Unedited

...

°Deanne's POV°
5:58 A.M.

I wake up with a jolt, my breath coming in sharp, shallow gasps.

The room feels hot, like mi can barely breathe, and my body, particularly between my legs, is tingling in a way that has me feeling all sorts of confused.

My heart is racing, and my whole body feels like it’s on fire.

The sheets are tangled around my legs, and my mind is lost somewhere between sleep and reality.

It tek mi a moment to realize where I am, but the feeling, the heat, quickly gets to me. No man, mi a burn up!

Rubbing my eyes with the back of my palm, I look around the room, realizing that the fan is off.

Oh, that's why mi so frigging hot!

Mercy...

But why mi feel so down desso?

My mind recalls the dream I just woke up from. And not just the dream, but the main character in it.

Driva.

The name alone sends another rush through me, making me press my thighs together as I try to push the memory away.

But it’s too fresh, too real, like it’s still happening. I can still feel him, the weight of his body pressing me down, the heat of his breath on my neck, the way his hands glide over me like they belong there.

I close my eyes tightly, trying to shake it off, but the images flash back to me in vivid detail. The way he looked at me, like I was the only thing he could see. The way he touched me, slow and deliberate, like he was savoring every moment. His lips were so close, almost touching mine, teasing me until I felt like I would burst from wanting him.

I let out a shaky breath, my chest still heaving as I try to calm my racing heart.

But mi body nawh listen a rass.

Mi cyaa believe mi really did deh yasso a have wet dream over the man to baxide!

Although, to be honest, I don't know why I'm surprised.

It's been a recurrent thing these past few days.

Especially since that time.

Mi been a try tell miself that it’s nothing, that mi just curious or whatever, but clearly my body intends on standing on business.

It’s still trapped in that dream, still craving that feeling, still wanting him. It takes me back to the stint in his car the other night. My skin tingles with the memory of his touch, my lips still feel the ghost of his kiss, and my heart is pounding like it’s trying fi break free from my damn chest.

“Mi cyaan believe dis,” I whisper to myself, covering my face with my hands.

This is madness! Mi nuh supposed to feel so, bredda. Awah this?

My nipples are erect.

And I can feel my clit throbbing between my legs. Like it about fi ketch cardiac arrest or seizure to rassclat.

Nosah!

I slap myself. Hard.

Ouch!

The fuck!?

It's just a dream, Deanne. Get yuh self together please and thanks.

Love man like dog...!

Although it may have been "just a dream", it has me all twisted up inside, making me want things mi know mi not even shouldan a think 'bout.

Mi promise miself mi ago focus pon mi book eno.

And I've been doing good this past week. For the most part.

So mi nuh know a wah this...

Worse morning just light. A wah time now?

Sighing aloud, I sit up in bed, pulling the sheets closer to me as if that can somehow keep the thoughts in check.

Spotting my phone on the nightstand, I reach for it and look at the time. 6 o'clock.

Look pon the time and mi have school!

Thank God it's Friday though and my first class starts at nine.

And mi honestly nuh inna the mood fi stand up at the gate this morning. Just waan go a mi form class fi devotion and then go my ways. The struggle of being a prefect is real. Sigh.

Tossing my phone on the bed beside me, I close my eyes and inhale, trying to clear my head.

But specific instances from the dream keeps coming back to me, over and over, replaying in my mind like it’s trying to torture me.

And yuh know the fuck up part of all this? Mi nuh usually 'memba dreams, so why tha one yah choose fi stuck in a mi head?

Jesus, tek the case and gimme di pillow deh. 'Cause yuh child need severe intervention.

...and some hood.

"Murda!" I scream out louder than intended, then clear my throat to cover it up.

If mi nawh get off today day yah...!

Shuffling to get more comfortable, I pause, frightened by the sensation which travels through me as my clit brushes against the pad of my draws.

Then awah coulda cause my clit fi stand up so stiff?

Mi kackaclaat!

I run mi fingers through mi hair, trying to shake the feeling off, but my body is betraying mi. Mi never feel anything like this before——nuh matter the amount of time mi dream 'bout the man——this burning, this craving.

It a scare mi now.

I pinch myself.

"Deanne, get a grip nuh gyal!"

I know I should get up, start my day, before Mommy come nyam off mi head, distract miself with something—anything—to get him out of my head. But I don't move.

Until my mother's voice prompts me to.

