Page 12 of In Another Time

“Fuck off.”

“Lenny, don’t come crying to me when you realize you let a good thing slip through your number crunching fingers.”

“I’m not going to cry,” I said firmly. “I’m going to focus on my work, like I always do.”

“Right,” she said, clearly unconvinced. “Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’re making a mistake. But I love you anyway.”

“Love you too,” I said, smiling despite myself. “Thanks for listening to my Ted Talk.”

“Anytime.” She snickered. “Now go home and get some rest. You know you need it.”

I chuckled and hung up, leaning back against the seat again as I let her words sink in. The city morning sun flickered against the window, but all I could think about was Omir and the way it made me feel—alive, unguarded, and completely unprepared.

Maybe Sherelle was right. Maybe I was running from something that deserved a chance. But for now, all I wanted to do was get home, shower, shut the world out, and pretend my heart wasn’t already questioning the choice I’d made.

OMIR

Two weeks. Fourteen days since Lennox walked out of my front door and I still couldn’t get her out of my fucking head.

She wasn’t the first woman I’d spent an unforgettable night with, but she was the first in a while. Something about her made it different. It wasn’t just the way her good pussy molded to the curve of my dick. It was her presence—her fire, her independence, and that guarded vulnerability she tried so hard to hide.

I thought about calling Sherelle, more times than I cared to admit, just to see what was up with Lennox. But every time, I stopped myself. If Lennox wanted to keep her distance, I wasn’t going to chase her ass. I wouldn’t force something she wasn’t ready for, no matter how much I wanted more.

And I did want more. Fuck, I wanted more.

I couldn’t explain it, this pull I felt toward her, like the universe had aligned just to put her in my path. She felt like my person, the one I hadn’t known I’d been looking for until I found her. But what could I do? She made it clear she wasn’t interested in anything serious, and I wasn’t about to twist her arm.

So, I tried to let it be. I buried myself in work at the club, focusing on fine-tuning every detail to make sure everything ran smoothly. But no matter how busy I kept myself, Lennox still crept into my thoughts. Today was no different. I was getting dressed, pulling on a crisp black shirt and slacks, when my phone buzzed on the nightstand. I grabbed it, glancing at the screen. It was an unknown number.

“This is Omir,” I answered and immediately closed my eyes, shaking my head as I heard the recording. Soon, my brother’s voice came through.

“Yo, big bro,” O'Shea said, his voice already defensive. “I need a favor.”

I sighed, already knowing where this was going. “What happened this time?”

“Cindy’s ass,” he said, frustration heavy in his tone. “She called the cops on me again, said I violated some bullshit restraining order. You know she’s just tryna make my life hell.”

“O,” I said, pinching the bridge of my nose, “this is the second time in three months. What the fuck are you doing?”

“I wasn’t even doing anything!” he argued. “I just went to drop off some diapers for Juice, and she started tripping.” O’Shea Junior, better known as Juice, was my eight-month-old nephew. I’d given him the nickname because I refused to go around calling his ass OJ.

“You shouldn’t have gone over there in the first place,” I snapped. “You know Cindy’s looking for any excuse to drag your ass back into court.”

“What was I supposed to do? Let my son go without?”

“You could’ve dropped them off with someone else or arranged to meet in a public place. You have options, but you keep making the same damn mistakes.”

There was a brief silence on the line before he muttered, “Are you gonna come through for me, or nah?”

I sighed again, already grabbing my keys. “Which precinct are you at?”

He gave me the information, and I hung up without another word. My mood had officially been fucked up. As I drove toward the jail, I couldn’t help but think about the difference between O'Shea and me.

Seven years younger at twenty-nine, he was still chasing things that didn’t serve him—chaotic relationships, quick money, and excuses. I’d been there once, caught up in the noise of bad decisions and ego. But somewhere along the way, I realized I wanted more for myself.

I wanted stability, purpose, something to build that would last. That was why I opened the club, why I poured every ounce of myself into creating a space where people could come together and feel something real.

At almost thirty years old, O'Shea wasn’t there yet. He was still stuck in the cycle, and no matter how many times I tried to pull him out, he seemed determined to stay.

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