Mireya lay stretched out on her stomach across Jaslene’s bed, the sheet twisted around her hips, the ceiling fan pushing slow circles of air overhead. The curtains were only half closed, letting in a strip of cloudy afternoon light that cut across the room and washed over Jaslene’s brown skin. Jaslene lay propped against the headboard with a pillow at her back, one hand resting on her own stomach, the other in Mireya’s hair.
Mireya felt the kind of tired that sat behind her eyes more than in her body. Her suitcase was still zipped by the door, shoes kicked off in a loose pile beside it. Her phone buzzed once on the nightstand with some notification she ignored. She had a few more hours before she had to pull herself together, get in the car, and go pick up Camila from Sara’s. For now, she let her head rise and fall with Jaslene’s breathing, cheek against warm skin, Jaslene’s fingers sliding through her hair in slow patterns that made her eyelids heavy.
The room smelled faintly of coconut lotion and whatever Jaslene had sprayed on the sheets last week, something floral that clung to the cotton. The only sound was the fan and a muffled voice from a neighbor’s radio somewhere down the hall, talking about traffic on the bridge. Mireya watched a crack in the wall near the corner, brain slipping in and out of nowhere thoughts, until one grabbed hold and stayed.
“You believe in karma? Past lives?” she asked.
Her voice came out low, words aimed at the ceiling more than at Jaslene. She didn’t move her head, just let the question hang there. Jaslene’s fingers paused for half a second, then kept moving.
Jaslene snorted a laugh. “Why you thinking about that, nena?”
Mireya shrugged against her. “I always figured that’s why people get deja vu. They’re just going through the same shit over and over again in different lives.”
She could hear her own voice and how soft it sounded, almost lazy. Her brain had been chewing on that feeling since the plane had taken off, that slide in her stomach when something looked familiar for no reason. The airport crowd. The way the sky looked over the highway. All of it stacked on top of old versions of itself.
“So, you’re saying 100 years ago, we were still strippers?” Jaslene asked.
Mireya nodded, the side of her face sliding a little against Jaslene’s stomach. “Probably still in New Orleans, too.” She laughed, a quick burst that ran out just as fast. “Working for that one woman in the quarter. That madam.”
Jaslene laughed, shaking a little under Mireya’s cheek. “I don’t think they would’ve let us dance back then.”
Mireya rolled her eyes even though Jaslene couldn’t see her face. “They hate us until they wanna fuck us so I don’t know. I think they would’ve wanted to see some ankle.”
The word ankle made her smirk.
“What happened in Miami that got you all in your thoughts?” Jaslene asked.
Her tone was light, but Mireya felt the question under it. Her hand kept moving in Mireya’s hair, nails catching softly at her scalp.
Mireya shook her head and rolled onto her back so she could look up at Jaslene. The sheet shifted with her, brushing her thighs. “It ain’t that. Probably more the holidays coming up than that.”
From this angle she could see the little line at the corner of Jaslene’s mouth.
“Tu mama?” Jaslene asked.
“Yeah, I’d like to think she’s been a bitch in past lives too.”
That made Jaslene laugh for real, head tipping back against the headboard. The sound ran easy through the room, cutting some of the tightness out of Mireya’s chest. Jaslene’s fingers left her hair and traced a slow line along Mireya’s jaw instead, thumb brushing the edge of her cheek, down to the corner of her lips. Her palm was warm, nails painted a color that should’ve been too loud in this soft light and somehow wasn’t.
“I like when you get like this,” Jaslene said.
Mireya squinted up at her. “When I get like what? Being a whiny bitch?”
Jaslene shook her head, her hoops giving a small click against her neck when she moved. “No, all soft and vulnerable.”
Mireya sucked her teeth and turned her face a little into Jaslene’s hand anyway. The word vulnerable sat wrong on her skin, too exposed, but she didn’t pull away. “Relax.”
Jaslene laughed again, quieter this time, her shoulders moving under the pillow. The fan hummed. Somewhere outside a car door slammed and someone called across the parking lot in fast Spanish, the sound slipping in through the thin window and fading.
Neither of them moved.
~~~
Caine’s living room felt smaller with all four of them in it. The Saints game chewed up the TV, crowd noise rolling off the speakers in waves that bounced off the cheap white walls. The late afternoon light had already started to fade, the thin Statesboro sun leaking in through the blinds in striped pieces across the carpet and the low table.
