Still (Grip Book 2)(26)

Grip stands, reaching to loosen the mic from the collar of his T-shirt.

"So, I say, with all due respect, Angie." He holds the mic in his hand,  farther away from his mouth, but there's no mistaking his parting. "Go  fuck yourself."

He flings the mic onto the couch, leaving various degrees of shock and satisfaction on the faces of those who remain.

"Peeps, you heard that." Angie turns her gaze to the camera. "Now I want  to hear from you. Where do you stand on black men pretending to be all  woke, but first chance they get, going for a white woman? Leave comments  on YouTube, on Facebook, tweet us, tag us on Instagram. Hashtag  #PlayingInTheSnow."

She levels a more parting smile at her watching audience, the kind of smile you give when things go exactly as you've planned.





14





Grip





"Shit!"

The expletive bounces off the walls of the narrow corridor as I leave  the stage and head for the greenroom to collect my things. I can't  believe I allowed that conniving chick to lure me into that trap.

"Grip!"

I don't turn even though I hear Qwest right on my heels and calling my name.

"Grip, stop."

I'm still not stopping. Rage pumps toxins into my bloodstream, and I might poison anyone I make contact with right now.

"Man, hold up," Qwest says louder, irritation lacing the words. "Grip."

"What?"

The word cannons from my mouth, and I turn around abruptly, Qwest  slamming into my chest. Breathing like a bull, air streams from my  nostrils. Angie Black is the red flag I can't get out of my head. How  dare she use a panel on such important issues to create drama? And to  bring Bristol into it, to call her name and imply that I'm embarrassed  to be with her. My jaws hurts; my teeth are locked so tightly together.

"About what happened out there-"

"You mean the ambush?" I snap.

"Yeah. I didn't know anything about it."

"Really?" A scoffing gush of air rushes past my lips. "You expect me to believe that? Don't give me that shit, Q."

"Who you think you talking to?" The goodwill on Qwest's face gives way  to irritation. "You better act like you got some sense talking to me."

"So, it's just coincidence that we ended up on this panel together?  You're asking me to believe you didn't know things would go left like  that?"

"I don't care what you believe." Qwest's anger clashes with mine in the  tight space. "My cousin was snatched when we were twelve years old.  There were no TV cameras, no vigils, no magazine covers for months  wondering what happened to her. She was just gone, and we never saw her  again, never got answers. That's why I'm here, not for your conceited  ass."

Real pain etches itself onto her face, and regret pinches in my chest.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have questioned your motives." I blow out a  frustrated breath and drag my hand over my jaw. "That was just some  sideways shit I didn't see coming, and this was not the time or the  place for her to pull that."

Qwest nods, something close to sympathy filling her dark eyes. Finally,  we sigh in sync, each of us letting go of our anger at the same time.

"I swear I didn't know," Qwest says, her voice softer. "What Angie did  out there, it wasn't cool, and I'm sorry she went out like that."

I tilt my head back to study the ceiling for a second before looking back to Qwest.

"And I'm sorry if I took any of this out on you." I lean against the  wall, bending my knee and propping my foot there. "I'm just tired of  this. What does me wanting to spend the rest of my life with Bristol  have to do with me wanting things to improve? Wanting better for our  community?"         

     



 

Surprise and then something that resembles hurt flits through Qwest's eyes before she drops them to the cheap corridor carpet.

"The rest of your life?" She forces a laugh. "So it's like that?"

Dammit. I'm so Bristol's, sometimes I forget I was ever anyone else's.  In this moment, I definitely forgot Qwest ever felt she had any claim on  me.

"I'm sorry." I scrub the back of my neck. "I didn't think-"

"That I still had feelings for you?" Her mocking smile is turned inside out. "You're a hard man to get over."

A sheet of ice falls over Qwest's face.

"But I have," she says. "I'll admit, seeing you again . . ."

She rolls a lusty look from my head to my Jordans.

