard footsteps.
Viangelo.
I slid my phone face-down on the counter, heart galloping. Then, I sent a quick message under the counter.
Me: Angelo just walked in the kitchen. I’ll call you when I leave.
Roman: Bet. Don’t forget.
I locked the screen, then set the phone face down on the counter, trying to look like a woman sipping coffee instead of one sipping secrets.
“Good morning, baby,” his voice hit my back.
I twisted around in the chair and noticed Viangelo already dressed, but not in a suit and tie. Instead, he had on a crisp white tee, Nike tech shorts, a fresh pair ofJordan 4 “Thunder” releases, and that cologne he only ever wore when he had somebody to impress.
“Um, good morning to you too. You do know today is Friday… right?”
“Yeah. I’m heading out of town for the weekend,” he replied casually, eyes glued to his phone like he was ordering takeout instead of detonating my morning.
My mug froze midair. “I’m sorry—what?”
Viangelo finally looked up. “Quick lil’ bachelor trip.” He shrugged like it was nothing.
I hastily shot up from my seat. “Bachelor trip? Says the same man who swore hewasn’t having one?!” My voice cracked through the kitchen.
“Last-minute plans with my grooms,” he said, rolling his shoulders. “They brought it up last night. And the best part? I ain’t gotta come outta pocket for shit.”
As if you ever do, I almost spit.
“So it won’t be like I’m tapping into the wedding funds.”
Nigga, the entire wedding is already paid for at this point. No thanks to you.That thought sat on my tongue, sour and heavy, but I bit it back before it could slice him open.
“So what time are you leaving?” I asked, calmly.
“In a few minutes,” he responding, checking his watch like the clock would save him from the conversation. “We’re meeting at Neek’s spot and?—”
“In… in a few minutes? So you decided to tell me thisrightbefore you got in the car? Got it!” I nodded.
