𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐂𝐎𝐋𝐎𝐑 𝐎𝐑𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄

THING

Music is the answer.

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"It's about time you came out that dang room."

Michael grunted.

"I made dinner. It would've been hot, but you decided to come out 30 minutes after the food was done."

He grunted again.

"You've got a mouth and a tongue, right? So, why can't you use them?"

He grunted again. Just to spite her.

Latoya groaned. "Just eat. You're annoying me."

Michael sat and did just that, raising the fork to his mouth. Latoya rolled her eyes and made her way toward the sink. "You've been in a crummy mood ever since you came home last night!"

Michael's lips slowly ran along the fork. He paused, chewing, brows pinched. "The rice is a little sticky."

She gave him an impatient glare. "Is it? Well, if you can eat Stephanie's runny rice, you can eat my sticky rice! Maybe next time that'll teach you to make it instead of depending on me, you stupid jerk! Your socks aren't the only thing funkin' up this apartment today."

Michael looked up at her. He wasn't sure why, but he felt the faint beginnings of a chuckle tickling his throat. He couldn't fight it. His mouth wrinkled into a frown, straightened into a line, then twisted upward into a close-mouthed smile. Suddenly, he was laughing. Latoya narrowed her eyes, lips pressed together. She didn't last nearly as long as he did. She snorted and lowered her head; seconds later, she was laughing too.

"You are so annoying! I don't know how I've managed to live with you this long without killing you!" She sighed. "And don't think I haven't forgotten that you were supposed to be cooking yesterday and today. I don't care if Diana invited you over for dinner, either."

Michael's grin flattened, limping into a small smile. "I'll cook tomorrow and Wednesday."

"And you'll wash the dishes tonight."

Michael sighed. "And I'll wash the dishes tonight."

Latoya nodded, giving him a triumphant smile. "Thatta boy!" She began transferring all the dirty dishes to the sink, a pep in her step. "And oh! Stephanie! How's she doing? Have you talked to her?"

He nodded slowly, looking down at his food. "Yeah. A few days ago. She's busy with some songwriting."

"She hasn't visited in a while. I figured you would've invited her over again by now."

"We've both been busy," he replied.

Which was true.

But what was even truer was that it was hard to be involved with her when he was essentially "seeing" Diana at the same time. Or "preoccupied" with Diana—yes, preoccupied, that was probably a better word.

His fingertips grazed his jawline. Her lips were still there, soft, almost phantom-like.

"Being busy sure hasn't stopped you from seeing Ms. Ross, though," Latoya teased.

Her words brought him back to reality. He lowered his hand and brought his attention back to the fork in his hand.

"That's different. I work with Diana. I can't help but see her."

It was ironic, considering they'd seen so little of each other today. Today's shooting hours had thrown off his and Diana's usual morning routine, and with her girls in town until Friday, their evening rendezvous at the studio had been impossible. Between that and running from her apartment with his tail between his legs, they'd had one hell of a week, and he'd almost been thankful they hadn't had time to talk.