With a loud shout, saying, “Apple! Why yuh door still lock? Wah today name? Yuh nawh gawh school!?"

Cho shit!

Same thing mi a talk 'bout!

Hissing my teeth below my breath, I get up, walking over to the door and opening it. Sticking my head out, I shout, "Mommy, mi get up! A ready mi a get ready!"

"Hurry up! 'Cause Blacks say him nawh run today!" she shouts a response. "So stay deh waste time and cyaa get nuh vehicle fi go weh yaggo..."

Jah know?

Jah Jah.

"Yuh hear mi say?"

Lady! Mi nuh deaf eno.

I roll my eyes. "Yeah."

Throwing my body back onto the bed, I bury my face in the pillow, stifling a frustrated yell.

After remaining like that for about a minute, I sit up. "Come, man, if yuh nuh move now yaggo late."

With a sigh, I untangle myself from the sheets and slide off the bed, my legs still wobbly.

I shuffle over to the bathroom, flicking on the light.

My reflection in the mirror looks as frazzled as I feel—hair wild, eyes half-closed. Mi look like mi just a come from war to rahtid. I splash some cold water on my face, hoping it’ll help me snap out of the fog I'm in and wake me up properly.

After finding a playlist of songs that I like on YouTube, I click on the first song, tapping my feet to the intro as I wet my toothbrush and begin brushing my teeth.

When I'm through, I do my hair. Since it's Friday, I keep it simple, throwing it up in a sleek high puff, keeping it cute with some edges.

I snap a selfie, feeling myself a little too much, then hop into the shower.

After a quick shower, I wrap myself in a towel and head back to my room, glancing at the time. Six-fifteen. That nuh bad.

I get dressed quickly, smoothing down my skirt before standing in front of the mirror. I check my reflection, ensuring everything is where it's supposed to be.

As a hottaz. Ever neat. Purrrrr.

My phone buzzes, pulling my attention to it.

It's a text from Rickel.

Ricky💕: Yuh wake? 👀

ME: Yes. No thanks to you. 🙄

Ricky💕: Lol. At least yuh wake.

ME: Hmm. Weh yuh deh?

Ricky💕: Long Lane in a traffic. U?

ME: Soon leave out.

Ricky💕: Oh. Ago wait pon yuh a gate then.

ME: Ah. 👍

She reacts to my text with an heart emoji and I sigh, sliding the phone into my skirt pocket before sliding on my shoes, grabbing my bag, and heading downstairs to the kitchen.

The smell of fried plantain and eggs hits me immediately as I round the corner to the kitchen, and I peek inside to see my mother standing by the stove.

Thank God, 'cause mi a starve!

"Oh, yuh finally decide fi come outta the bed?" she asks when she spots me.

"Good morning to you too, lady," I sass back, picking up a piece of the plantain from the tray and stuffing it into my mouth.

"Yuh soon know wah so good 'bout di morning." She hisses her teeth, placing onto the other plate on the counter. "I waan know wah yuh a dream 'bout so a morning time mek yuh can never get up outta the bed when day light!"

I nearly choke on the plantain, at her comment. I cough to cover it up. "Wrong throat!" I say, knocking my chest.

This draws my mother's attention to me. With her hand akimbo, she simply stares at me. Not an ounce of amusement written on her face.

Lawd.

After a moment of just staring, she goes, "A so you a go a school wid yuh hair?"

My hand subconsciously goes to my head. "Wah do mi hair?"

"It look like bird nest."

Mi mumma!

Tha lady yah serious?

"Seriously, lady? Mother...it's the style. It's called a high puff."

Mommy scoffs. "Eeeh. Style or no style. Mi nuh like it."

As an old foot.

I roll my eyes at her dramatics. She never like noth'n yet. Cyaa please black people.

I sit down at the table, grabbing another piece of plantain and an egg, placing it between the two slices of bread to make a sandwich.

"Yuh really out here draggin' mi on this fine Friday morning? Damn," I mutter, shoveling the food into my mouth.

Which only earns a small chuckle from her as she turns to flip the egg she's frying.

It shoulda burn up.

Waiii!!!

Cynthia waa hear mi fi pop mi neck.

Smiling to myself while I eat, my eyes fleet over to my mother, noticing for the first time how she's dressed. Inna pumpum shorts and spaghetti blouse and bay t'ings. Woiiie. Mommy a feel herself this morning?

I voice my thoughts, saying, "But wait! Yawh show off bottom jaw deh though, mi mother. Mr Bradshaw waa see yuh!"

