Page 7 of Lease to Love

Saying his name out loud still made my chest hurt, a hot flush of embarrassment creeping up my neck.

Mama kissed her teeth as she took the paper cup from me and took a sip.

“His name is cheating-ass roach,” she said with an eye roll. “And I gave you three weeks to come to me on your own before I came to check on you. That’s restraint.”

“That’s you being nosy with a delay timer.”

“And who the hell said I wasn't being nosy? You're my only child. I've earned the right. Now sit down and tell me if you're okay.”

I didn't sit.

I just turned toward a rack of pants—part of my fall collection, wide-legged silhouettes in shades of burnt orange, deep burgundy, and Hunter green—and straightened a pair that didn't need straightening.

"I'm fine," I said.

Lying. Just a-lying.

And I could see Mama didn't believe it for a second, so I added, "I'm embarrassed. I'm hurt. But I'm fine. Really."

Mama still wasn't convinced.

One look—the same one she used to use to get me to tell on myself as a kid—and the truth I'd been bottling up for three weeks came tumbling out.

"What do you want me to say, Mama? I was sleeping in on a Sunday, the one day I close the shop, woke up to my phone buzzing off the nightstand, and found out that my boyfriend had been screwing someone else for six of the twelve months we were together."

I stood there with my hands on my hips and my bruised heart in my chest.

Mama set her cup down and gave me a warm but serious look.

"Sunny, I'm going to say something, and I want you to hear it with the love I'm intending."

I huffed out a breath.

"I'm braced."

"That little boy was never good enough for you, and you knew it six months in. You just liked having somebody to dress up."

I opened my mouth.

Closed it.

Because she was right.

Me and Ayo's relationship should have never gone beyond the photo shoot I featured him in for my Summer collection last year. But damn it, the man was fine, and he shot his shot on a week when I was ovulating.

Sue me.

I designed pieces for him. I let him use my boutique as a backdrop. I introduced him to my mother.

Just to log into Instagram and see my "boyfriend" showing all thirty-two in a "Happy 6-Month Anniversary" post from some makeup artist from Silver Spring.

And the worst part?

I was tagged in it.

By a stranger.

A stranger who wanted me to see it.