Greek (Palm South University)

I’ve never been more prepared for anything in my life, and yet I’m so nervous I think I might actually shit myself.

I barely studied for tests at Palm South, depending on my skill set and good luck to get me by most of the time. I never cared much about getting A’s. I just wanted to pass and get my degree — which I did by the hair of my chin.

But this…

This loan is the difference between a pipe dream and a reality. It’s the difference between being jobless and being an entrepreneur. It’s the difference of being a struggling graphic designer with a major lack of experience and being the CEO and Owner of my own business.

This loan isn’t just money.

It’s everything.

When I left the gym after what happened with Giselle, I couldn’t shake myself from the thoughts assaulting me — not just about Erin, but about what would come next for me. I wondered if what Giselle had said, what Erin had agreed with, could ever be true.

So, I started crunching numbers.

The more research I did, the more ideas started flowing. Before I knew it, I had Word doc after Word doc of a business plan — rough in nature, but fleshing out slowly and surely. I stayed up every night until well into the early morning, passion flowing out of me like sunlight. It was just after midnight about a week after the gym incident when the realization dawned on me.

I wanted it.

I wanted my own business.

I wanted it so bad I could taste it, see it, feel it.

What started as a let’s just see what this could be like quickly turned into me making an exit plan from my job and a business plan for Pennington Personal Fitness, LLC.

And now, I couldn’t stop until I had it.

The binder in my hand is heavy and weighted with dreams and numbers that I hope will add up to whatever this bank needs to trust me with their money, to trust I can pay them back and succeed. I tap my thumb against it, knee bouncing as I wait.

My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I fish it out, swallowing hard when I see Erin’s name.

Erin: Hi.

I blow out a breath.

Hi I type back.

Erin: I miss you.

I close my eyes on another long sigh.

Me: I miss you so much it hurts.

Erin: Come over tonight.

My stomach ties up in knots, because as much as I want to see her — need to see her — I have no idea what shape I’ll be in tonight. I might be high on life and celebrating, or I might be a depressed mess who realizes he quit his job before having a steady plan in place. I have savings to get me through for a while, but it’s not much, and if I don’t get this loan…

“Bear?”

I look up from the blinking cursor on my phone, still having not answered Erin, and find a young woman staring at me.

She’s petite, slim, dressed in a creamy pink blouse and beige dress slacks that hug her long legs all the way down to her nude high heels. She looks familiar, and I tilt my head, trying to place her.

It isn’t until she pushes the rose-gold framed glasses up her nose and smiles that I realize.

“Oh, my God, it is you, isn’t it?” she asks, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. She takes a tentative step toward me as I stare at her in disbelief.

It can’t be her…

It can’t be the same bright green eyes I stared into so many nights, the same plump, rosy pink lips I kissed more times than I can count. That jet black hair, it can’t be the same that was once shaded a shocking violet, that I once bunched in my fists between the sheets.

But when she takes another step, I know without a doubt that it is.

“It’s me…” she says shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Shawna.”

I nearly drop the binder of papers from my lap as I shuffle to stand, fumbling with the folder until I have it secured under my arm. Then I just stand there, looking at the girl I used to have such deep feelings for it nearly killed me.

Almost as much as the way we broke up.

Her brows fold together, bottom lip disappearing between her teeth as her eyes flick between mine. The last time we talked, she told me she couldn’t stand up to her parents, that she couldn’t claim me as her boyfriend because I was black and her parents were old-fashioned.

The memory makes my jaw clench.

“I… I’m sorry,” she says, shaking her head and already turning to leave. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I’m going.”

“Wait.”

She stops, turning over her shoulder.

I sigh, swallowing. “How are you?”

I see the relief swell through her, her shoulders releasing a bit of tension as she turns to face me again. “I’m well. I was just dropping off a deposit for my boss,” she says, tapping her purse. “And I’m certainly happy I ran into you.”