Ramon sat sunk into one end of the sofa, a throw pillow smashed up under his arm, shoulders loose like the drive from Atlanta hadn’t worn on him at all. E.J. had the middle, legs spread, socks on, one heel planted on the table edge. Tyree sat closest to the armrest, shoulders forward, elbows on his knees. An empty Styrofoam plate with the ghost of fried rice on it sat on the table between a half-finished bottle of water and the ashtray somebody had found in a cabinet.
The smell of takeout and blunt smoke sat low in the room. The unopened duffel with what they’d gone to Atlanta for sat pushed back in the kitchen, out of sight but not out of mind.
On the screen, the Saints stalled out on third down, the Panthers’ sideline jumping like they’d won something.
Tyree shook his head, lips pulled back from his teeth. “I can’t believe I came all the way out here,” he said, leaning closer to the TV, “and this the weekend y’all decide ain’t gon’ be no hoes here.”
Caine sat on windowsill with the controller in his hand, thumb twitching even though the game was live. He turned his head just enough to look past Tyree at Ramon and E.J., chin tilting in their direction.
“You gotta blame them,” he said. “Y’all ain’t get down here until after everybody had already gone home and gone to sleep.”
E.J. sat up a little, one hand coming off his knee to point at his chest. “Don’t put that charge on me,” he said. “I don’t make no decisions.”
Ramon lifted both hands, palms out, like he’d already washed his of it. “If you got a problem, take that up with ol’ boy in the A,” he said. “Ain’t even catch no hats and was holdin’ us up.”
Tyree sucked his teeth, leaning back again. “Man,” he muttered, eyes still on the TV, “coulda left y’all niggas in New Orleans for all that.”
Caine smirked, about to say something back, when a knock sounded at the door. Three quick raps, tight together.
All three of the other boys looked over. E.J. raised his eyebrows. “Who that?” he asked.
“Probably maintenance or some shit,” Caine said, pushing himself up off the cushion. His knees popped once when he straightened. He set the controller down on the arm of the couch and crossed the small stretch of carpet, bare feet whispering against it.
He flipped the deadbolt and pulled the door open.
A woman stood there on the landing, one hip cocked to balance the car seat hooked in the crook of her other arm. The baby inside it slept hard, mouth open, fists loose against a soft blanket. The hallway light caught on the sheen of drool at the corner of the infant’s mouth.
Behind Caine, Tyree leaned up, craning his neck to see around him. His face cracked into a grin.
“Nigga, you made another one already?” he called.
Caine shook his head, mouth pulling in irritation and something close to amusement at the same time. “Man, shut the fuck up,” he said over his shoulder, then turned back to the woman just as footsteps sounded on the stairs.
Laney came up into view, one hand on the rail, purse strap digging into her shoulder. Her hair was pulled back, a few pieces already working loose around her face. Their eyes caught and held for a beat.
Caine stepped sideways, opening the door wider. “Come on,” he said, moving out of the way.
The woman with the car seat stepped in first, eyes skating over the room, taking in the couch, the TV, the cluster of boys on it. Laney followed, the soft slide of her flats on the threshold a sound he already knew.
Ramon, Tyree, and E.J. looked at each other across the length of the couch. E.J.’s mouth eased into a low grin as he slapped Tyree on the shoulder.
“There you go, bruh,” he said under his breath.
Tyree just laughed, shaking his head once like the whole thing made too much sense.
Laney moved closer to Caine, enough that he could smell her lotion over the smoke, the soft floral that always clung to her. She kept her voice low.
“Sorry for just droppin’ in on you like this,” she said.
Caine jerked his chin toward the woman with the baby, who had stepped closer to the counter, setting the car seat down with a soft plastic thump. “Does she?” he asked.
Laney nodded. “Know? Yeah,” she said. “This my best friend Taela.”
Taela glanced back at them, then around the apartment again, lips curling into a small, surprised smile. “I ain’t expect a college kid’s apartment to look like this,” she said. “You neat, huh?”
Caine lifted one shoulder.
He cut his eyes at the couch. “Can y’all go kick it in the clubhouse or by the pool for a bit?” he asked.
Tyree snorted before anybody else could move. “Nah, I wanna know what’s goin’ on,” he said, settling deeper into the cushion like that answered everything.
E.J. reached out and caught a fistful of Tyree’s T-shirt at the shoulder, yanking him up hard enough the cushion bounced. “Get yo’ ass up, nigga,” he said. He was already standing, already moving toward the door with Ramon at his back.
