Page 7 of It's Love I'm After

“Okay. I’m on my way.”

“On your way where?” Dedrick asks when I disconnect the call and move to exit my bed.

“The hospital. Riele is in labor.”

“I’m coming too.”

“Uh, no, you’re not.”

“Yes the fuck I am. You need to stop tripping and let your man be a man, Chaniya.”

Rolling my eyes, I head to my bathroom with Dedrick hot on my heels, and I ignore him because I don’t have time to argue with him right now.

“I’m not sure why you felt the need to bring your ass with me. I didn’t and don’t need a personal escort. I also don’t need you hovering and trying to stick to me like Velcro.”

Dedrick and I have been arguing since he got his ass in my SUV, insisting on accompanying me to the hospital. I’m not sure what his motivation is because he doesn’t like Riele or East, so being a part of this momentous occasion for them is foolishness.

“It’s late, and I’m a man. You didn’t need to be out by yourself, especially when I was with you when you got the stupid call. Hell, I’m not sure why she called you anyway. You’re not the person who put her in this situation, so you don’t need to be here.”

“No, your ass doesn’t need to be here. Why would you suffer through this moment when you know it’s the last place you want to be?”

“I’m not about to keep fucking explaining to your stupid ass. I said what I said, and you see I’m here whether you want me tobe or not. You need to learn your place. This is why the fuck I shou?—”

“Wind up being admitted to our fine ICU floor. Back up, my boy.” The hairs on my arms stand at attention like a military personnel saluting a senior officer, causing me to swallow over the sudden lump in my throat.

My eyes move from Dedrick, who’s hovering dangerously close to me, to the mystery man from the grocery store several days ago.

“Who the fuck is this man who’s comfortable enough to speak on what I’m saying to you, Chaniya?” Dedrick’s voice is low and menacing, instantly shifting my gaze from the mystery man to see Dedrick’s nostrils flaring.

“The better question is, why are you still breathing your hot ass air in her face? I’m not a fan of repeating myself, my boy.” The mystery man interjects.

“Man—”

“Five . . . four—” The mystery man cuts Dedrick off when he starts counting, sending a chill down my back.

Oh shit!

4

GERMAYNE

“That’s it. Push, Mrs. Parker. Your baby is right there,” I coach, sitting on the stool at the foot of the bed, sliding my fingers around the rim while the baby crowns.

My ability to shift from nearly knocking a nigga on his ass to preparing to deliver someone’s baby should be studied, because I’m doing it effortlessly. Although my outward countenance is calm and professional, there’s an inferno teeming within me. Thankfully, the buster with the balls the size of Florida got the hint of my seriousness before I got to two. Like the fool he is, he walked off from the woman whose presence made it impossible for me to ignore their arguing. Seeing her in the grocery store in a pair of leggings, a T-shirt, and some Crocs was nothing in comparison to now.

Tonight, half-pint is wearing a two-piece jogging set with a pair of tennis shoes, and her beauty is radiant enough to stop traffic. Or cause a traffic collision from the glow of her cashew skin the sun isn’t present to enhance. Her glossy lips made me want to pull her in for a kiss hot enough to transfer her lip balm once it was over. Her hair is in braids, resting in a bun on her head. Her body . . . good God in Heaven. Her body is what babiesand dreams are made from. Disappointment hit me like a Mack truck when screams sounded from the room of the laboring woman I’d been headed to check because it cut off my perusal.

*whaa, whaa, whaa*

The wailing from the newborn cut off my wayward thoughts and back to the situation at hand. Thankfully, I’ve delivered enough babies that my actions have become robotic because my brain was elsewhere.

“Congratulations, mom and dad. It’s a boy,” I inform the parents, holding the screaming baby up for them to see.

“You did it, Ri baby. You did it,” Mr. Parker gushes, kissing his wife’s face.

“No. We did it,” Mrs. Parker returns, water slipping from her eyes.

“Alright, dad. Cut the cord, and the nurse will get him squared away,” I say.

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