I was chipper. I had just picked up my gift for Whitney. Tomorrow morning we'd be on our way to Antigua. And now, I was about to catch up with my friends before the trip.
Normani answered the door, staring at me.
"Yeah?" I asked.
"Did you get my text?"
My eyebrows connected. "No. Why, what's up?" I took out my phone from my purse anyway and unlocked it so I could read her message. She had me nervous, but that was promptly replaced with shock.
With enlarged eyes, I gasped, "No."
I looked at a noticeably sympathetic Normani. "And I know I could have called but—"
"It's okay," I said, walking inside our home.
The occupied living room was encased in silence when I walked in. Montero and his friend Lance were sitting on one couch and Ariana and a brown skinned guy in his early thirties sitting on the couch.
His name was John.
Not trusting my hands, I asked Normani to bring Whitney's gift to my room.
"Thank you," I told her, my eyes trained on John.
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"Okay, before you kill me, I ran into him when I got off the train, and he insisted that he come here," Ariana explained, using her hands. "Dude followed me here and I could have called the cops, but no thanks. I don't need to be a Karen in these streets."
A polite look of confusion crossed his face. "I thought you said I deserve to give my piece."
Ariana said nothing and just continued to look at me. I gave her a look that let her know I was going to deal with her later. Her bottom lip jutted out and she redirected her gaze onto Montero.
"John, what is wrong with you? You followed my friend to my house?"
"That's what I said," Montero said.
John eyed me squarely. "When I saw her, I knew it was a sign. I wasn't about to let it go to waste." He advanced towards me, his cologne and body heat filling my space. "I haven't stopped thinking about you." He was still handsome and physically put together, but I could see the pain in his eyes. "I don't know what I did."
I sighed. "You didn't do anything. It was just time. It wasn't working."
"What wasn't working?"
"Us, John!"
"Why didn't you just talk to me?" he protested. "We could've fixed it."
"Maybe I didn't want to fix it."
"Yeah, no shit." I felt moistness graze my arm and glared at him. "Did you spit on me?!"
