Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
“I . . .I know we have a lot to discuss.” Niomi draws a line down my chest with her index finger. “I mean if you want to continue this . . .conversation.”
“I do. We should.”
“Agreed, but let’s get through all the activity tomorrow and maybe check in after everything is over? I have a really early start and I’ll be working to capture shots. Plus it’s Celine’s big day and I know you want to be there for her, to focus on her.”
“I have to, yes. There’s a lot of ground I need to regain with that kid.”
“I sensed that.”
“You did?”
She takes my hand, squeezes and looks up at me with what feels like sympathy. “Just a vibe and her comment about you being home more.”
“So you did hear that. I came this weekend to be present for her in a way I haven’t always been because my job was such a priority. Sometimes she hasn’t felt like she was the most important thing to me.”
“And this weekend she should.” She gives my hand one more squeeze before releasing it completely. “So you go rest and be ready first thing in the morning at the parade to cheer her on. I’m gonna catch up with these chicks for a little bit, but then I’m going to bed because tomorrow is not all play for me.”
“So you’re working all day?”
“All day, yes.” She steps closer, tips up to whisper in my ear. “But not all night. After the game I’m free.”
On instinct, I palm her waist again, drawing in a deep breath of her fresh scent. “Celine has already told me she won’t have much time for me til Sunday, so after the game, I’ll be free, too.”
“Then be ready to finish this conversation.” She pulls away, walks backward a few paces down the corridor but turns to leave me with one last thought. “It’s long overdue.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
niomi
“My tired is tired,” Janelle says, sitting down on the wall where we used to people watch between classes. The Yard holds so many memories and a lot of them were made with Janelle in tow. “This has been a day already and it’s not even done.”
She’s right. So far we’ve squeezed in the parade, where Celine looked beautiful on her float as Miss Finley. Tailgating in the parking lot before the actual game, where my camera guy and I went from tent to tent, consuming enough fried chicken and pulled pork and burgers and slaw and hot dogs to feed an army. Once inside the stadium, a moving rendition of “Lift Every Voice” to kick off the game brought me to tears, like it always does. It seemed there were just as many people outside still eating as there were packing the stands.
At halftime the game was tied. The halftime show is just as much of a draw as the game itself. The Finley marching band left no crumbs on that field, with the tubas and trombones rocking. The drumline was a stretch of flying mallets and sticks that had the crowd bobbing and swaying and swag surfing. With prettily painted faces, the Finley Prancers danced between yard lines in their skimpy outfits, kicking it high and dropping it low, getting everyone hyped for today’s main event, the presentation of the homecoming court. Celine was truly regal. I was on the sidelines grabbing footage and didn’t see Touré, but I know he was there somewhere and had to be proud.
“You coming to hear Baby X tonight at the concert?” Janelle asks, leaning back on her palms.
“That used to be the highlight, but not anymore. Not the kid.” I settle beside her on the wall. “I think I’ll head on over to the Candlewood for the old folks’ party.”
“I’ll be there soon as I can, but you know I gotta check on my babies first. Make sure they don’t start shit and keep it civil.”
“The irony. You used to be the one starting all the shit, and now they’ve put you in charge of regulating it.”
“Hey. It’s a grown ass job, but someone has to do it.” We laugh and she side eyes me. “Speaking of grown ass, you didn’t think I was gonna let you get away with what was going down between you and Touré when I walked up last night, did you? I need that hot tea.”
I groan and drop my face into my hands, laughter slipping through my fingers. “It was just a kiss.”
“After all these years, it better be more than just a kiss. You owe it to yourself to see where things could go with Touré. You owe it to me.”
I lift my head and one brow, eyeing her curiously. “How do you figure I owe it to you?”
“You never heard of vicarious smashing?’ Her grin is as bright as the late afternoon sun retreating behind her. “With all I got going on this weekend, your action is my action, unless your cousin comes through.”