One daddy badness...!

Without turning to face me, her quick reply comes saying, "Why not? After nuh donkey nuh bite mi!"

"Purrrrr!" I tease. "Some gyal could never, 'cause them batty jaw and thigh back black like them bathe inna tar! Maggle pon dem, mi nice, clean mother! Daddy one fiance—-"

"Likkle gyal, come outta mi house and gwaan a school!" she cuts me off, frightening the fuck outta me.

Tell yuh 'bout naeger eno. Cyaa mek a gyal strive.

I buss out a laugh.

And Mommy joins soon afterwards, despite her behaving like she tough and nuh waa skin off her 52.

She hisses her teeth when we both sober up. "Stay deh idle 'til di wul a di taxi dem leff yuh baxide yah this morning and see if yawh tan yah!"

My smile drops. "Cho, Mommy, man! Yuh know how fi bruk vibes and kill dreams eno...!"

As a Ludlow woman.

"The way how you love chat 'bout dream, a mussi Martin Luther King a yuh puppa. Come out and gwaan, man! And nuh mek mi tell yuh 'bout yuh parents!"

Watchya!

"A wah coulda cause this?" I mumble, standing and picking up my belongings from the stool beside me when I glance at the time on the clock.

I sigh, feeling some typa way. "Yuh see thru mi know when I'm not wanted, let me come outta yuh house and gwaan mi ways yawh..."

"A soon wring off yuh lip, watch."

"Mommy, a wonder if yuh know say mi a big woman now?"

"And a wonder if yuh know say nuh big woman cyaa stay under mi roof?"

Kackafart!

"Aite, yuh win!" I hold my hands up in surrender. "Fi now. Mi gone."

She hums and fans me off. "Shoo!"

No sah! Mi hurt! "Mrrrr! Mi shame! Shame a kill mi!"

"Apple, guh——"

I gasp. "Yes, lady, say it." I click my tongue, feigning offence. "Then look how the lady waan tell mi 'bout mi mother though, God!"

"Apple!"

"Alright, bye. Later. Love you."

"Keep yuh love!" she shouts as I run through the door, hearing a horn blow by the gate, but the door closes behind me before I can respond.

I sigh when I reach the taxi which stopped when he'd spotted me coming out.

I get in, making the fourth Schoolaz on the backseat, amongst a Calabar boy and two Childhood girls.

Being overpacked is a typical condition of Parkland taxis.

I sigh again.

Then look how the morning just light and mi feel exhausted already.

Jah Jah.

°

°

°

°Tyrone's POV°
12:35 P.M.

I lean back in the driver’s seat, one hand gripping the wheel while my eyes scan the road.

The midday sun is blazing, and the usual buzz of Half-Way Tree fills the air——vendors calling out, horns blaring, passengers shuffling along the sidewalk.

Today's a slow day, which is surprising for a Friday, but we move.

Cyaa too say mi nuh grateful. Especially since the bwoy Perry cop out say him have flu, so a mi alone deh pon the grind.

Although I've been trying to keep myself busy throughout the day, my mind keeps drifting to things I’ve been trying hard to avoid. Mainly, a particular subject. Such girl.

She’s been acting distant since that night I brought her home.

Yes, we crossed a line, nawh say nay, but now she’s dodging me like I’ve done something wrong. Or like a me did force her fi do sum'n weh she never waah do, yuzeet.

Typical.

All now mi cyaa wrap mi fucking head around it, bredda.

Come like she a look a man fi run her dung.

And I’m not the type to chase. I've never had a need to. From mi a likkle juvenile til today day.

But damn, I’d be lying if I said she doesn’t have me fucked up.

Which is surprising, to say the least.

I shake my head, focusing on the road again as a few more passengers step onto the bus, deciding it’s better if I just let it be.

Nawh force nobody daughter.

Let her come to me when she’s ready——if she ever is.

"Driver, where's this bus going?" a small voice says, drawing me out of my head, and I turn to see a petite browning standing by the front passenger window.

Clearing my throat, I tell her, "Constant Spring."

And watch as she nods and moves to the door before coming inside and taking a seat at the front.

Her eyes fleet to me, making four with mine, before she turns away. Not without me noticing an hint of a smile on her lips though.

I smirk covertly.

See, that mi a talk 'bout.

Naffi try too hard fi get gyal...

"Yuh good?" I ask her the second time I notice her glance in my direction.

