"No girls?" Devon stumbled, tripping over his own feet. He managed to stay upright and keep his jogging pace.

"Or one girl of her choosing," I reminded him, jogging alongside him on the narrow dirt path.

Getting up at the ass crack of dawn for anything other than school might've sounded insane to anyone else, but I loved it. The running trails were basically deserted, which was perfect for when I needed to think. And I had a lot to think about.

With some effort I got Devon to run with me. A second opinion on my situation couldn't hurt. Plus, he had a car and my favorite running trail was too far of a walk-a spot up through a wooded area that led to a cliff overlooking the city. Mom also took my car keys along with all other aspects of my freedom.

In addition to me playing nice with Brad Mom wanted me to "be more conscious" of the girls I chose to associate myself with. Which was just her way of telling me that my personal life was making her look bad.

"C'mon, it's not like you're gonna let her set you up with anyone," he said. "Especially not one of the daughters of the Boujee Brigade."

The Boujee Brigade, which had some official sounding name I couldn't remember, was a group my mom was a part of with thirteen other Black women with large bank accounts. Think: Real Housewives of Atlanta, only with a little less drama and a lot more judgement.

Her position in their group was hanging on by a thread since the divorce. My dad was really the only reason she was accepted into the club. Everyone wanted to cozy up to the wife of the third best plastic surgeon in southern California.

Now that it was just my mom, a housewife without a husband, they were looking for any reason to ban her from the group. Which I guess meant even I had to be on my best behavior.

"Paris is kind of cute," I said, half heartedly.

"Promise Ring Paris?" He said, incredulous. "Paris who spends every second of her free time at the church? The same Paris who-"

"I got it, D. Thanks," I said. "It doesn't matter. All I gotta do is not bring girls to the house. Problem solved. It's not like my mom has eyes on me."

The quiet of the trail was interrupted by phone. The custom ringtone made me second guess my previous statement. I stopped jogging, Devon following suit.

I answered it, nervously checking over my shoulder. "Yeah, Ma?"

"That's not how you answer the phone, Stephen," she scolded. Her tone switched up as she said, "Brad wants to take us to dinner tonight."

Dinner with Brad. A couple of hours where all I had to do was not be my usual sarcastic self. I didn't think I was ready for that.

"Tonight?" I inhaled sharply, trying my best to sound disappointed. "I can't tonight. Devon needs me to... give him a line up."

Devon shook his head, taking a swig of his water.

"Well, tell Devon to find himself a new barber because you're going to be at Glasshouse at seven sharp and you will not be wearing basketball shorts." She left no room for an argument. "Also, you do this for me and I'll give you the car this weekend so you can go to that thing in Santa Monica."

That thing in Santa Monica was a book festival. I've gone every year for the past three years and every year my mom had something to say about it. But then I'd catch her reading one of the books I had brought back. Reading was one of the few things she and I had in common.

"Alright," I said. "So, do I have to call him daddy or are you only allowed to do that?"

"Goodbye, Stephen."

I slipped my phone back into the pocket of my joggers. "You really do need a line up."

"And you need to start getting acquainted with your left hand." He busted out laughing before sprinting up the trail.

I followed and tried to think of a way to get rid of Brad.

• • •

The Glasshouse lived up to its name. It was nothing but windows. Through those windows I could see my mom and Brad in the center of the restaurant, laughing and sipping some pre-dinner wine.

I started to smooth out the wrinkles of the blue button-up I had on. Then I remembered there was no one there I wanted to impress. I bypassed the hostess, going straight for their table.

Mom spotted me first. "Stephen, you're actually on time."

I took a seat at the square table made of, you guessed it, glass! Mom and Brad on either side of me. "Being punctual was the first rule in the How To Be A Kiss Ass handbook."

A sharp pain shot up through my shin. Mom's smile widened as I reached under the table to rub the leg she just kicked. She turned her attention back to Brad, who smiled back. Oblivious.

Brad was short and buff. Like he had to over compensate with weight lifting to make up for being under six feet. Yet another reason for me not to like him.

A waiter came by with menus and we placed our orders.

"I have to make a quick phone call to the wedding planner," Mom said, standing. "I think I finally know what to do about the center pieces."

Once she was out of earshot, Brad leaned towards me. "Your mother is anything but subtle." He laughed.

I snorted and started to point out that neither was he. Then I remembered the car keys. Instead, I settled on re-centering the center piece that "inspired" my mom.

"Your mom tell you I used to run track?" He continued, desperately. "I wasn't the fastest on the team, but that didn't stop the girls from flocking. You know what I mean?" He guffawed, slapping my shoulder.

I couldn't do it. I turned to him, his laughter came to a halt when he realized I wasn't amused. "What do you want with my mom?"

His eyes widened. "I-What?"

"Come on, getting married after two months? Something's up."

He let out a small laugh, shaking his head. "I love her. That's what's up."

"I'm sure the bank account she comes with has nothing to do with it, right?" I smirked.

"I don't appreciate what you're accusing me of."

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't appreciate you taking advantage of my mom."

For a second his laid-back demeanor was gone. It seemed like I found the right button to push.

Something caught his eye over my shoulder and his expression softened.

A hand rested on my shoulder. I looked up to see my mom. To the untrained eye she was smiling, not a care in the world. I knew better.

She probably saw the whole exchange between me and her fiance from wherever she was pretending to be making a call.

"Hope you two are getting along over here."

My gaze shifted to Brad, waiting to see how he was going to play it. Then he, like my mom, plastered on a fake grin.

"I'm just telling him about my time on the track team."

"Oh? Hope you're leaving out the parts about the groupies," she teased, taking her seat.

She knew he was lying. Everything about this dinner was fake and we just ignored it. Played along. My appetite was gone.

I stood, just as the waiter came by with our meals.

"Stephen," Mom hissed through her permanent fake grin for the waiter's benefit. "Sit. Down."

"I tried," I told her. "But I don't think you should be marrying this random dude."

"You are embarrassing me, Stephen." Her voice was low but that didn't stop prying eyes. "Remember our agreement."

Of course. Her image was all she cared about. Sometimes I wondered if that was the reason she and my dad split up. If someone tried to control everything in my life I'd probably leave the country too.

When I was outside I pulled out my phone, not ready to go home just yet. Devon answered on the second ring, a video game blasting at full volume in the background.

"You still need that line up?"

//

I was struggling to write this chapter until I reminded myself that things start heating up in the next chapter 🥰😍😘

P.S. Leaving comments make me write faster ;)