Grip Trilogy Box Set

“Well, maybe it should be big.” A hopeful grin lights up her still-youthful face. “I need grandbabies. And Qwest seems like the perfect candidate.”

“She’s a great girl.” I keep my tone neutral. “But I don’t want you putting too much weight on this.”

“It feels like a big deal because you haven’t been with a girl in so long.” She gives me a wry grin. “I mean like on dates and a relation- ship. I know you still been smashing.”

I groan and close my eyes at her bluntness. She had me when she was just eighteen, and though there was never any doubt which of us was the parent, her youth often made us feel like friends, a unique closeness I usually love. Unless she’s talking about me “smashing” chicks.

“Ma, please.” My eyes beg her to stop because once she gets started, there’s no telling how she’ll embarrass me.

“Boy, what? I bought your first pack of Trojans.” She smacks her lips, exasperated. “I’m the one who took you to the clinic that time you had that burning—”

“All right, Ma,” I cut her off before someone comes and hears her over-sharing. “I got it.”

“I thought I was #GripzQueen.” She laughs at the face I make. “Seriously, when do I get to meet her?”

“She’ll be here for the album release party in a few . . .”

My words trail off when two women walk through the gym doors, drawing the attention of the students waiting in the bleachers. For one thing, the girls are white. We pretty much only see black and brown here. Secondly, the girls are attractive. At least the taller one is. She’s damn beautiful.

I assume that’s the Legit reporter who’s shadowing me for the next few weeks entering the gym with Bristol. I barely notice her, but I absorb every detail of Bristol’s appearance, starting at her feet in ankle boots, rolling up her long legs in black leather leggings, over the denim shirt with sleeves rolled to the elbow. Hair hanging loose around her shoulders. Even angry with her, I can’t ignore the elemental pull between us, like our bodies are in lock step as soon as she walks into a room. It’s almost gravitational, and I need to figure out how to shut it down.

“Which one of those girls are you looking at like that?”

My mother’s question snatches my attention from the gym entrance.

“Huh?” I make my face confused. “What do you mean?”

“Boy, don’t play a player.” She inclines her head toward the door. “You lost your train of thought mid-sentence, and looking at one of those girls like breakfast, lunch and dinner. Now which one is it?”

“I don’t—”

“Marlon.” Her lips compress. “I’m not asking you again.”

Like I told Bristol. My mother has extra senses.

“The tall one with the dark hair.” I roll my shoulders away from the wall, bend my knee to prop a foot against the wall. “Bristol.”

She squints in Bristol’s direction.

“She’s pretty.” Disappointment shadows her face. “White, but pretty.”

“Don’t start, Ma. And don’t worry because she doesn’t want to be with me.”

“Why not?” Indignation straightens her back and rolls her neck. “She thinks she too good for you or something?”

“You’re the one who only wants me dating Black girls, so why you tripping?”

“I never said only Black girls.” She pats my shoulder. “I’d settle for Latina. Brown’s a color, too, you know.”

“Wow. Good to know I have options, but like I said, she isn’t interested.”

“Hmmmm.” She considers Bristol, who’s almost reached us. “I think I just saw her on the cover of some magazine in the checkout line.”

“Yeah. She’s dating—”

“That Parker boy!” Ma’s eyes go wide when they meet mine. “His family’s rich as hell, baby. So is hers. She’s Rhyson’s sister, right?”

“Yeah.” I straighten from the wall as Bristol and the reporter draw closer. “Can we talk about this later?”