Page 4

GERMAYNE

“ T hat’s it. Push, Mrs. Parker. Your baby is right there,” I coach, sitting on the stool at the foot of the bed, sliding my fingers around the rim while the baby crowns.

My ability to shift from nearly knocking a nigga on his ass to preparing to deliver someone’s baby should be studied, because I’m doing it effortlessly.

Although my outward countenance is calm and professional, there’s an inferno teeming within me.

Thankfully, the buster with the balls the size of Florida got the hint of my seriousness before I got to two.

Like the fool he is, he walked off from the woman whose presence made it impossible for me to ignore their arguing.

Seeing her in the grocery store in a pair of leggings, a T-shirt, and some Crocs was nothing in comparison to now.

Tonight, half-pint is wearing a two-piece jogging set with a pair of tennis shoes, and her beauty is radiant enough to stop traffic.

Or cause a traffic collision from the glow of her cashew skin the sun isn’t present to enhance.

Her glossy lips made me want to pull her in for a kiss hot enough to transfer her lip balm once it was over.

Her hair is in braids, resting in a bun on her head.

Her body . . . good God in Heaven. Her body is what babies and dreams are made from.

Disappointment hit me like a Mack truck when screams sounded from the room of the laboring woman I’d been headed to check because it cut off my perusal.

*whaa, whaa, whaa*

The wailing from the newborn cut off my wayward thoughts and back to the situation at hand. Thankfully, I’ve delivered enough babies that my actions have become robotic because my brain was elsewhere.

“Congratulations, mom and dad. It’s a boy,” I inform the parents, holding the screaming baby up for them to see.

“You did it, Ri baby. You did it,” Mr. Parker gushes, kissing his wife’s face.

“No. We did it,” Mrs. Parker returns, water slipping from her eyes.

“Alright, dad. Cut the cord, and the nurse will get him squared away,” I say.

My chest pinches when Mr. Parker takes the scissors and cuts the umbilical cord, freeing the baby from his mother. This isn’t the first baby I’ve helped deliver today, so I’m unsure why I’m feeling the impact of this particular birth.

“Oh my God! You’re a mommy, Riele,” she gushes behind me, instantly increasing my body temperature.

“Mhm. You’re an auntie/godmom, Chaniya. I love that for you,” Mrs. Parker utters lowly.

Chaniya, huh?

“Excuse me. Can I have a minute of your time, half-pint?” I ask.

Containing my professionalism has been damn near impossible the longer I watched half-pint gush over the Parker’s baby boy.

The slow steps I had taken to deliver Mrs. Parker’s afterbirth should have been illegal, but my focus was off like a mothafucka.

Not to mention I had to visualize Grandma Jolene dropping down to suck on her neighbor Renaldo’s dick after removing her dentures, to get my dick to go down and not embarrass me.

“Half-pint?” Mrs. Parker’s voice echoes around the room, but neither the woman I’m speaking to nor I respond before I exit the room after throwing away the paper towels I used to dry my hands.

“I—”

“Hold on. I’d rather have a private conversation.” I stop her from speaking before heading toward the family waiting area that’s usually empty on this floor.

Our exchange, while unorthodox, can’t be prevented, because the magnetic pull I’m experiencing with this woman won’t let me walk away from her again empty-handed.

Entering the waiting room a few minutes later, I close the door after she crosses the threshold.

Desperate to ignore the urge to touch her, I quickly put my hands in my pocket.

“Wh-what?—”

“Breathe, half-pint. You’re not in any danger. I just wanted to ask you to accompany me to my sister’s wedding.” My chest is beating like a drum at an HBCU band competition, and my eyes peer intently at her while holding my breath in wait.

Shit! Did I really just ask this woman to go to Essence’s wedding with me?

A smirk slides into place when half-pint’s eyes balloon, and her mouth opens then closes like a pucker fish.

“Um—what?”

“I want you to be my plus one for my sister’s wedding weekend that’ll include the ceremony.”

“We-uh-you don’t know me.” A wide grin slides into place upon seeing the cute pout on her lips.

Stepping closer yet leaving an inch of space between us, I extend my hand while giving her my best, irresistible smile. “Germayne Malone.”

My heart stalls when a puff of air escapes half-pint’s mouth, hitting my face at the same time as bursts of light sparkle within her eyes, leaving me momentarily unable to move.

Fuck! She’s sexy as hell.

“Ch-Chaniya O’Neal,” she replies breathlessly.

“I have never heard a more fitting name than yours,” I say, sounding lame without game.

What the fuck are you saying, nigga? How did your dumb ass go from a real nigga to a lame nigga after coming to this woman’s rescue not long ago? You are about to lose your player card over that weak ass line. Damn shame, nigga.

Chaniya laughs while covering her mouth with her hand, making my internal rants valid and timely.

“Do other women find that flattering?” Chaniya asks, smirking.

“Hell nah. Please forgive me. You’re little ass got me out here nervous and fumbling like a juvenile.”

“You’re funny. I’m not sure that accepting your offer is appropriate, though. Fumbling or not, we’re still strangers.”

“How about we go to the cafeteria to get some coffee or whatever beverage you would like? That way, we can remove our stranger status.”

