Morgan rolled her pretty brown eyes toward the long driveway, and her heart ached when she saw Messiah sitting in there in the passenger side of Isa’s BMW. She hadn’t even heard him pull up. Or had he been there the entire time? She had no clue, but she had an unbelievable urge to run to him. It felt like Bash’s eyes were on her. Like he was spying on her. Like if she went to Messiah, he would witness it, and it would only make the situation between them worse.

“Fuck you looking back for like you need permission, shorty?” Messiah asked. “Get over here.”

Morgan’s feet moved before her mind had time to tell her to stop. “What are you doing here?” she asked as she wrapped herself tighter in her jean jacket to protect against the wind. He popped open the door, and weed smoke drifted out of the car as he placed one wheat Timberland to the pavement. He made no move to stand.

“Come here,” he said.

“I can’t fit, Messiah,” she protested.

He pulled her fingertips, forcing her into the car, right into his lap. He hit the blunt that he pinched between his tattooed fingers and gripped her chin, pulling her near as he blew the smoke out of his mouth slowly into her face. Morgan inhaled it, held it, then tilted her chin to blow it out. She licked her lips, then focused on him.

“Let me get that,” Messiah signed, licking his lips, a conceited smirk lifting the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t do that,” Morgan signed back.

“Is that a yes? Three squares, two snacks, shorty,” he reminded.

Morgan’s face flushed red as she remembered the things he had done to her body.

“I know it’s wet,” he signed. “Tell me it ain’t.”

He pulled his lip into his mouth and licked it so slowly that Morgan felt a jolt travel through her entire vagina.

“Messiah, stop,” she whispered, swiping her hair out of her face, tucking it behind both ears. She was frustrated, exasperated, fucking bothered. She didn’t want to do too much in front of Isa, because she didn’t want things to be misconstrued. She and Messiah were not a thing, and she didn’t need Isa or anyone else thinking otherwise. Messiah hit the blunt and chuckled at her discomfort.

“What are you doing here?” Morgan asked, irritated.

“My girl is here. Where else would I be?” he asked.

“Messiah. I haven’t been your girl for a long time.” The sadness in her tone surprised them both.

He placed his hand to her cheek, staring at her through lidded eyes. He was high. She could see his mind spinning as he took a trip to the past through her stare. “You always gon’ be my girl, Mo.” He was inches from her face, and Morgan closed her eyes.

“You can’t be here,” she whispered.