I lick my lips, trapping the bottom one between my teeth before I start. Grip’s family isn’t like mine, fractured and dysfunctional. His family, especially his mother and Jade, mean everything to him. The last thing I want to do is cause more trouble than his relationship with me already has.
“When we were at your mom’s house—”
“Wait,” he cuts in. “You haven’t been to my mom’s since the going away party. This conversation was that long ago?”
“Yeah,” I say carefully. “Then.”
Grip crosses his arms over his chest and studies me closely, displeasure clear in the twist of his lips before he speaks.
“So, you’ve been thinking like this for a while and never talked to me about it?”
“It wasn’t like that, I promise. It was . . . just some of the things Jade said got to me, and when I watched the panel, it all came back.”
“What did she say?” He speaks the words smoothly, but there’s a dent between his eyebrows.
“Just that one day you’d get tired of me not understanding your blackness.”
“Understanding my . . . what?”
“You know, not knowing the movies or the songs or getting the jokes or knowing the things that are such a part of the community that means so much to you.”
“Hmmm. What else?”
“She said I was a fantasy, a high you’d come down from, and then you would want something real, a woman like Qwest, to cure your jungle fever.”
A startled laugh erupts from Grip.
“She actually said jungle fever? Who says that? Damn, that’s some ’90s Spike Lee shit. I’m embarrassed for her.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Babe, it kind of is.” The short-lived humor fades from his expression. “Actually, what’s not funny is that you bought into it and let it come between us. You’re it for me, Bris. You know that.”
“I do know that. I’m sorry I was an idiot.”
He softens his voice. “I’m sure it won’t be the last time.” His hands coast down my arms, heating my skin along the way before he takes my hands between his.
Anger stirs anew when I consider the stunt Angie Black pulled.
“I still say Angie shouldn’t get away with this completely.
Can’t I—”
“She didn’t.” Grip’s full lips thin into a severe line. “I blasted her ass when we got off the phone.”
“You did?” I hope he gave it to her good, though I would have enjoyed peeling her skin off myself.
“I did, and I talked to her producer about it. He was apologetic and said he hadn’t known she planned to go there. They’re suspending her for two weeks.” He squeezes my hands. “It wasn’t that I didn’t think she needed somebody’s foot up her ass, I just didn’t want it to be yours.”
He was protecting me. I feel worse and better at the same time. I lean up, whispering my regret to him. “I’m sorry.”
“Baby, it’s okay. Just don’t do that shit again.” He grins and pushes the hair back from my face. “Let’s go home.”
“Are we making it permanent now?” The half-joking question slips past my lips on a fractured breath and a broken laugh. “Is New York home?”
Grip brushes his thumb over my mouth, dipping his finger into the bow of my top lip, pressing against the bottom until he’s touching my teeth and tongue. His eyes rest hot and heavy and possessive on my mouth before he captures my eyes with his, making sure he has my attention.
“I’m your home, Bristol.”