"No." She frowns at her pantsuit, not even wrinkled after a full day of meetings. "The opposite-you look too good. I need to step up my game and change."
She looks gorgeous.
"You look gorgeous."
"You have to say that." But my compliment puts a smile on her face. "Are you going with us tonight, Amir?"
He meets my eyes over her head, and I silently shake my head and give him the finger-slitting-the-throat warning.
"Uh . . ." His eyes dart from her to me and back again. "Nah. I have . . . um . . ."
"Shit," I offer helpfully. "He's got shit to do tonight. Besides, the bookstore is only a few blocks away. We can easily walk. We'll be fine."
"There'll be a lot of racist idiots there." She glances uncertainly between the two of us.
"I said we'll be fine." I'm barely holding on to my patience now.
"You strapped, dawg?" Amir asks.
I lift my pant leg and show him the gun at my ankle.
"Is that really necessary?" The concern trebles in Bristol's eyes once she sees the gun. "You know how I feel about guns."
"And you know how I feel about not being able to protect you-not gonna happen." I drop the pant leg and turn to Amir. "Like I said, we'll be fine walking."
"It's cold out there." Bristol rubs her arms like she's still standing on the sidewalk. "It's December."
"I'm the Cali dude," I tease, "and I'm willing to walk in the cold, but you grew up here and are wimping out?"
"She's right, though," Amir says, poised to take the first bite of his sandwich. "It is cold."
I point in the direction from which Bristol just came.
"Why don't you take your heart attack on white bread and go back to your place?"
Bristol gives the sandwich a cautious glance.
"What is that?"
"You never had bologna, Bris?" I ask.
"No." She offers an investigative sniff.
This I have to see.
"You probably wouldn't like it," I say casually. "It's what we grew up on. We had to eat it in the hood-you know, us being poor and all, struggling to make ends meet. Right, Amir?"
He catches on immediately and jumps in.
"Oh, yeah," he agrees. "Some nights this was all our moms could afford, but I understand, Bristol, if you don't want to try-"
"Give it to me. I'll try it," she interrupts, stepping over to Amir and the sandwich in question. "I bet it's . . . well . . . I'm sure it's . . ."
Her voice dies when she comes face-to-face with the processed meat. Looking brave, she bites into it. She goes a little green for a second, like she might be sick, then she chews it quickly, determined not to ever let us know. Meanwhile, Amir has a coughing fit to disguise his laugh. I've had lots of practice keeping a straight face when messing with Bristol.
"You like it?" I ask.
"Mmmhmmmmm." She swallows her gag reflex. "I can see why . . . see why you guys loved it. It's . . . so . . . so . . ."
"Good?" I supply.
"Yeah, it's good." She hands it to Amir like it's burning her fingers. "I don't want to take it all from you, Amir."
"Oh, no, Bristol." He pushes it back toward her. "You can have-"
"No, really." She shoves it back to him, looking like she needs a barf bag. "Please take it."
"I'm gonna head out then." Amir bites the sandwich, closing his eyes in ghetto rapture. "Hmmmmm. Thanks for leaving me some, Bris."
"Of course." She laughs nervously, like she's afraid she'll have to down some more. "You keep it. You eat it . . . all of it."
As soon as we hear the door close behind him, Bristol rounds on me.
"Oh, my God. Why did you let me eat that shit?"
My laugh bounces off the walls.
"That's what you get for trying to hang with them hood boys. It's definitely a meal we learned to love out of necessity."
"Next time a warning would be nice." She stretches up to grab a mug in the cabinet, smiling at me over her shoulder. "You ready for tonight? Are you gonna behave?"
"A rapper, a white supremacist, and a narrow-minded professor walk into a bar." I cross my arms over my chest and shrug. "What could go wrong?"
"It's my first time meeting Dr. Hammond." She pours this morning's coffee into a mug and pops it in the microwave. "I'm a little nervous."
