Page 45 of Gang of Roses: Dice

I took one step back and glanced at the black address numbers mounted on the stone porch column.

619.

Right numbers. So why the hell...

Standing in front of me was clearly a gay ass skinny dude with the same doe-shaped eyes, high cheekbones, long natural lashes, and a complexion damn near identical to hers.

This had to be a family member…

Dude looked between me and Oats before his attention settled right back on me.

He looked... nervous.

What the hell was he nervous for?

“My nigga why you lookin’ nervous and shit? Ain’t ya’ll posed to be all Skittles and Starbursts bout shit?”

This fool.

“Excuse me, but, ummm... who you?”

“Who you?” Oats looked him up and down, trying to figure shit out in his fucked up head.

“You know me?” I asked.

“Nope.”

Bullshit.

He knew exactly who I was.

His face gave him away before his mouth ever opened.

“Look, you. Is this Ginger Creek Road or what? It’s too damn hot out this bitch for you to be playing and shit,” Oats fussed.

“I meannnn... who wants to know?” he sassed, planting a hand on his hip.

I ignored the attitude.

Instead, I watched him.

His shoulders had stiffened the moment he opened the door. His voice climbed an octave and dragged out every other word, but it wasn’t because he was gay.

He was surprised, judging by the way he kept looking at me.

Not Oats…me.

It was me who held his scared but wavering attention.

Every few seconds, his eyes drifted back in my direction like he couldn’t believe I was standing on his porch.

That was all the confirmation I needed.

This nigga knew exactly who I was.

I didn’t say shit else, and Oats was with all the bullshit. Dude just didn’t know I was saving his life right now by just bulldozing the hell in.

“Hol’up. Hol’up.”