My breath hitches, but then I look down at my green T-shirt. “Feed me and tell me I’m pretty” is written in white.
My cheeks blush, and I bite down on my lips, but this doesn’t stop my sheepish grin from making an appearance. “Thanks.”
“So, your book reached the dorm safely?”
I nod. “It did, all thanks to you.”
He shrugs and dips his hands in his pockets, flexing his muscles. “I’ve been trying to get Wylla to read books, but she’s just not interested, so I help those who do.”
This surprises me. “She doesn’t like stories?”
“Nope.”
“So, she’s a movie person?”
He shakes his head and changes his body weight from one foot to another. “She’s more of a craftsperson. She creates surprising things from trash. It’s fascinating,” he says, his voice light, in awe, projecting his brotherly love.
“She’s an artist,” I say, recalling all the recycled stuff I saw at his place.
“She is.” And once again, there’s that awe in his voice. He blinks a few times and clears his throat. “Um … she was asking about you.”
Warmth spreads over my chest, and before my lips could pull a smile, Layla shouts, “Okay, class, everyone in their places.”
Remi exhales, bouncing on his toes. “C’mon. Let’s get in our places.” He walks to stand next to Layla.
The class begins, and this time, when Remi puts his arms around Layla for the demonstration, something hard hits my stomach. My gaze can’t seem to budge from his hands. When his hands caress Layla’s waist, mine curl into fists. When his body touches hers, mine stiffens. And when he looks down at the way Layla’s hips are moving—fire flares inside me.
What’s happening to me?
My eyes lock with Remi’s several times during the class, and each time he holds my gaze, something wonderful flutters inside me. This time, he breaks it only when Agatha and Anthony come between us, lost in each other, a hint of a smile lingering on their lips.
Then slowly, with all the care in the world, Anthony’s gaze drops to Agatha’s lips and he brings his thumb there, softly tugging on her lower lip. Agatha closes her eyes for a brief moment and then opens them to look at Anthony, who is now staring at her like she’s the only person in his universe. Her lips move, “Me too,” and they move out of my line of vision, leaving my gaze to reconnect with Remi’s.
And this time, it takes longer for our stare to break.
When the class ends, I change into my sneakers and see Agatha walking past me. Without thinking twice, I call her. “Agatha …”
She turns around and smiles at me. “Kaci, right?”
I nod. “Um …” I pause. Dammit. How do you ask this?
“Oh, c’mon, say it. I don’t bite.”
I chuckle. “I wanted to ask something … if it’s not too personal.”
“Of course.”
“When you were dancing, I noticed that Anthony grazed his thumb to your lower lip, and you replied as if he’d said something. I’m just curious …”
She gives me a light smile. “He told me that, right then, all he was thinking about was kissing me.”
“Oh …”
Agatha chuckles. She grazes her fingers on my cheek. “One day, sweetheart, someone’s going to look at you the same way Anthony looks at me.” She looks behind me with a gleam in her eyes and smiles. “One day …”
I stand there as she walks away. I know Remi’s behind me.
“Heels are in the bag,” Candee chimes, coming to stand next to me. “You ready?” she asks, and I somehow manage a nod. “Cool. Bye, Remi.” Candee grabs my elbow, walking me to the door, and just like every other day, I turn to look at Remi. Only this time, he didn’t have that cocky smirk on—his face is serious. There’s a storm forming in his eyes, and it’s fixed right on me.
#PhantomKiss
NINE
#Secrets
With a last look in the rearview mirror, I get out of the car with Remi’s backpack in hand. The same rusty and pungent smell of decaying food meets my nostrils, but I ignore it and enter the building.
The stairs creak as I climb, and I hear voices shouting, but I can’t make out the words. The closer I get to Remi’s place, the louder the voices grow.
I lift my knuckles to the door and knock. Nothing. Maybe I should leave? But I didn’t come all this way to go back. The shouting stops, and the door opens, bringing me face to face with Remi.
“Kaci?”
Damn! All this shouting was happening here. “Hi,” I greet, and my gaze moves into the room to see a woman frowning at me.
Remi blinks as if not sure he’s really seeing me. And this is when I realize that I should have called before coming, but then again, I don’t have his number.
“Hey …” I say carefully, still standing outside.
“Kaci, what are you doing here?” he asks, leaving his hand on the door handle.
His question makes me pause. I begin to shake my head, but then the woman speaks. “Your girlfriend, Remi?”
“That’s none of your business,” Remi spits, the hatred in his voice shocks me.
Dammit. This is not how I thought today would go. I thought it’d be like the last time I was here—Remi, Wylla, and I bonding over coffee and braids. But nope. It’s like I’m paying for not giving Candee Nicholas’s address.
#KarmaIsaBitch.
“I can come by later,” I mutter, looking from Remi to the woman, who’s now scrolling her gaze over me.
“Oh … come in. Remi and I were just having a little chat,” the woman chirps, swatting at Remi’s shoulder and lifting a hand to motion me inside.
Remi looks back at me and exhales. He removes his hands from the door and allows me to step in. “I came to return your clothes,” I explain, walking inside, lifting the backpack—more like justifying why I’m here when I wasn’t invited.
I step inside, and the woman stands in front of me. “Hi.” She moves her hand forward for me to shake. “I’m Margaret. Remi’s mother.” She smiles.
Sugar-tette.
I shake her hand. “Kaci,” I introduce, thinking of the conversation I had with Remi. He said he lives here with Wylla and Nicholas, but he never mentioned his mother—strange.
“She’s pretty, Remi,” she inserts, looking at Remi, pulling her hand back.
Remi comes to stand next to me. I lift my head to look at him and see him scowling at his mother. “Margaret, please leave.” His voice sounds tired.
Margaret? My gaze swings from his mother to him and back to his mother. I was right—I’ve walked into the middle of something. Remi’s clenching jaw and frown state the obvious—he’s pissed and doesn’t want his mother here. But the mother’s expression confuses me. Her smile doesn’t slip when Remi utters those words.
She shakes her head, chuckling. “I’m seeing my daughter first,” she says, her voice firm.
“She’s not home. And I have a guest.” Remi places a hand on the back of his neck. “Please leave.”