"Don't be." I scowl at the thought of introducing Bristol to Iz knowing how he feels about our relationship.
"You just leave the professor to me." She reaches for the-holy shit.
The sugar.
I race over and slam my hand on the canister.
"What are you doing?" I ask.
"Um . . . making a quick cup of coffee?" She slides a perplexed look from my face to the canister. "It's been a long day, and I just need a hit of caffeine to get through tonight."
"It'll just make you jittery." I sound jittery as hell. I feel like the ring might glow through the canister and give itself away.
"I got up way too early. Someone woke up before my alarm and demanded sex." She cocks a chiding brow. "Twice."
"What can I say?" I lift and drop my shoulders. "A man's got needs."
"So does a woman. I need my coffee, and I take sugar. Move."
"You can't have this sugar because . . ." I twist my brain around until I stumble on a logical explanation. "Roaches."
Judging by the horror on Bristol's face, you'd think I said Nazis.
"Did you say roaches?" Her voice drops several decibels to deathly quiet.
"Yeah, I, uh . . . saw a roach in the sugar."
"Here?" I'm pretty sure her face blanches. "In Tribeca?"
"They get around, Bris."
"I better dump it." She goes for the canister, but I slide it out of her reach.
"I'll throw it out."
She pulls her phone from her pocket.
"I'll just call property management. They need to-"
"Let me do that, babe." I pluck her phone from her fingers and slide it back into her pocket. "You go get dressed. We need to leave soon."
"But you'll call?" She gives the sugar canister one last anxious glance. "I may not be able to sleep tonight thinking about that roach."
"I have creative ways of putting you to sleep." I lean down, lips on her, hand locked onto the canister. I pull away and turn her toward the stairs. "Go get even more beautiful for me and we'll go. We don't want to be late for the showdown."
I swat her ass, smiling when she jumps a little and laughs back over her shoulder before taking off up the stairs.
Relief slowly pushes a breath out and slumps my shoulders. With one last furtive glance to make sure she's not coming, I lift the lid and dig around in the sugar to retrieve the ring. The purity of it captures then reflects the overhead lights, a spectrum radiating from the yellow diamond.
"No roaches." I slip the ring back into my pocket. "But I did find a canary."
20
Bristol
"Why do you keep smiling?" I ask Grip as we walk toward the bookstore for the debate.
"You're wearing my necklace." He squeezes my hand and slants me a smile, his eyes locked on the gold bar dangling between my breasts.
"Your necklace?" I touch the chain around my neck, tracing its inscription. "I distinctly remember buying this myself."
"But I inspired it," he says smugly.
The Neruda line carries such significance in our relationship, declaring, my heart broke loose on the wind. I can't wear it without thinking of our first kiss, without remembering him slipping under my armor, his own vulnerability tempting me to share things with him I'd never shared before.
"I love it when you wear it." He studies the sidewalk as we walk briskly toward the bookstore. "You look beautiful tonight, by the way."
"Well I knew I needed to dress warmly since you were making me walk." I laugh at his good-natured grimace.
A white sweater fits my torso closely, and cropped, wide-legged pants of the same color swing loosely from waist to mid-calf. My camel-colored leather boots and cashmere coat finish off the outfit.
"These boots are already killing me," I complain, sneaking a glance at his face.
"I don't want to hear it." He laughs and tucks my arm into his. "It's a gorgeous night for a walk, and you know it."
He's right. The chill in the air underscores the holiday cheer lent by Christmas decorations on every corner and in the store windows.
"It's our first Christmas as a couple," I say.
"Yup. Too bad we'll be back in LA. Maybe I'd get my snowfall on Christmas morning if we stayed here in New York."
"Do you want to stay?" I hope he doesn't. I miss my palm trees and my goddaughter, my brother and Kai. I think I even miss my parents. It must be time to go home.
"Nah." Grip pulls his leather jacket a little tighter around him. "I'm ready to go back. I'd rather have our friends and family than snow."