Her head snaps to me and her cheeks flush. "Me?"

"Yeah." I narrow my eyes at her. "Yuh good?"

"Just a bit hot," she says, her voice soft.

Yuh sure a that's all.

Keeping my face stoic, I nod, before reaching over and turning on the air with one press of a button. Adjusting the kerchief covering my head, I close my window and shout, "All windows. Please and thanks."

A chorus of windows snapping fills the air.

"Thank you," I hear the browning say again.

I nod, turning back to her, while pulling down the string above my head to blow the horn, inviting other passengers in. "How far yawh go?"

"Manor Park."

"Oh. Ah."

Affi get yuh number before yuh come offa this.

The bus fills up quickly, and I collect the fares, stashing the bills and coins into my pocket. As a driver slash ductor to pussyclaat. Code.

Sliding the automatic door shut, I shift the bus into gear, and pull off from the stop, as the light turns to green, moving smoothly through the thickening traffic.

I put on some music, hoping it’ll drown out the thoughts running through my head. I got business to handle, money to make, and I'd damned if I let anything spoil it.

As I reach the red light at the intersection by Tyre warehouse, my phone vibrates in my pocket, and I feel a wave of irritation wash over me, already suspecting who it might be.

I glance at the screen, and there it is: Candi. Her name flashing like a warning sign. Cho, bomborasshole.

She’s been blowing up my phone for weeks now, nuh matter the time of day, trying to slither her way back into my life. As if I forgot why we ended things.

Like she see Dumbo the pussyclaat idiot written pon mi forehead.

It stops ringing, as the light changes, before starting again.

I let it ring a couple more times, debating whether to answer. Maybe I should just ignore it, let her stew in silence. But then again, maybe it’s time to shut this down once and for all. I press the answer button, putting the call on speaker as I keep my eyes on the road.

“Yeah?” I say, keeping my tone flat.

“Tyrone,” she starts, her voice soft and almost pleading. “Mi been trying fi reach yuh how long eno. Yawh avoid mi now?”

Yo.

Mi not even ago say wah come a mi mind, Dawg!

'Cause that's crazy...

I roll my eyes, gripping the wheel a bit tighter. “Mi busy,” I reply, making it clear I don’t have time for this. “What yuh want, Candi?”

She hesitates, and I can hear her breathing on the other end. For a second, I wonder if she’s about to break down, but I don’t have the energy to care right now. Not anymore. “Mi just...mi miss yuh, Tyrone,” she finally says, her voice shaky.

'Mi miss yuh, Tyrone!'

Suck yuh madda wid that!

Before I can respond, she adds, “Mi know mi mess up, but mi want fi talk, try fix things.”

A bitter laugh escapes my lips. “Fix what, exactly?” I shoot back, keeping my tone cold. “Yuh already broke it when yuh decide fi cheat, yute. What’s left fi fix?”

She’s quiet, and I almost hang up right there, but then she comes back with more fire in her voice. “Yuh never even give mi a chance fi explain,” she says, sounding defensive now. Typical Candi move. “Yuh just cut mi off like mi never mean nothing. Just so.”

I grip the wheel, the memory of everything rushing back. The lies, the betrayal, all of it. “Yuh nay have nothing mi want fi hear, Candi,” I say firmly. “Yuh done mek yuh choice, so live with it.”

Fuck yuh think this is?

“Seriously, Dada?"

"No, jokingly," I deadpan, blaring my horn fi the car in front of me fi leggo the road.

"So it nuh matter say mi love yuh then, right? A that yawh try say?” she presses, her voice breaking.

"Love me?" I mock. "Nuh sorry fi mi, mi general."

She clears her throat. “Mi know mi make a mistake, but mi still love yuh. And that's a fact. And I know how you feel too. Yuh cyaa just act like yuh don’t feel nothing.”

"Candi. A work mi deh, yer that?" I hiss.

"I just want to hear you admit it."

Admit wah?

Awah the fuck this?

My jaw tightens, and I force myself to keep my eyes on the road. She’s trying to get under my skin, trying to drag me back into her mess. And maybe a few months ago, I’d have fallen for it. But not now. Not after everything. “A that a it now. Mi feel too bomboclaat much. See weh it get mi?” I say quietly, almost to myself. “Mi done with that shit now. Feelings run out, yuzimi.”