Now your lame ass is begging like a simp. You’re going out sad.

“Hold up. You did what?” Jarrod asks, laughing hysterically.

Jarrod Moody is my other best friend and the guy named class clown when we were in high school because there isn’t a situation he won’t find humor within.

“It ain’t that damn funny, nigga,” I snap.

“Shid. Were y’all in one of the areas where the cameras are? I need to see something,” Desi interjects.

“Shut the fuck up with your crying over Chardonnay bitch ass,” I snap.

“Ooh, you big mad, huh?” Desi laughs.

“Right. His ass is probably over there about to burst a vessel in his eye and everything. It’s okay, bro. We won’t tell nobody but the team you went out like a sucka.” Jarrod interjects.

“Fuck off my phone.” Disconnecting the three-way call, I toss my phone aside, still reeling over Desi and Jarrod finding humor in my being shot down.

My ego still feels the sting of Ms. Chaniya turning me down, because I found a woman enticing for the first time in a long time.

Generally, I let my dick lead me into relationships, but encountering and conversating with Chaniya had me reaching an epiphany.

The sad part is I have never fumbled speaking to a woman before, and my inability to say the right things had me out of sorts.

It’s also crazy because my tongue didn’t get tied when I saw her in the grocery store.

It was coming, which is why your ass got out of dodge before you could look lame. Although you ended up doing that anyway. Sad shame.

*ding, ding*

Back-to-back notifications sound from my phone, forcing me out of my head to grab the device.

Jarrod: Awe, G man. Do you need a hanky?

Desi: Or some Kotex? Midol?

Jarrod: I can bring you some chocolate and a blankie to go with your hurt feelings if you want, pumpkin.

Desi: Bro, your ass is wild. Did you just call that nigga pumpkin? Lmao.

Me: Didn’t I tell you fuck niggas to get off my line. Why the fuck are y’all still talking to me?

Desi: See, I told Mama Adele not to let your ass wear those bobo’s to school in sixth grade. Now look, your ass ain’t learn the concept of sticks and stones. Damn shame, bro.

Jarrod: Wait, this nigga wore shoes that snapped across the foot with Velcro? Say it ain’t so. Damn, no wonder this nigga is being rejected by hot women and shit. She probably can still smell the knockoff residue on his ass.

Me: Fuck you niggas

Jarrod: Type *11 if you need me to buy you some of the latest K. Patt Kicks. I know you wannabe doctors are surviving on oodles and noodles and shit. I’m my brother’s keeper, so I don’t want to see you go out like this.

Desi: No, for real. You know bro stay eating oodles and noodles. Lmao.

Feeling the vein in my temple pulsate out of control, I mute the group chat and then silence my phone before locking the device. I ain’t got to be playing with Desi and Jarrod’s asses. I have been off work for hours, and I’m still in my feelings about not securing a connection with Chaniya.

“Damn. How the hell did I fuck that up with Chaniya?” Hanging my head, my mind flashes back to how my conversation with Chaniya ended.

“I can’t get a drink with you, Germayne. Although he’s an ass and skating on thin ice, I’m in a relationship with the man I was talking to earlier.”

“Hm. He doesn’t deserve you. Any man who doesn’t value you enough to discuss your differences privately is incapable of holding a place in your heart.” Subconsciously, I rub Chaniya’s hand but stop when a jolt of awareness surges through my body.

What the fuck was that?

“I hear you, and I’m not disagreeing, but until I’ve closed the door on what we have, I can’t accept your offer for a drink or anything else. It’s a respect th ? —”

“You don’t have to sell me on your reasons. While I may not like it, I definitely respect it. It’s another reason you are a diamond who shouldn’t live in the rough.”

“I hear you. Believe me, I do. Nevertheless, he’s who I’m with at the moment.”

Something about the inflection of Chaniya’s words cause a lopsided grin to slide into place because all I hear is that nigga is on his way out the door. Nodding, I smile while taking slow steps backward.

“On that note, I’ll respect where you are . . . at the moment. Enjoy the rest of your evening, Ms. Chaniya.”

“I’m not a praying man, but God, let my desires align with Chaniya’s needs.

Unlike Satan’s imp wasting her time, I’m all the man she’ll ever need.

” Standing, I begin disrobing before heading to my bathroom to shower and prepare for bed.

“Alexa, play Mokenstef, ‘He’s Mine,’” I say upon entering the bathroom.

Alexa: Playing Mokenstef . . . He’s Mine

Turning on the water inside the bathtub, I start bobbing when the nineties jam starts playing, causing me to remix the words to fit my situation.

“She might be doing you, but she’s thinking about me. So, nigga, think about another lover and go find another woman,” I sing loudly before stepping in the shower once I have the temperature how I like it. “Damn, this woman got me remixing and singing love ballads. How the hell did I get here?”

Grabbing my bodywash and washcloth, I begin cleaning my body, losing the desire to sing the sappy-ass song echoing inside the shower wall. Chaniya got me feeling like imitating crazy-ass Sherita, and I’m not a stalking or pressed nigga.

“This woman gonna have me praying daily until God crosses our paths again. I need her in my life. Never have I ever been thinking about and praying for a woman who rejected my dumb ass without hesitation.”