Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 35

"Let me in." He lifted his hand to flick one of the charms on the bracelet he'd given her as a birthday gift. "Told me I can come chill any time I wanted."

Cleo's gaze swept the apartment. "So where is she now?"

"I 'on't know," he said, hunching his shoulders. "She left a few minutes after I got here. Since Taz dropped me off I had no choice but to wait for you to come back. And Mom's had no problems with lettin' me kick back and hold down the spot until you came home, either. But why would she? She knows I can protect you better than Kevlar can."

Vision snatching flashes of him throwing her to the ground, while a rain of bullets pelted vatos, women, and children alike, rammed her brain. Her gaze narrowed as a question danced on the tip of her tongue. Swaying and gyrating back and forth, harder than a stripper trying to seduce a dollar out of a military man, all in the attempts to entice her lips to split. She'd never asked before, but she needed to know. "Why? You never told me, but...I have to know. Why did you take that hit for me?"

"Because I ride for you," he said giving her an, are you crazy, look. "Told you I would the first time I came over here. I'm not none of C's. If I say it I mean it, Chica. I'll never throw you away like trash. Not the way he did."

Cleo allowed his fingers to tangle with hers, while his words snugly wrapped around her mind, snatching away her ability to evaluate and distinguish truth from fiction. "So where you been?" She asked raising her chin, doing everything she could to  keep him emotionally at arms length, friend or not. "If you ride for me so hard, then where the hell have you been, huh? It's been four months, Pep. A rider doesn't leave their people twistin' and turnin' in the wind."

"Chica," he said, frowning when she snatched her hand from his and backed away to put space between them. "I took one to the chest for you. This ain't TV, it takes time to come back from something like that. And truth be sold the doctor said it'll be a least six months before I'm back to fifty percent. Not a hundred. Fifty!"

"Then what you come over here for?" Cleo mumbled, a little unsure now about her anger.

"Because I missed-," He stepped forward, but she placed the flat of her hand against his chest, forcing him to respect the customary five feet of her personal space. Aggravation furrowed his brows. "It's been a minute since we chilled and the hood is bullshit without you. It makes me thirty-eight to see C's flossin' up and down the street with a different bitch every two days. Like shit's all gravy-,"

"Forget C's," Cleo snapped.

"I'm just sayin'-"

"And I don't care." She shook her head. "Me and C's done. We been that way for a while now. So what I look like talkin' about him? Probably look as dumb as you do right now."

"Yeah aw 'ight," Pep said, throwing himself back on the sofa. "Thought you'd be happy to see me."

Cleo's shoulders sagged as all of the anger and hot air drained away as if her body had been pierced by a pitch fork, while guilt climbed on her shoulders and tightly wrapped itself around her neck. To proud to apologize, she stared at the floor as she ran the toe of her shoe across a snare in the stained carpet. "You hungry?"

"Than Tony Montana when he first jumped from Cuba," he said.

Just like that, they were back on track. It was like that with Pep. It didn't take much to turn the tide of his emotions. He was always willing to over look her fuck-ups regardless of how far over the line she crept. His understanding had no limits. Yeah, she knew she was wrong for tossing him out and pulling him back like a yo-yo, but his propensity for clemency when it came to her somewhat selfish actions made it so easy to take advantage of him.