"You could still get it." She tips her head up to meet my eyes, a question there, one I hope she doesn't voice.

"Qwest, come on," I say, clearing my throat of awkwardness. "You know I'm with somebody else."

"I bet she don't give it to you like I did," she says, all sass and bravado.

Actually, she does, but I choose not to make things worse by saying so. I just watch her, keeping my face indifferent.

"Let's not do this." I push off the wall, intending to step around her,  but she pushes me back, leaving her hand in the center of my chest. It  feels wrong to have someone else touch me, but I tamp down my unease and  leave it there for now. I still feel guilty about the way I dragged her  into the complex web of my relationship with Bristol. I hate that I  hurt her before, and I want to handle her more carefully than I did in  the past. I'll leave her hand there and leave our eyes connected until  she says what she needs to say.

"If I had long, silky hair," Qwest says, bitterness tingeing her voice,  "and gray eyes and a pretty golden tan, would you want me then?"

Damn.

"It has nothing to do with that, with those things, Qwest." I place my  hand over hers, hoping the contact offers her some comfort. "Am I  attracted to Bris? Of course, but I've been attracted to a lot of  women."

"You were attracted to me." Boldness presses through the uncertainty on her face.

"I was," I agree. "But I've only ever loved one woman, and that's Bristol."

I pause, meting out my next words with care.

"And she's the only woman I plan to be in love with. So yeah, I'm  spending the rest of my life with her, and I can't know what would have  happened if she looked different, if she were blond, if she was black.  For me, it's a moot point, because I'm in love with the version of her  that I have. That's all that matters."

Qwest flinches, like my words were a slap in her face. She pulls back,  and with the tiny weight of her palm lifted, I breathe easier. She steps  away and clears her throat, the uncertain woman asking questions gone.  The assertive badass I'm used to seeing, the one who has all the  answers, stands in front of me again.

"Love who you want, Grip." Her voice, her eyes, everything about her is  resigned now. "Just be in the studio when my team needs you. I may not  have any hold over your heart, but I still got your ass under contract  for my album."

I manage a laugh, hoping to get us back on the footing we've had over  the last few weeks I've been working on her project while in New York.

"I'll be there."

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I take it out to see Bristol's name.

"Well, I guess I should let you handle that," Qwest says, eyeing the screen.

Her typical swagger is at odds with the lingering hurt I see in her eyes as she turns to walk away.

"Bris, I-"

"Why is she touching you?"

Bristol's voice is that dangerous, about-to-go-HAM quiet.

"Um, babe, what?" I'm disoriented. "Why is who touching me?"

"Qwest. She was all over you."

"The hell she was. I have no idea what you're talking about."

"Oh, maybe you should check Instagram. That's where you and I and Qwest  are all tagged in a picture that shows her touching you."

With her still on the line, I pull my phone away from my ear and go to my little-used Instagram account.

"Well, damn."

Some intern, production assistant, gofer-ass punk skulking around here  in the halls must have snapped a picture of Qwest with her hand on my  chest and posted it just that fast. The moment that felt wrong when it  was happening looks even worse out of context on Instagram. What was me  trying to protect Qwest's feelings and not hurt her any more than I  already have looks intimate, like a secret, and the caption only adds  fuel.         

     



 



Maybe @TheRealGrip is taking @MsAngieBlack's advice to heart and going  back to black. Who is really #GripzQueen? #TheBlackerTheBerry  #TheSweeterTheJuice #OnceYouGoBlack #YouWontGoBack #WokeCheck  #PlayingInTheSnow





Neither Bristol nor Qwest are referenced specifically, but both are tagged.

Fuck my life.

"Bris." Now my voice is dangerously soft. I'm good and damn tired of  people in my damn business every time I turn around, poking their noses  in my shit where it doesn't belong, messing with me and my girl. "You  know this isn't real."

"It looks real," she whispers. "It feels real."

"Bristol Gray, if you tell me you believe this, I'm fucking you into next week when I see you."