Grip Trilogy Box Set

“I’m just saying, half your aunts died with no feet ’cause of the ’betes. You can’t even crip walk with no feet, bruh.”

“Do I have Bristol to thank for the lecture?” Amir asks. “She got you eating healthy? She cooking vegetables for you every night or something since we moved to New York?”

My laugh booms in the kitchen, and even after it fades, a grin still hangs around on my face.

“Did you ask if Bristol . . . my Bristol . . . has been cooking every night?” I clarify with a laugh. “Occasionally she’ll get in here and try a little something. Not that I give a damn. I don’t care if Bris can’t boil water. She has other talents.”

“Please don’t talk about your sex life.” Amir grimaces. “It turns my stomach to see a man so pussy-whipped.”

“Least I’m getting some.”

“Ooooooh. That’s low.”

“On the regular,” I continue goading. “Daily. Usually twice a day, and it’s the bomb.”

“You just gotta rub it in, don’t you?”

“Hey, you can’t call a brother pussy-whipped then get salty when he tells you how good it is.”

“You got me there.” Amir laughs.

We’ve been teasing each other this way since eighth grade when we both got our dicks wet for the first time. I’m not one of those guys who fucks and tells, especially about Bristol, but I’ve never been able to take a shit without Amir knowing. That won’t change any time soon.

“What about you and Shon?” I ask.

“What about us?” Amir’s eyes narrow, wariness seasoning his words. “What you mean?”

“I mean what about you and Shon? I tell you all my business.

You’ve told me jack shit about you and Shon.” “Nobody asked you to spill all your business.”

“I’m pretty sure you did ask me to spill all my business.”

“Yeah, but now you can’t shut up about your girl.” Amir offers a good-natured smile and shrugs. “Since it’s Bris, I’ll let you get away with it. Me and Shon went on a few dates. We’re taking it slow.”

“Slow?” I ask with disbelief. “Dude, you met her in pre-K. How much slower can you take it?”

“You didn’t close the deal with Bristol for eight years. I think I’m on pace to do better than you.”

I laugh when grease flies up from the hot pan and pops his hand. “See, that’s what you get for cooking that shit in here.”

“You know you love some bologna,” Amir says with a grin. “Don’t even try to get all new now that you live in Tribeca.”

“If I’m not mistaken, you live downstairs in Tribeca.”

“I ain’t footing the bill, though. That’s on your dime.”

“You a freeloading motherfucker.” I laugh at the expression on his face. “You knew good and damn well I didn’t need you to move with me to New York, and you let Bristol get herself all worked up about security. I hope you’re happy now, living in Tribeca and getting paid to do jack shit all day.”

“Man’s gotta make a living,” he says, his grin unabashed.

My discussions with Iz about increasing enterprise in urban communities, a green revolution for people of color, come to mind.

“What do you want to do, Amir?” I flip the high-backed chair around and straddle it, folding my arms on its back.

He glances up from flipping the bologna to the other side. “Do with what?”

“Bruh, with your life.” I shoot him a skeptical glance. “It’s gotta be more than pretending to protect me for the next fifty years.”