Her silence on the other end is deafening, and I almost feel a pang of guilt. Almost. Then she lets out a bitter laugh. “Fine. Gwaan then,” she spits, her voice full of anger and hurt. “But one day, yuh gonna regret this. 'Memba mi tell yuh that, hear. One day, yuh gonna look back and realize I was di best bitch yuh ever had.”

Best bitch. Yuh right.

“Yeah, maybe,” I reply coolly, not letting her see how much her words affect me. “Or maybe mi just learn mi lesson and move on.”

I hang up before she can respond, tossing the phone onto the dashboard. The act draws the attention of the woman in the front seat over to me. She offers a faint smile which I don't return. My heart is pounding, a mix of frustration and annoyance.

Candi's statement rolls over in my head.

I know she’s not wrong; we did have some good times, but that doesn’t erase everything she did. I can’t go back to that.

Rather run through a million gyal than have a next gyal fuck wid my medz so again.

Yuh mussi sick.

The road stretches ahead, traffic moving slowly. I pull up to another stop and call out, “Constant Spring, Constant Spring!”

A few passengers climb aboard, and I go through the routine of collecting their fares, all the while trying to push Candi out of my mind.

If Candi ano Delilah, mi nuh know who is.

As I start moving again, I catch a glimpse of myself in the rearview mirror. My expression is hard, focused, my jaws ticking.

To distract my thoughts, I think of Deanne, her face popping up in my mind like it has been doing all week. If only she’d stop avoiding me.

She acts like I’m the problem when all I did was show her how much I want her. But I know I can’t force her to see things my way. Although I'm tempted to do just that.

If even by force.

I glance at the phone again, half-expecting another call or a message. But nothing comes in.

Good.

I need to stay focused on what’s in front of me. What I have control over. Candi is my past, and as much as Deanne is trying to dodge me, she’s the future I’m aiming for.

I pull up to the next stop, by Tax Office, and a few people exit.

I glance into the rearview mirror again, catching sight of the faces behind me——mostly schoolers: chatting and laughing, some scrolling on their phones.

My phone vibrates against the dash, lighting up with a popup iMessage. My eyes dart between the road and the screen. It's from Andrene.

Andrene (Scotia Browning): Hey, stranger 👀

Picking it up, I debate replying, my hand hovering over the screen, but I eventually decide to ignore it. Mi nuh inna di mood fi the bagga texting right now. Big woman thing.

Tossing the phone back where I got it from, I sigh, grinding my teeth.

Until I'm startled by a commotion from the back of the bus, snapping my attention away from the road. Two bulla shirt schoolers are arguing, heatedly, as if they're about to fight. My ear picks up bits of the back-and-forth.

“Mi seh, give mi back di book!” one of them shouts, his voice cracking with obvious anger. "Stop ramp wid mi nuh, Shamar, before mi fist yuh inna yuh face!"

Oh?

The other one, Shamar, a taller youth, judging by the fact that he's about a head above the other yute while sitting, leans back with a smirk. “Nuh badda raise yuh voice offa mi, likkle nerd bwoy,” he replies coolly. “ Fist who? Mi nuh tek threats, yuh hear?”

He follows his statement with a kunk to the yute forehead.

This gets him heated, and he springs to his knees, reaching over the back of the seat and grabbing Shamar, who's sitting in the seat behind him, by the collar.

Watch e man dem a mash dung mi bomboclaat seat, man!

I feel my blood heat up. Then mi never know say my bus a ramping shop!

Mashing the brake hard, the bus jolts to a stop, everyone lurching forward, and the bus immediately filled with shocked silence. Twisting ‘round in my seat, my eyes lock onto the two boys near the back.

“Yow! Unnu waan get throw off a dis?” I snap, voice loud and deadly. “Mi nawh run nuh daycare, inna this rass, yuh understand? Either yuh siddung quiet or mi dash yuh out right yah so.”

The smaller boy stiffen, releasing the collar from his clutch and turning to face me at the sound of my voice. His eyes flick to the taller one, as if waiting for a signal. The tall one simply leans forward, hands raised in surrender.

“A joke, boss,” he says, a smirk still dancing on him lips, like him see bomboclaat laughing pon mi face. “Nuh need fi mek it serious.”

I narrow my eyes at him. It's always the Shamar dem. Dem mussi fuck man or sum'n to bloodclaat. “Pause that 'til uno reach outta door. Hear that?"

They both nod.

"You!" I point at Shamar. "Gi di man him rassclaat book. Yawh teacher?"

