Page 33 of Lovetown, USA

Trey

Mayor Daphne is blowing up my fucking phone.

Buzz after buzz, her name lights up my screen like a neon sign. I can’t ignore it, so I silence it instead, placing my phone face down on my desk, trying to focus on the patient chart in front of me. But that woman doesn’t take a hint. She never has.

Twenty or so minutes later, Pam buzzes me. “Dr. Montgomery? Mayor Davis is here. She says it’s urgent.”

Of course she does.

I pinch the bridge of my nose, count to three, and tell Pam to send the mayor to exam room three.

She’ll hate that.

I take two more patients before I finally make my way to room three.

As soon as I open the door, her perfume hits me, as does the sight of her pacing back and forth in her stilettos.

Her arms are folded tight against her body, her jaw locked like stone.

The second she lays eyes on me, her lips curl into a scowl.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” is her unfortunate greeting.

I close the door behind me, gesture for her to have a seat on the table, then take the stool as she says, “You think you can ignore me? You think you can embarrass me like this? Fuck no.”

I bring my eyes to hers. “First off, watch your fucking mouth. You walked your mayoral ass up in my place of business without asking, and you got the nerve to be disrespectful on top?” I shake my head. “Control it, Daphne. You already know I ain’t the fucking one.”

Her bottom lip trembles slightly. “Sorry . I just feel like you don’t know who I am.”

“I know exactly who you are, Daphne. But this knowing shit goes both ways.”

“Fair enough.” She sighs loudly, her eyes searching mine. “You remember how we used to end our fights, don’t you?”

I shrug. “Ancient history. What do you need? I’m swamped today.”

“Your girl.”

“What about her?”

“She wrote about the tax break last time, and now she says she’s still digging. That’s not what you promised me, Trey.”

“I don’t remember promising you shit.”

Her eyes narrow. “That emergency order can be rescinded. Don’t test me.”

“Rescind it,” I say. “At this point, I really don’t give a fuck.”

“Yes, you do. Because I saw that your certifications went through. You’re getting close.”

“Did you even read the latest one?” I say. “There wasn’t a damn thing in there that could hurt you.”

“Yeah, what’s this about a potluck? Were you there? If she enjoyed it, it’s definitely something the committee should implement.”

I hide my smirk. “I was there. It was cool. It wasn’t a big thing. It was…intimate.”

Her eyes search mine again, but I give her nothing, much to her frustration.

“The tax thing pissed me off, but I will admit, the last one was a bit more positive. So whatever you’re doing, keep doing it, but intensify it. She won’t be here forever.”

That last part pricks me.

Sometimes I forget she’s leaving.

Daphne stands, and I stand with her, reaching out to open the door.

“Oh, and Daphne? If you ever show up at my office again and disrespect me in front of my staff, I’m on your ass. Won’t be no deal, won’t be no friendship, and I’ll drop every last muhfuckin’ dime of my money into your next opponent’s campaign fund. Don’t play with me.”

Her lips part, but for once, she has no comeback. She just glares, nostrils flaring, and storms off without another word.

The silence she leaves behind is almost deafening. I sit at my desk, rub my temples, and let the adrenaline drain. But the anger doesn’t entirely fade.

Deep down, I feel like I’m in a fucking mess here, and it’s too late to clean it up.

It’s almost six o’clock when I finally pull into my driveway, and all I can think about is the night ahead. A quiet dinner, Lane smiling at me from across the table, and the two of us in my bed. All night long.

So I’m in shock when I open my front door to discover Camron sprawled out on my couch, shoes kicked off, TV blaring basketball highlights.

“Cam?” I blink. “What the hell are you doing in my house?”

He sits up straight, grinning like the cat who ate the canary. In my house. “Hey, Dad. Thought I’d come home for the weekend.”

“Why?”

His face falls.

“I don’t mean…” I trail off, closing the door behind me. “I mean, why didn’t you call first?”

“I didn’t think I had to.”

“It’s not a problem, Cam, but I’m having company tonight.”

The smile returns. It’s more of a goofy ass grin, really. “A woman?”

“Yeah. So you can either head out for the evening, or make yourself scarce. Me canceling is not an option.”

He stands, walking over to dap me up. “What y’all gon’ be doin’?”

I point to the stairs, and he walks off, his laughter trailing away as he goes.

I toss his Jordans in the corner and hit the off button on the remote. After a quick shower, I retreat to the kitchen, rolling up my sleeves.

I start with the garlic, chopping rhythmically, letting the savory smell calm me. The sizzle of olive oil hitting the pan fills the air. Next come the onions and cherry tomatoes.

I’m just sliding the salmon fillets into the skillet when the doorbell rings.

I smile immediately.

When I open the door, Lane is there in jeans and a soft blouse, her hair loose, her face fresh like she didn’t try too hard, and she still manages to steal all the oxygen from my lungs.

“Hey,” she purrs.

I grab her messenger bag off her shoulder, then wrap her in a hug. “Hey. Thanks for coming. Welcome to my home.”

She steps inside, looking around a bit. “I may work tonight,” she says, pointing to her bag. “I’m on a roll. When that happens, I like to have my laptop handy just in case.”

