“Lance…W-what are you doing here?”
“Just thought I’d fly to New York to stand on your doorstep and get my nuts snipped by your roommate.”
“René,” Harper scolds, gripping him by the arm and pulling him inside. “Come in, come in,” she says, ushering me in behind him.
“Mami, ju know dis man—”
She gives him a stern eye that cuts him off mid-sentence.
René crosses his arms. “Don’t ju look at me like dis, ju came to Ju York with plastic bags and a broken heart.”
Harper’s expression hardens as her ears redden. “Enough, or I’m calling Ricky and telling him you hated his Christmas present.”
“Ju wouldn’t dare!”
“I would so.”
“That’s just wrong,” he snaps. “He got me a fiber optic angel. Who wouldn’t hate it?”
Harper raises a brow, and he sighs. “Fine, do ju, Mami.”
Winning the debate, she wastes no time grabbing me by the hand and leading me through her living room, past a sad excuse for a kitchen before yanking me into her bedroom. When the door closes, she throws herself in my arms, and I catch her without hesitation. Holding her tightly to me, I get a whiff of the vanilla in her hair, and I’m back, there, in Texas, in the place of then while gripping tightly the reason why I’m here, the now.
We hold each other for several beats, neither of us speaking before she gazes up at me with a watery smile. “You know, I always knew deep down I would see you again. Someday, somewhere, I just wasn’t sure when.” It’s when she pulls away, I finally get a good look at her. Her gorgeous hair is a little longer, she’s filled out, some in her curves, some in her face. Eager brown eyes scour me, drinking me in just as greedy.
“How, God…” she lets out a nervous laugh. “How have you been?”
“Good, busy. I fight full-time now.”
“Yeah, I know, I’ve been following your progress. Lance, I’m so proud of you.” She removes a few sweaters off a vanity chair. “Sit down.”
I take the seat as she sits on the edge of her mattress across from me. Glancing around, I see she doesn’t even have a closet. Just a tall dresser and a rack of clothes sitting next to it. It’s the smallest bedroom I’ve ever been in. Much like the city, chaos seems to be the recurring theme in her corner of the apartment.
“I’ve been wanting to message you for a while now, to tell you how proud I am. Going pro, huh?”
“Yeah. Got my first fight in Vegas in a few months. It’s not Caesars Palace or anything but—”
“You’ll get there. Your record is forty-seven and—”
“Forty-eight, I fought tonight. KO.”
“Oh my God,” she exclaims with pride-filled eyes. “Look at you,” she moves in and gently turns my head. “Barely a scratch. I’ve seen you throw. I watched a few videos. Lance, the things they’re saying about you—”
“Shhh,” I wink, “let’s not jinx it.”
“K,” she says easily, “but I am proud of you.”
“Yeah, what about you, hot shit? You’ve danced your way across Europe.”
“Yeah.” She bites her lip. “That was something else. The budget was shit, so we stayed in some pretty sketchy places. But yeah, it’s been incredible.”
“I don’t know who’s taking those pictures and videos of you while you dance, but wow.”
“Yeah?” She asks, seeming surprised that I’ve kept up. “Thanks.”
We share a silence that lasts long enough for us to smile and again drink in the other.
“So are you—”
“What are you—”
We’re still smiling, and I point to her. “You first.”
“How is your family? Jeannie, Trevor? Your dad?”
“All good. Dad’s shake has gotten a whole lot worse…but you know what? Let’s skip that part of the conversation for now.”
She gives me a slow nod. “How long are you staying in New York?”
“A few days, I have a fight in a week.”
“So, you fought here, tonight? In the city?”
“Yeah.” I’m flat out lying. Would it be so hard to believe that I came here for her? This is fucking embarrassing. Am I alone in this? Is she feeling what I am? I can’t tell. I’ll just focus on the fact she’s happy to see me. It’s enough.
She lifts a piece of golden hair away from her neck, and my fingers itch to slide through it. “You look good, beautiful.”
“Yeah? Thanks. You, well…” her eyes roam over me appreciatively. “You’re a monster. You wasted no time bulking up,” she gives me a wink.
“Fighter training is a lot different from ball.”
She bites her lip briefly before she speaks. “I’m so sorry about the draft.”
“Don’t be. I’m better off.”
“Really?”
“Fuck yes, I-I,” I shake my head and dart my eyes to her scratched up hardwood floor, “I have you to thank for that.”
“That was all you, Lance.”
I give her a pointed look. “I think you know better.”
“Hush,” she says. “So, tell me. What’s it like?”
“Boxing?”
She grabs a pillow from her bed and hugs it to her body, obstructing my view before resting her chin on it. “Yeah.”
“It’s exhilarating. The best kind of high.”
“They say you could be the next Sugar Ray.”
“I’d rather be Marciano.”
“Going for undefeated, huh?”
“We’ll see.”
She scrutinizes me. “You seem…happy.”
For the moment I am, so I let her believe it. “You do too.” I stand because I’m fucking nervous and take the only space the room will allow to study the canvas printed photos that line her walls. Several of them highlight her talent in colorful costume. I get fixed on one where she’s mid-leap, the perfect picture of a prima ballerina.
“These are epic.”
“Yeah? Amazing what cell phones are capable of these days. René snapped that. It was cheap to print too.”
I glance at her over my shoulder. “Still can’t take a compliment from me, huh, Priss?”
She darts her eyes to the floor, her chin quivering.
“Hey, hey,” I say, reaching her in one step. “What did I say?”
She shakes her head, the smile she’s wearing a farce, her eyes glossy. “I just…it’s good to see you.”
“You too.”
I clear my throat. “Can I ask you an intrusive question?”
“Of course.”
“Are you seeing anyone?”
“Sort of…” she says distractedly as if she’s in another place before bringing her eyes back to me. “To be honest, I went on a coffee date today, but it’s nothing serious. It’s new.”
Heart thundering, I clear my throat for the second time. “So, if I’m not stepping on any toes, what do you say we spend Christmas together?”