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“Okay, something’s up,” Jamal stated, appraising me from head to toe.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, I covered the Urban Streetwear section of Macy’s by myself, but on Saturdays, I had Jamal to keep me company. He was only an inch or two taller than me but weighed at least twice as much in pure muscle. I could always tell whenever there’d been a cute girl at the gym that morning because Jamal would hit the weights so hard; he’d barely be able to lift a stack of Sean John jeans above his head during his shift.
“What do you mean?” I asked, pretending like I was engrossed in the sweaters I was refolding.
Jamal held up one thick index finger. “First of all, you got your hair done. Looks sharp, by the way.”
“Thanks.” I smiled, refusing to look at him.
“Second”—he held up another finger—“you been over here, refolding these Coogis that ain’t even need to be refolded for, like, a hour now.”
“Whatever. It’s been, like, five minutes.”
“Uh-huh. And third”—another thick finger joined the first two—“every time I look over here, yo’ ass is lookin’ down there.” Jamal jerked his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the main walkway that cut through the center of the store. “So, who is it? Who you hookin’ up wit’?”
“Are you serious right now?”
“Is it Freddy? It’s Freddy from Men’s Fragrance, isn’t it? That’s cool. He fly.”
“Oh my God!” I turned to face Jamal, trying to act insulted but failing miserably. “I am not fucking Freddy from Men’s Fr—”
My face lit up, causing Jamal to turn and glance over his shoulder.
He looked from me to the guy in the navy-blue V-neck sweater and low-slung khakis walking toward us and then back to me. “Oh, that’s who you lookin’ for, huh? I knew somethin’ was up.”
“Shh. Shut up,” I whispered through my teeth, not taking my eyes off of Ken.
I’d never seen him walk before. At least, never more than a few feet at a time. We were always cooped up inside of Jason’s apartment or walking side by side to the parking lot. Seeing Ken from a distance was a whole new experience.
He was beautiful, tall and toned and graceful, but without a shred of ego. He moved as if he was confident that no one was looking at him, which couldn’t have been further from the truth.
Jamal and I were staring.
When Ken’s eyes met mine and the corners of his chiseled mouth curved upward, I wanted to physically shove Jamal out of my way, bound down the main aisle, and leap into his arms all over again.
I didn’t, of course. Not only because mauling people while on the clock was frowned upon by management, but also because, right before Ken got to us, he put his hands in his pockets.
No hug.
Ken smirked and glanced down at my chest. “No, thanks. I think it’s a little big for me.”
I looked down and realized that I was still holding a men’s extra-large sweater up by the shoulders.
I blushed and dropped the sweater on the table. “Ken, this is Jamal. Jamal, Ken.”
“What’s up, man?” Jamal shoved his hand in Ken’s direction.
I watched a glimmer of hesitation flash behind Ken’s eyes before he finally accepted.
With a tense smile and a firm shake, he replied with a clipped, “Hey.”
Jesus. He’s even weird about handshakes?
I darted over to the checkout stand to grab my coat and purse. As I clocked out on the cash register, I watched Jamal and Ken chatting. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was, it had Ken laughing by the time I got back to them.
I glared at Jamal, telepathically communicating to him that I would not hesitate to kick him in the nuts if he tried to embarrass me.
Ten minutes later, we were sitting on my favorite bench outside, both holding giant smoothies, as I lit my first cigarette.