I shut the door behind her. “The exposé?”

“Mm hm.” She slips her shoes off, and damn, her feet are so fucking pretty. My eyes are fixed on her toes for a good thirty seconds before I remember to set her bag down.

“Smells good in here,” she says as she follows me to the kitchen. “What are you making me?”

I get to work cutting fingerling potatoes. “I’m making you salmon, then I’m making you those cookies you like, then I’m making you cum.”

Her eyes light up. “Sounds perfect.”

I give her a wink.

“I actually…I have something for you.” She gets off the counter stool and walks over to her bag. “It’s the article I told you about.”

She hands me a thin stack of papers. “You can’t find it online anywhere, but I still have the original. They scrubbed everything under my byline.”

I wipe my hands on my apron, then take what she’s offering. “I didn’t wanna ask.”

“I know. You aren’t the kind of man who pries.”

I nod. “What made you keep this?”

“Reminder, I guess.” She sighs. “Of what I lost. Of the importance of keeping my shit together.”

Just as she finishes speaking, a loud thump from upstairs makes her jump.

“What was that?”

“It’s just my son. He came home for the weekend. Surprised the hell out of me.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry. I told him to stay his little ass upstairs.”

“Nooooo,” she says, laughing. “He should join us for dinner. It’s his home. I’m just a guest.”

“You are a VIP in my house. He ain’t.” I drop the potatoes into boiling water. “He’ll be alright. I’ll take him a plate.”

She tilts her head, shooting me a look. “What’s his name?”

“Camron.”

She smiles. “Camronnnnnn! Come downstairs!”

I shake my head as that boy’s heavy footsteps descend the stairs. Then I hear his voice.

“Wowwwwww.”

He walks straight over to Lane, flashing that charming Montgomery smile. “Well, hello.”

“Lane, this is my son, Camron. Cam, this is Lane.”

“The beautiful Lane.” He reaches for her hand, kissing the back of it. Eye contact and everything. I almost reach out and pop him in the mouth. “Such a pleasure to meet you.”

She beams. “Trey. I see where you get your good looks from.”

They both laugh while I wash the spinach. I have a few more minutes on the potatoes and salmon, so I set the spinach aside and pick up Lane’s article.

“…but had I known you would be down here, I would have cleaned myself up,” he’s saying.

Lane giggles like that little nigga got game. “I wish the boys were this charming when I was your age.”

“Behave yourself,” I mumble to Cam as I sink into a chair.

Their laughter pierces through, warm and easy, while I read words that feel like open wounds. Lane’s writing is visceral, like she’s bleeding all over the page.

The Man. The Myth. The Legend. Reginald Savoy, Tech Wunderkind

By Danielle Washingon

He makes the perfect pitch every single time, which makes Reginald Savoy undefeated in the tech game. It wouldn’t be inaccurate to describe him as a visionary, a boy-genius turned CEO whose name investors evoke like a magic spell. He is, in a word, extraordinary.

But there’s one pitch that rules them all, and it was the one he made to me. Reginald Savoy sold himself to me as a good man.

That was the myth.

The truth about Reginald isn’t extraordinary at all. In fact, it’s quite common. He’s a lying piece of shit who thinks nothing of breaking a woman’s heart.

Reginald is the man who canceled his own wedding fewer than eighteen hours before we were to say our vows to one another.

Why?

Legend has it he had a second family. I don’t think he ever meant to get that far into planning our wedding.

But that’s the thing about cowards. They’d rather drown than admit they made a mistake jumping into the pool.

He didn’t even have the courage to tell me to my fucking face.

The bastard texted me and ended not just our wedding and engagement.

He ended the illusion I’d been living in for four years.

And then I started to think about all the signs I missed.

Isn’t it always like that? I want to punch myself in the face for betraying my own fucking trust. Why didn’t I notice back then how he always deflected when I talked about our future?

Or how he turned everything into a joke so he never had to show vulnerability?

How could I brush off his casual cruelty as honesty, or even tough love?

How did I not notice his never-ending cycle of friends becoming inevitable enemies, or the way he polished his own image with the tears and misfortunes of those he pretended to love?

In public, he plays the hero. The innovator. The philanthropist. The mentor and role model. In private, he’s a man who can’t tell the truth, admit fault, or take accountability for anything.

It didn’t start with me. I’m just the latest in a long line of women he used and discarded. And before him, there was his father, the emotional tyrant. Reginald not only inherited his father’s talent for manipulation, he perfected it.

Now, all that’s left of me is ashes. The ruins of what I thought would be a beautiful life. The dregs of a dream that will never be realized. I’m a strong woman, but I can only take so much.

I wanted to disappear.

I wanted to hurt him.

For a brief moment, I wanted to die.

The pain was unbearable. Some days, it still is.

But Reginald Henry Savoy will never break me. Not the man, the myth, or the legend. He will end up alone with his lies, his accomplishments, and his accolades, and one day, when the applause fades and the cameras turn away, he’ll discover what it feels like to be unfulfilled.

Because you can only lie to yourself for so long.