Ramon came up off the couch with a low grunt, shaking his head as he passed Caine.
Tyree dragged his feet a second, giving Caine a look that said he still wanted to be in the middle of whatever this was. Caine just stared back, jaw set, hand on the doorframe.
“Man, damn,” Tyree said finally, snatching his arm out of E.J.’s grip but still letting himself be steered. “This nigga acting like we ain’t family.”
He headed out after them, still shaking his head, footsteps heavy on the way down the stairs. The door stayed open long enough for the hallway light to flare over the carpet again, then dulled when it swung mostly shut.
Taela shifted the strap of her purse higher on her shoulder and looked between Caine and Laney. “I’m gon’ go grab somethin’ to eat,” she said. “Y’all want anything?”
Laney shook her head. “We good,” she said. “I’ll text you.”
Taela nodded, gave Laney a look that said they’d talk later, then eased back out the door, tugging it closed behind her. The baby’s soft noises faded with her footsteps.
The apartment felt different with just the two of them in it. The game still ran on the TV, commentators talking too fast over a replay, but it sounded far away now, like it belonged in somebody else’s living room.
Laney let out a breath she’d been holding since the stairs. “She in town from Savannah to see her mama with the baby,” she said, walking toward the kitchen. “So, I had her bring me here.”
Caine let out a short laugh, a half-smile ghosting across his face. “Sneaky, huh?” he said.
Laney sighed, the sound coming from deep in her chest. She hopped up onto the counter next to the sink, hands braced on either side of her, heels knocking a soft rhythm against the cabinet door.
“I feel like I’m bein’ punished for somethin’ ain’t nobody know about yet,” she said.
Caine moved closer, his steps slow, eyes on her face. “What you mean?” he asked.
She rubbed her thumb along the edge of the counter, eyes dropping for a second. “It’s just a lot right now, Caine,” she said. “Tommy, my folks, church, the boys, this… all of it.”
He nodded, the muscle in his jaw working once. He stepped in until he was standing between her knees, his body blocking out the TV. Up this close he could see the faint smudge under her eyes, the gloss on her lips, the way her shoulders had settled like she was finally letting herself lean on something.
“What you want me to do then?” he asked. His voice dropped, the question more than just words.
Laney’s eyes lifted back to his. “Make me forget ‘bout it for a while,” she said.
Caine didn’t answer out loud. He just reached up, hands finding the curve of her waist, fingers pressing into the cotton of her T-shirt as he pulled her closer. The space between them closed. He leaned in and caught her mouth with his, the kiss landing hot and familiar, her hands already climbing his shoulders.
Her breath hitched, then evened out against his lips.
His fingers slid from her waist up along her sides, gathering the hem of her shirt. The fabric bunched under his palms as he lifted, knuckles grazing the warm skin of her stomach. Laney lifted her arms without breaking the kiss, elbows bent, head tipping back just enough to let him pull the shirt up over her head.
~~~
Trell sat stretched out across the backseat of Dez’s car, one knee propped against the door, the other foot flat on the floor. The leather still held a little of the airport in it, stale air and old food and the faint chemical of whatever Dez had sprayed trying to cover it all. The city slid by outside in low houses and corner stores, Sunday afternoon hanging lazy over everything.
Dez drove with both hands on the wheel, shoulders tight. Every few seconds his eyes cut up to the rearview, not long enough to be obvious, but enough that Trell felt it. The glow from three different phones lit Trell’s lap in turns. He tapped out a message on one, waited for the bubbles to jump, then set it on his thigh and picked up another.
Dez checked the mirror again. Trell caught his own eyes in the glass, then saw Dez’s right behind them.
“Watch the road, nigga,” Trell said, voice flat.
Dez jerked his focus back ahead. “My bad,” he muttered.
The tires hissed over a patch of wet in the street. A church let out somewhere a block over, people in dress clothes drifting down the sidewalk in small clusters. One of Trell’s phones buzzed. He glanced at the screen, thumb flicking the notification away without opening it. His fingers drummed twice on his knee. The hum from under the hood stayed steady.
He tapped the glass with the back of his knuckles. “Go to Cass’s.”
“Alright,” Dez said under his breath. He made the next turn without needing more directions.
