Page 29 of Reticent

“Why is that?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. It’s just ... I didn’t know that was your type.”

My type. Neither did I, but I’m not going to say that. Dru wouldn’t understand. Heck, I barely do. It was just something about Hunter, besides him being crazy fine, that drew me to him like I’ve never been drawn to anyone. Ever.

“So . . .?” I smile, easing the tension. “What do you want to know?”

“Everything. What’s his name? Is he tryin’ to wife you up or what? I didn’t even know you had a man.”

“That’s because I don’t.” I pick at my biscuit. No amount of honey or butter can make it taste as good as the bread at Hunter’s restaurant. “Hunter and I aren’t together.”

“Hunter. He got a last name?”

I purse my lips at the geek-like way Dru pronounces Hunter’s name. “Demalio.”

“That sounds familiar.”

“His dad had a TV show on the Food Network. Lucas Demalio.”

“Oh shit. His frozen dinners are legit. So he’s rich?”

“Umm.” I clear my throat. “I guess. I don’t know,” I lie.

“How did you meet?”

I bite into the biscuit. A drop of honey oozes out of the corner of my mouth. I catch it with my tongue and reach for a piece of chicken. “I, uh … We met at a nightclub.”

“My cousin is a party promoter in Harlem.” Dru picks up a chicken thigh, preparing to take a bite. “Which one?” he asks, sinking his teeth into the crispy skin.

My first thought is to lie, but I’ve done so much of that over the past few months with my family that I can’t bring myself to do it again. “Out here. We met at Vivid.”

Dru stops chewing. He looks hurt before blinking it away and resuming his chewing.

I feel like shit. Should I apologize? Is that what he wants to hear? I’m sorry for hurting Dru. But I’m not sorry for my choice that night. Am I a bad person? Or just plain stupid? My life would be much simpler if I left with Dru that night instead of Hunter.

“I’m sorry ... about that night, for disappearing on you like that.”

Dru gives me an easy smile that I don’t deserve. “It’s all good, Yas.”

I return his smile, feeling a ton lighter. I take a bite of my drumstick. “Mm mm mmm,” I hum, bouncing my shoulders.

Dru laughs silently, his shoulders shaking.

“What?” I wipe the grease from my mouth. “It’s good.”

“Nothing. Mama’s gotta eat.”

“Yes, I do.” As he grabs a chicken breast from the bucket and takes a bite, I stop eating. “How is it?”

“Good,” he says through a mouthful.

“Makes you wanna dance, doesn’t it?”

He finishes chewing and swallows it before responding. “You’re right. This makes a brotha wanna step.”

I laugh as I bite into another piece of chicken. Between us, we tear through the bucket of chicken, all the tater tots, and half of the biscuits. My stomach is uncomfortably tight as I sit back in the small, rickety chair that barely covers my ass.

Dru wipes his mouth with a napkin. “Another refill?”