I wait for him to hand it over. When he does, I hiss my teeth, turning to the other one who looks relieved to have his book back. "Yo, siddung now and stop mash dung mi seat, mi fada."

He complies and I give them one final once over. "Don’t mek mi stop again,” I warn, my voice cold. “Cause mi nah fraid fi kick uno out yasso mek uno affi foot it go up so. Yer that?"

Shamar remains silent as a few girls beside him snicker.

Yuh see that? Same gyal dem weh him a try impress by being a wasteman a tek him turn laughing stock now.

The yute dem nawh learn eno.

Jah Jah.

I turn back around, releasing the brake and stepping on the gas. The bus lurches forward again, settling back into the familiar rhythm. I can feel the tension ease up behind me as the schoolers quiet down.

Good.

Mi nuh have time fi petty foolishness.

My phone vibrates again, and I glance at it quickly, half expecting it to be either Candi or Andrene. This time, it's a different number. My heart races a bit. Who dis? I pick up, putting it on speaker while keeping my eyes on the road.

“Yo, who dis?” I bark, voice clipped and wary. Mi nuh usually answer unknown numbers but them get weh today.

“Aye, Dada, a Jason,” the voice comes through, static cutting in and out. “A link mi did a link yuh bout di ting yuh mention last week. Yuh still have the link?”

He's referring to a car deal I was putting him on. One of my bredrin has a bredrin whose bredrin a sell him bimmer. He wants to get it off his hand, so he's willing to let it go for a fraction of the resale price, practically likkle and nothing. I guess he just wants to do away with it. I would too if I were in his situation.

It was the car he was driving when them shoot it up, last year, almost snipe the dawg life just so.

Since Tanto has the link and Jason is my link, mi ago get a piece a di food too. “Yeah, man, everything still live,” I reply, my voice dropping to a lower, more serious tone. “But yuh haffi link mi later when mi come offa di road, yuzeet. We can chat better then.”

“Aight, mi rate dat,” Jason says, before the call cuts off.

I grip the wheel tighter, already feeling drained and the day just reach halfway. Jah Jah.

I sigh.

Think mi ago park this shit early today.

Cyaa tek di fuckry.

.                          .                         .

The bus pulls into the Constant Spring park and I kill the engine, allowing the passengers to get the fuck off.

I'm annoyed by all that's happened since I left Trees, but I keep my composure.

That's until I see the browning at the front stand, struggling to find her footing between the matey seat cushion and the ground so she can step over the seat.

Leaning over, I pretend to pull the sponge away, but block her path instead.

Her eyes widen slightly as they meet mine.

I smirk. "A so yuh did plan fi cut without saying goodbye?"

Her cheeks tinge red. "I didn't know it was important."

"Why yawh sell yuhself short?" I tease. "Mi nuh rate that."

"I guess I owe myself an apology then?" she says and I can just taste the sarcasm in her voice.

Ah. Dem way deh?
"I guess so," I match her energy.

I can tell she's fighting back a smile when she says, "What do you want from me, sir?"

"Dada."

"The question still stands..."

Fiesty yuh fuck.

I note that she's pretty too.

My type.

My lips curl into a mischievous smirk. "Yuh cyaa mek mi get fi know yuh?"

"What do you want to know about me?"

Typical girl move.

I don't waiver under her pointed stare. Neva that. Man ever militant. "All that's there to know."

She hums, impressed. I can see her contemplating and can tell the moment she agrees. "OK, Mr Slick. What do you propose?"

"Put yuh number inna this." I unlock my phone and pass it to her.

With narrowed eyes, I watch her punch the digits in. She hands the phone back to me, with the number on the screen, and I hit send, waiting to hear her phone go off.

It does.

Sensing my intentions, she blushes, dangling her phone before me, my number on the screen. "It's not a fake number, so of course it will ring."

My smirk deepens. "No harm in checking."

This makes her laugh. It's soft and a bit nasal.

"OK. So, I'm assuming I'm to expect another call, right?"

"Naffi ask."

She blushes and tucks her hair behind her ear. "Well until then, later then."

"Ah."

When she's through the door and making her way up the street, my eyes flick to the screen noting the way she saved it: Tori.

Tori.

Let's see how long before mi really get fi know yuh...

I nod, biting my bottom lip.

A thought pops into my head and I whistle the tune to the popular Alka song, "Easy one, two, three...fi me just buck a gyal and me get the pussy..."

Mhm.

Easy does it.