Her response caught him off guard, but he didn’t blame her. Morgan was not only spoiled, but justified in the way she felt about him. He had handled her poorly, and he knew she wasn’t going to make it easy to get back in her good graces.

Messiah:

You coming out or I’m coming in that mu’fucka. Which one it’s gon’ be?

Messiah knew Morgan wouldn’t want to cause a scene. He didn’t even know what he was doing there. He was far removed from sneaking around to see a chick. It wasn’t his style. He was in his mid 20’s and had left that high school shit behind a long time ago. Anything immature turned him off, which is how he knew he had a thing for Morgan. She was just discovering the world, just getting her feet wet. At 18, she was green but the way she looked at him made him feel kingly. Her silence was mystical. She was like a beautiful bird that you had to be careful not to frighten, because if you got too close, it would fly away. That’s why he had admired from a distance. But when niggas around the city began to shoot their shot, he began to feel territorial. He began to shoot his shot, as in bullets, because he would body any nigga that stepped to her incorrectly. His protection was no longer out of obligation to Ethic, but out of infatuation for her. He wanted what he couldn’t have, and it bothered him to his core, because Messiah was a man who could have whatever he liked, with whomever he liked…except her. He waited for her response, but it never came. Within minutes, he saw her walking down the driveway and towards his car, her hands were tucked in a Michigan State hoodie and she wore short, cotton shorts that were barely visible. All he saw was legs, as she walked towards his car, flip flops slapping on the concrete ground and scowl on her pretty face. Her long braids were pulled up in a bun on top of her head. She opened the passenger door and climbed inside but didn’t look his way. He studied her. Her body language was tense and full of mistrust. She was freshly showered and filled his car with the scent of Flowerbomb body wash.

“Shorty Doo Wop,” he said, his baritone deep, as he peered through his low lids. Morgan was incensed with resentment. He could feel her animosity. She even leaned toward the door. She wanted as much space between them as she could get. She normally smiled when he greeted her in that way, but tonight she was giving out ‘fuck you’ vibes and he took them because he deserved them. “Mo,” he tried again. “So, I’ve been fucking with the sign language a little bit.”