Page 32 of Tangled Hearts
He wasn’t wrong.
“I sleep,” she mumbled.
“You dream?”
“Yea, nigga.”
“Good ones or bad?”
“Oh, my God, Quameek,” she laughed at him and his words. She swallowed hard but answered, “both.”
He nodded slowly, his eyes still on her, looking for a crack in her armor. “Rock in ‘em?”
“Sometimes.” She licked her lips, staring off at the dingy walls. “You?”
Hov looked at her, then away. “I don’t really dream.”
She didn’t believe that, but she let it go. “Why you came up?”
He tilted his head and stretched his legs out. “You know why.”
“No, I really don’t.”
“Knyc…” he leaned in a little, voice lower—sexier. “You ever look at somebody and justknowthey tryna hold it together, even when they smiling?”
She looked at him, blinking fast.
“I see that shit on you. You be doing all this strong girl shit, but I see it.”
Her eyes glossed, but she didn’t let the tears fall. “So you gon’ save me, Hov?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he reached over and tugged at a curly baby hair that frizzed out of place. “Nah. I ain’t your savior. But I’m gon’ sit with you ‘til the weight don’t feel so heavy.”
Her chest rose, like she was finally breathing for the first time that night. “Why you always like this with me?”
“Like what?”
“Real. Wordy. Wise.”
His smile was slow to rise but beautiful like the perfect morning. “‘Cause you the only girl I never had to lie to.”
She looked at him then. His face was lit by the shadow from the idle glow of the TV that she kept on all day every day. His lips were parted slightly. His eyes, bloodshot from the smoke, looked heavy but clear. Intentional.
He reached out like he was giving her time to stop him.
She didn’t.
His fingers grazed her knee, then slid up to rest on her thigh. Warm, wide palm. Firm, not rough. He leaned in until their foreheads touched, his breath hitting her lips.
“You good now?” he asked, ignoring everything else that she wanted him to explain swarming around in her mind. Like why they were always so synched, in tune, flames that burned so strong that they always seemed to get hot whenever they were around each other—even when they tried to pretend it wasn’t burning at all.
She didn’t nod. Didn’t speak.
Just leaned in and kissed him.
It was slow. Careful. Gentle. Asking for permission. His hand stayed on her thigh while his other cupped the side of her face before making its way down to her neck. She tasted like wine cooler and vulnerability, and for once, he let himself feel it all knowing he shouldn’t.
She pulled back first, eyes wide, breath unsteady. “I’m sorry?—”
