"I'll play my role, just give me the script."
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Radio host Jay, 26, and hairstylist Liyah, 24, have been in a situationship for a year. Liyah is ready to break it off so...
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"Say sike right now," Liyah demands as she and Jay arrive at the sidewalk outside in the dark night.
He puts his hands in his pockets, his chin going up. What can he say? He feels like all his cards are on the table. There's no more hiding what he really feels about her, not even from himself.
"That nigga's a scumbag. I saved you some wasted time," Jay shrugs.
"Oh, like you wasted a whole year of my life?" She questions, a laugh caught in her throat stifled by anger.
Seeing her raw, Jay swallows the hot lump in his throat. "Chill, it's not even like that. A dude like 'Ziz would put something in your drink for real."
"That's rich coming from you, Mr Hoes All Over." She mugs him up and down, so much disgust on her face it stings to look at her.
"Fall back, man. I'm trying to keep you safe. Instead of being a smart ass, bringing up dumb shit, you should be thanking me. I did you a favor."
She shakes her head and looks up at the night sky as cars whir past on the street. Their hind lights cast a red glow on the two.
He'd pay a million dollars to know what's running through her head this second. She looks too good right now; the last thing they should be doing is arguing.
But it's like a light comes on for him on the dark sidewalk:
He's hurt her.
Liyah wraps her arms around herself and with a deep breath, finally locks onto Jay's eyes.
She pauses before saying, "If you want to do me a real favor, just leave me the fuck alone." She begins to stride past him towards the club entrance again.
But Jay reaches out, gripping her bicep. She stops, and all he can think is she should know he's not getting away that easily.
"That's not gone happen. Don't be stupid," he says, calm and assured.
She shakes free from his grip, but she stays in place. Her focus is on the ground. Jay cups her cheek, lifting her face towards his.
When he catches her gaze again, it's softer, vulnerable, watery yet she hangs on to the tears. Something in him falls apart. An instinct says the only way to put it back together is to fix whatever he's broken inside of her.
"I'm sorry," he says.
She laughs and nudges his hands off her face. "Okay, Jermaine. Apology accepted, and now everything is perfectly okay." Her sarcasm is sour and rancid. "I'm going home."
"Man, just wait!" He pulls her by the waist.
She points her long fingernail on his face. "Stop. Let that be the last time you handle me like that."
"Fine. If you don't want me to touch you, I won't touch you. Can we just talk though?"
"About?"
"You and me and all this shit lately. Why you been acting funny on a nigga all of a sudden. Then show up here looking like that, like you really thought I wasn't gone say nothing to you."
"I didn't come here for you."
"I'm the one who invited you."
"So," she says, crossing her arms.
"So that makes you my date."
She scoffs. "Well this Is such a great first date! It's going really well!"
Her tone always gets to him like nobody else can. But he refocuses, soothing his frustration by rubbing his hands over his long hair.
"Look, I gotta go back inside on some work shit. Let me come over later so we can talk."
Liyah looks down again. He can tell she's not even thinking about it. The answer is already yes. It's always yes.
But she says, "I don't know."
"You don't know?" He repeats.
"No, I don't know. We'll see, Jay."
He sighs. "Fine. Let me walk you to your car."
Liyah rubs her hands together, the friction giving her heat. "I Ubered." It seemed smart at the time, considering she'd thought she'd be tipsy by now.
He insists on paying for her Uber back home, and she says no. But he doesn't accept no; he books an Uber for her, and convinces her to wait inside where it's warmer until the ride arrives.
Smacking her lips, she follows him back inside, Ave this time to the VIP section. The warmth makes the chills melt away from her skin, and she feels like she can breath again.
She finds a seat while Jay works the room, socializing and chatting. She keeps checking her phone for the time, trying not to appear stuff and awkward, especially since nobody is talking to her.
Maybe they'd all seen Jay's act at the bar a few moments ago, deciding it's best not to approach her.
And now here she is, looking like an obedient slave to her master, going when he says go, sitting when he says sit. At least that's what she imagines in the minds of everyone who keeps looking her way.
How embarrassing.
And now, the same woman from his live stream— with the gorgeous eyes and big long curly hair— is talking to him. She's well-dressed, in a frilly blouse that exposes her cleavage, tucked into high waist shorts so short her legs look like stilts beneath her.
Totally Jay's type.
Liyah looks away as they chat, reminding herself he's his own person.
Half an hour later, he finally finally comes up to her again, his phone in hand.
"Your Uber outside," he shows her the route and drive info.
She stands, thanks him, and attempts to squeeze past. He steps into her path, wears his arms around her, and to her surprise, pants a kiss on her lips.
Something he's never done outside of sex.
She recoils, unable to inhale, until he offers to walk her to the car. She declines and then points to the girl with the curls.
"No, it's fine. I wouldn't want to interrupt work," Liyah smirks, making him chuckle.
"You funny. It ain't even like that," he smiles.
"Mhmm," she turns away, "Try not to work too hard."
He watches as she goes down the steps, and once she's finally out of view, he turns his attention back to his phone to watch the Uber trip in real-time.
