From Side Chick to Main Chick

Mixed Signals and Messy Truths

By the time I made it home, I’d replayed that grocery store scene at least twenty times. Sasha’s look. Dre stepping in front of me. The way my heart was doing the absolute most.

I dropped my bags on the counter and just stood there.

I shouldn’t have kissed him.

I shouldn’t have been alone with him.

I shouldn’t have let my feelings outrun my common sense.

But every time I tried to talk myself into feeling guilty, I remembered the way he said, “What happened last night wasn’t a mistake.”

And my stomach did that stupid fluttering thing again.

I sat on the couch and buried my face in a pillow.

“What the hell am I doing…” I whispered.

Right on cue, my phone buzzed.

Dre: You make it home?

I stared at the message longer than necessary. Simple. Soft. Normal.

And dangerous.

I typed back:

Me: Yeah. I’m good.

He responded fast.

Dre: I meant what I said. Don’t let Sasha bother you.

I sucked in a breath, thumbs hovering.

Before I could reply, another notification popped up.

Deja calling…

I groaned and answered. “What.”

“Don’t ‘what’ me,” she said. “I heard grocery store news. Want me to fight Sasha? Say the word.”

I laughed despite myself. “No, I do not want you to fight Sasha.”

“Then tell me why she walking through the shop earlier talking about ‘some girls don’t know how to respect boundaries.’”

My eyes widened. “She said that?!”

“Loudly. Like she wanted an audience.”

Deja paused. “Keish… what really happened?”

I flopped back against the couch. “We talked. She showed up. She got mad. Dre shut it down. That’s it.”

“That ain’t it,” she said instantly. “Your voice got that guilty crack in it.”

“It does not.”

“It does. Girl, you kissed him. He got a girl. And now the streets are talking.”

I closed my eyes. “I know. And I don’t know what to do.”

Deja sighed in my ear, softer this time. “You don’t have to know. But be careful, okay? Dre cool, but messy dudes come with messy consequences.”

I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me. “I will.”

After we hung up, I tossed my phone beside me… and it immediately buzzed again.

Dre: I know today was a lot. If you need space, say that. If you don’t… say that too.

Why did he always know how to say exactly what made it harder to walk away?

I typed back slowly:

Me: I don’t know what I need right now.

He didn’t text back right away.

A full minute passed.

Then another.

I was about to put my phone down when it buzzed again.

Dre: I’m outside.

My heart stopped.

I shot up from the couch, peeking out the window like a crazy person.

Sure enough—there he was.

Standing next to his car.

Hands in his pockets.

Head tilted up like he was debating if this was a good idea.

It wasn’t.

I opened the door anyway.

He looked at me like he was relieved I even showed up. “Can we talk?”

My voice was barely above a whisper. “About what?”

“About all of this.”

I crossed my arms. “Dre, today was a mess.”

“I know.” He stepped closer, but not too close. “But I’m not letting Sasha rewrite the story. I’m not with her. I been done with that. And yeah, it got complicated. But I don’t want you thinking I’m playing you.”

I swallowed. “I don’t know what to think.”

He nodded slowly. “Then let me give you something solid to think about.”

Before I could ask what that meant, he said:

“I want you. Not halfway. Not in secret. Not on some ‘maybe’ stuff. But I’m trying to do it right… if you’ll let me.”

My breath caught.

And right when I was about to say something—yes, no, I don’t know—the porch light from next door clicked on.

Mrs. Holloway stepped outside in her robe holding a trash bag.

She spotted us instantly.

Her eyebrows shot up.

“Oh Lord,” she said loud as hell. “Look at y’all out here.”

Dre muttered, “Damn…”

I wanted to crawl under the porch.

Mrs. Holloway smiled nosily. “I ain’t gonna say nothing… but I am gonna say y’all look cute.”

And just like that—

The neighborhood had entered the chat.

I covered my face with my hands.

Dre laughed under his breath. “Welcome to the consequences.”

I peeked at him through my fingers. “This is a terrible idea.”

He stepped forward, eyes warm. “Maybe. But it feels real… don’t it?”

And it did.

That was the problem.