I took a breath and headed down. I had to play nice for Demi’s sake. I refused to let my daughter grow up thinking that tension and chaos between a man and a woman was just how things were supposed to go.
“What you ladies cooking up?” I asked, stepping into the kitchen.
Demi’s head popped up and she moved too fast, hopping off the barstool and landing with a heavy plop on the hardwood. She let out a startled wail and I crossed the kitchen in two steps, scooping her up to check for damage. She was fine. The shock of the floor hitting back scared her more than anything else. I smothered her in kisses anyway, whispering that she was okay until her sobs softened into hiccups against my chest.
Amina was beside me, rubbing Demi’s back and echoing my reassurances. I noticed she was draped in one of my t-shirts, her curls a frizzy halo around her bare face, smelling like my Old Spice. She had clearly made herself comfortable in my shower and in my clothes.
“I got her,” I said, keeping my voice even. “Check on your bacon before it burns.”
“Shoot,” she muttered, scurrying back to the stove. The shirt barely covered her ass and I redirected my eyes toward the living room before my body could respond. Whatever we had been to each other in the past was dead. She had made sure of that the moment she decided to poke a hole in that condom and change both our lives without asking me.
I settled onto the sectional with Demi and flipped the TV to Ms. Rachel. The second that woman said “Hi friends” my daughter’s whole body relaxed. I pulled a blanket over us both and had about thirty seconds of peace before my phone dinged.
It was the group chat.
Kam: Damn Nique, you might need a Plan B after last night.
I frowned. All kinds of scenarios started running through my head before I could stop them. I knew better than to go where my mind was trying to take me. Kam wouldn’t cross that line knowing how I felt about Nique and Nique damn sure wouldn’t entertain him. Still my blood was already simmering.
Nique: Wtf you talking about?
Kam: I saw the video of you and that stripper.
Nique: Who the fuck recorded that?
London: Not me.
Kam: I saw it on Amina’s IG story.
I looked over at Amina. No surprise there. She was currently recording herself over the stove, wearing a fake sweet smile. “Just whipping up a little breakfast,” she chirped for the camera like she lived there.
“Aye, don’t post that,” I said, walking into the kitchen.
“Why not?” Her attitude surfaced immediately.
I didn’t waste words. I took the phone out of her hand and killed the upload.
“Give me my phone back!” she snapped.
Demi’s eyes went wide from the couch. I dropped my voice low. “Calm your ass down. You’re scaring my baby.”
That worked the way it always did with her. She backed off just enough for me to scroll through her story. It was exactly what I expected. Thirsty selfies, boomerangs of London, videos of her and Paris singing in the back of somebody’s car. Then I hit the one Kam was talking about and my jaw locked.
Some nigga in lime green spandex was handling Nique like she belonged to him, all on her body, grinding on her with everything he had. My chest went tight. I deleted it fast because the longer I watched the more I wanted to find out who he was.
“Why did you delete my video Dex?” Amina fussed, reaching for the phone.
“Because what happens at a bachelorette party stays at a bachelorette party. Keep other people’s business off your page.”
Her phone buzzed before she could respond. It was Paris. Amina answered and put it on speaker without thinking.
“Whatever video you posted of Nique needs to come down right now,” Paris said, skipping the pleasantries. “She is pissed.”
“Her bestie already took care of it,” Amina said, rolling her eyes at me.
“You with Dex?” Paris asked, her tone shifting into something dry and unimpressed.
“Yeah, I’m at his place making breakfast for him and my baby,” Amina said, laying it on thick like she was winning something.