They cut through a couple of residential blocks where the houses sat close to the street, tiny strips of grass out front gone patchy. Wind pushed a plastic bag along the curb. The sky had that washed-out look it got when the day was past the worst of the heat but not close to dark yet.
Dez pulled onto Cass’s street and eased off the gas.
Cass sat on the bench with her legs crossed, dress smooth across her thighs, a light sweater over her shoulders. Her hair was done, and she still had on her church face, makeup neat, mouth set like she’d just finished saying amen and hadn’t decided what came after yet. A program from service lay folded on the rail beside her.
Dez slipped the car into park. The engine ticked once as it settled. He glanced at the mirror out of habit. Trell was already watching her, phones slipping into his pocket.
“You good?” Dez asked, more for something to say than because he thought Trell wasn’t.
Trell didn’t answer. He popped the door and climbed out, cool air sliding into the car for a second before the door shut behind him.
Dez killed the engine and got out slower. He shoved his hands into his pockets as he walked around the front of the car to stand in the patch of grass off the porch, not all the way up the steps, not all the way in the street.
Cass’s eyes tracked Trell the whole time he came up. When he sat beside her, the bench gave under his weight and shifted them closer. He swung his arm around the back of her shoulders, fingers grazing the cotton at her shoulder.
“You ain’t still mad at me, huh?” Trell asked.
Cass arched one eyebrow, eyes sliding toward him without turning her head all the way. “You could’ve told me you were bringing another bitch and that’s why you took some of my cut,” she said.
Her voice still had Sunday in it, softer, but the words didn’t.
Trell smiled, small. He reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope, the edges bent where it had been riding with him since the drop. He held it up between two fingers in her line of sight.
“I gave you a little extra off the strength,” he said.
Cass took it from him without a thank you, nails scratching the paper as she slid the bills out. She thumbed through the money with quick, practiced flicks. The rustle sounded loud in the quiet of the block. A car rolled past slow and kept going.
“You took this from your new bitch?” she asked, not looking up yet.
Trell chuckled, low in his chest. “You jealous, Cass?”
She finally lifted her eyes, gave him a look like he’d told a joke that wasn’t funny. “Nigga, I know my pussy better,” she said. “You know it, too. I ain’t got shit to be jealous about.”
Dez shifted his weight on the grass, eyes on a crack in the sidewalk.
Trell’s smile widened just enough. “Shit, I got time,” he said. “Let me see again.”
Cass leaned back a little, her shoulder brushing against the arm he had around her. She studied his face for a beat, the corners of her mouth pressing in like she was weighing the request against the stack of bills in her hand.
Then she cut a look at Dez standing there. “Really, nigga?” she asked Trell, head tipping toward Dez.
Trell waved a hand loose in Dez’s direction, not bothering to look back. “Fuck that nigga,” he said. “He just working, minding his damn business.”
Dez kept his eyes on the patch of dirt by his sneaker. He swallowed once, jaw tight, hands still deep in his pockets.
Cass shook her head, but there was a small pull at one corner of her mouth now. She pushed up from the bench, the skirt of her dress slipping down her thigh when she straightened. The envelope disappeared into her sweater, tucked quick and sure.
She stepped toward the door, then paused and glanced back over her shoulder at Dez, chin lifting. “You want something to drink or something?” she asked.
Dez shook his head. “I’m straight,” he said.
Trell got to his feet behind her. “Don’t leave,” he told Dez, pointing once at the patch of grass like he’d pinned Dez there with the gesture.
Dez nodded, even though Trell had already turned away.
Cass opened the screen door and pushed the main door with her hip. The hallway light from inside washed over the porch for a second. Trell followed her in, close enough that his hand brushed the small of her back. Dez stayed where he was, the cool of the shade settling over him now that the car heat had faded.
From where he stood, he could see just past the doorway into the front of the house. Cass’s back moved ahead of Trell’s as they went down the short hall. She reached up, fingers going to the buttons at the back of her dress. The fabric eased as she undid them one by one, the line of her spine coming into view.
By the time they hit the edge of the living room, she was shrugging out of her Sunday best, the dress slipping off one shoulder, then the other. Dez caught one last glimpse of bare skin and bright straps before the door swung shut between them and the latch clicked, leaving him alone on the lawn with the quiet street and the cooling car.
You also talking about a woman who in the previous chapter it was implied she fucked 2-3 men, one of whom she asked if he was trying to be her man. That’s not very lesbian of her now, is it?!