“We could, though. We could be good together if you’d let us,” she whispered. “I saw how you looked at her. I’ve known ever since that night in the club. When she’s around, it’s like nothing else even matters. I’ve been down for years. Why don’t you feel that for me?”

Ahmeek blew out a sharp breath. He pulled the car over and threw it in park, then turned to her. Livi was stubborn, so she didn’t let her tears fall. She was pretty as hell. A little bad, redbone, with wide eyes and flawless everything. His type. His type before Morgan.

“Look. If I was disrespectful, I apologize. You’re a good woman, Liv. You are. You got your shit together. Your salon and shit. You on your hustle. You’re smart and low-key. I fuck with it. I enjoy your vibe, but we were cruising. We were after the club with it, real casual with it. Good sex, a little shopping and breakfast. You’ve never even been to my crib. Now you telling me you want to marry me, and that ain’t supposed to scare a nigga?”

“Not now, Meek! I’m not saying I want a ring tomorrow. I’m just saying I’m not the type of girl to just do this shit for fun. I want to build toward something with a man, not just have sex. I’d like to do that with you. I know what it’s been between us, but I’m telling you my feelings are involved, and I’d like for it to be more. Anything that isn’t growing is dead, Meek. You growing with Morgan Atkins?”

Her question dug a hole straight through him. He had no response. He pulled in a deep breath. All this back and forth gave him a headache. He swiped a hand down his face as he rubbed his beard.

“This is getting heavy, Liv,” he said. “The timing is bad. What you want and what I can give right now … it don’t match.”

“Then take me home,” she said. “Cuz now that I see what you’ll give the next bitch that ain’t even half of me, I want more.”