Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 154368 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 772(@200wpm)___ 617(@250wpm)___ 515(@300wpm)
Patrick Swayze
Nyomi
I grinned. “What happened to the banker?”
“Banker?” Deja combed my hair over to the side.
“You know? Wasn’t it one guy that worked at the bank—”
“Girl, he owned the bank. Are you crazy?” Deja laughed. “She said worked at the bank.”
“My bad. Owned the bank.”
“Get it right.” Deja sucked her teeth. “Yeah. Money CEO stud was cool for a little bit. Flew me out here and there, gave me a couple nice bags, but he got boring real quick, kept asking to come to my house and meet my family like I’m a damn genie that grants wishes. Boy, stop asking me for shit. I had to go Patrick Swayze.”
I quirked my brows. “Do what now? Patrick Swayze?”
Nika jumped in. “She ghosted him.”
“Oh.” I chuckled.
“Yeah. He’s constantly sending me texts every other day, having full blown, deep conversations with himself.” Deja nodded. “You know I have to protect my peace and sacred space. Dude thought that dropping thousands here and there meant something, but I don’t let just anybody meet my family. They’re special.”
“Then, what about the restaurant guy who had that high-end soul food spot in Manhattan. The jazz was always so good there. He would give me the best table just because he knew that I knew you.”
Deja sucked her teeth. “Dude said no too many times for my liking.”
“How many times did he say no?”
Nika held up one finger.
I laughed.
“I’m too expensive to be providing discounts for the Deja experience.” She sprayed my hair and combed some more. “My face card is worth more than an Amex.”
Nika clapped. “I don’t know about that. I would rather have the American Express card.”
“No way. That card has bills. This face? Not one.”
Kaoru spoke from his chair, "What would a man have to do?"
Deja paused. "Huh?"
"To avoid you going. . ." He searched for it. "Patrick Swayze."
Nika snorted.
Deja sighed. "First of all, don't bore me. I can't stand a boring man. I don't care how much money he has. If he can't keep my attention, we're done."
"What else?" Kaoru asked.
"He has to stop asking me what I need and just pay attention. If he’s watching close enough, he’ll already know. And then. . .” She considered something and spoke, “After that it’s not much else. Just don't waste my time, respect me, and don't make me repeat myself."
Kaoru nodded slowly. "Interesting."
Yoichi's eyes shifted to Rin for a half second. Just a quick glance. As if he was checking to see if Rin had heard that.
Rin's bored expression didn't change.
Good. He’s not listening.
I smirked.
I’m winning this bet.
Deja was still braiding my hair.
She’d been at it for hours now, fingers parting, pulling, weaving.
Rin had moved from the wall and was seated off to the side by Kaoru in one of the velvet chairs, legs crossed, watching the screen below.
But I'd noticed something.
Every time Deja shifted behind me—reaching for a clip, adjusting her angle, or leaning close to section a new part—Rin's gaze moved to her quick.
Then back to the movie like nothing happened.
But it kept happening.
I doubted Deja ever noticed.
I need to talk to Kenji about getting Deja a security detail so she actually gets off this island. Rin is being creepy.
Meanwhile, Satoshi was still in the corner, covered in the mixture. He looked like he'd been dipped in oatmeal, but the relief on his face was worth it. He'd stopped scratching and fidgeting.
Instead, he finally relaxed, leaning in so close to Zo their shoulders touched and they whispered and laughed about stuff.
The theater below shifted personalities every two hours.
The war film’s crowd had been mostly elderly couples. Men in pressed slacks. Women in cardigans with brooches shaped like birds. One man held the door for his wife. The light caught the gun tattoos creeping from his collar to just below his ear.
The film had been about two soldiers on opposite sides of a civil war who we later discovered were father and son.
When bombs exploded on screen, the box vibrated and I felt the violence in my spine.
Yet, Deja never paused. She stayed in the zone with her fingers working.
At the end, mud clung to the father’s uniform and blood spilled from his bullet ridden chest, in his pocket was a letter to his son.
When the screen went black, the audience filtered out in soft waves with their hands intertwined.
The horror movie crowd flooded in like a different species.
Teenagers.
Loud ones.
Sneakers squeaking.
Hoodies half-zipped.
This one was about a dead transgender girl who crawled out of mirrors and dragged people back through the glass. Once inside, she wore their skin and lived their lives until someone looked in the mirror too long and saw the wrong face smiling back.
The moment when a bathroom mirror rippled like water and a rotting gray hand pressed outward from the other side of the glass, Nika jumped up from her seat and shook her head. “Naw, man.”