Page 13 of Definitely Not a Thing

“Nothing is funny!”

“You sitting alone in a moving truck screaming bloody murder is objectively funny as hell,” he countered. “Are you cool?”

“No, I’m not fucking cool.ClearlyI am not cool. I have notbeencool. Areyoucool?!”

“Breezy, actually,” he grinned. “What’s going on though? Seriously.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes,” he nodded. “This is a nice, peaceful neighborhood, and you’re killing the vibe.”

My mouth dropped. “I’mkilling the vibe?I’m kil—you know what… no. No, I do not need your help.”

“Youclearlyneed help. Like… this a textbook case of someone needing help. Maybe on a clinical level.”

“Oh is it clear? Really?” I sucked my teeth, turning back to the truck as he called behind me?—

“In Eight-K-Ultra-High-Definition Sweetheart.”

I couldn’t keep the snarl off my face as I turned. “Sweetheart?! Who the fuck even are you?!”

“Calvin Cross,” he answered, extending a hand in my direction with a stupid grin.

It tookallmy self control not to slap it away, opting instead to simply ignore it as I crossed my arms. “Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

A look of surprise moved over his face as he pulled his hand back. “Oh. You’ve never watched—never mind. Look – like I said, you clearly need help. Whassup, your movers bailed on you or something?”

“Definitely something,” I muttered under my breath, looking back at the truck as if… hell, I don’t even know.

I was still in disbelief that I’d dropped the ball in such a manner.

“Ay – I’ve got other shit I could be doing right now,” Calvin spoke up again, immediately inciting a raised eyebrow as I returned my gaze in his direction. “I’m telling you I can give you a hand, but that offer expires in five… four?—”

A countdown?

Is this nigga giving me acountdown?

“Three…”

Heisgiving me a countdown.

“Two…”

This is some bullshit.

“O—”

“Fine!” I cut in. “You can help me.”

His face wrinkled into a scowl. “Uh… thanks for the opportunity?”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’re mean as fuck,” he chuckled, shaking his head as he walked around to the back of the truck. “Open it up, let me see what we’re dealing with.”

For a moment, I could even think about the instruction – I was caught up on the accusation –mean.

Was I being mean?