Page 23 of Juliet's Echo

What was it with all the negotiating today? Having already made the mental note about Deja's whirlpool of a mouth — and being very aware of the clock — I gave her what she was fishing for.

"Of course, beautiful."

Blushing like she'd just read a good morning text from her man, she made her way to the back and told the kitchen to expedite my order. I stepped to the side to wait, allowing her to take the next customer. Checking my phone, I had an unread text from Amara — a girl I'd been meaning to get back to — and one from my mother. Naturally, I opened the latter first.

Ma:No morning hug or kiss. And to think, the pain I bared to give you life.

I laughed at her dramatic ass. These kinds of texts meant it had been too long since I'd given her mother and son time. Instead of responding, I decided I'd just pop up on her tonightbefore seeing Deja — flowers in hand. Closing out my texts, I opened Instagram and started scrolling mindlessly.

Social media wasn't somewhere I spent much time. The worldwide connection it gave people was genuinely remarkable — but the content itself was largely superficial. Real life rarely made it to your algorithm. What dropped in its place was an endless stream of overhyped performances from people influencing you to chase some imaginary level of greatness while forgetting everything the Almighty had already placed in your hands.

My page had two pictures. One of a signed copy of Zora Neale Hurston'sTheir Eyes Were Watching God, gifted to me by my great aunt Pearl. And a newly posted reel of my D'Angelico guitar — which had somehow pulled in well over fifty-five thousand likes.

Preparing to put my phone away, I swiped up one last time and stopped. Alpha Rose Society had posted their newest lineup. The women of ARS were consistently the most sought-after on campus — their reputation for accepting only the most polished and academically sharp candidates, combined with the limited number of pledges they took each season, made their intake a whole event every time.

Let's see what they're working with this season.

Swiping left, the ladies were posted by line number, largest to smallest. Number ten — a thick little thing, nicknamed Untouchable.

Hmm. Might have to see if she'd let me invade her personal space.

Number five — tall, model-esque, Caesar cut, nicknamed Legend.

Okay. ARS's menu looked more appealing than Flip'd's right now.

I kept swiping, speeding toward the cream of the crop. Number one.

The smile that left my face was more noticeable than a nigga in red at an all-white party.

Bratty Ass was number one. Nicknamed Sugar & Spice.

Juliet's beauty was compiled differently. More natural, more laid back, effortlessly noticeable in a way that didn't ask for your attention but got it anyway. Her beauty came packaged with intelligence, charisma and a confidence that never tipped into arrogance — but made it clear that someone had taught her to take up space since she was small. Beauty plus that kind of energy? One look and you were caught in what I called the Medusa effect. Just stuck, completely locked in. And then at the snap of her fingers — or in my case, a pluck — she'd have you doing exactly what she wanted.

Hence, my ass standing here waiting on this cake.

All diamonds have flaws, though, right? In Juliet's case, that mouth of hers was enough to soften a man for a full week. I had never in my life encountered an annoying woman I couldn't simply ignore — until her. She always had to be right. Bossy as hell, spoiled to her core, and it was abundantly clear that her mother had never once put foot to ass. That only daughter curse had her in a choke hold — that, and that overprotective brother of hers.

I respected Echo. Genuinely. The man was a boss — solid, talented, and someone whose ear I'd been trying to get for my sound at HUSH for a while now. But the way he hovered over his baby sister was going to have her unmarried with a house full of cats if he wasn't careful.

“Here you go, handsome,” Deja’s warm voice brought me out of my own head and back to the task at hand.

“Appreciate you,” I said, collecting my food.

“I’m looking forward to tonight,” she said to my back.

“No doubt,” I responded, as I headed toward the exit.

Professor Hamburger had the class locked in — whatever discussion was happening looked deep from the outside. My opening this door was going to be an interruption regardless of how I played it.

Fuck it.

The hinge creaked exactly as expected and every head turned.

"Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Mitchel," Professor Hamburger called out, reaching for his tablet to presumably mark my attendance.

"Yeah, this one's on the house," I said.

A few quiet laughs moved through the room as I made my way to my usual seat — front row, left side, window. Hamburger picked the lesson back up as I settled in, set my bag down quietly and pulled out my annotated copy of Shakespeare'sOthello. Pages flagged, margins full, ready to contribute.