Page 28 of In Another Time

“Hey,” I said, trying to sound casual. “What are you doing tonight?”

There was a pause. “Uh, not much. What’s up?”

I rolled my eyes, though he couldn’t see it. “I was thinking maybe you could come over. You know, we could spend some time together.”

“Spend some time together, huh?” He chuckled. “You mean you want me to come over and blow your back out.”

I smirked, despite myself. “Don’t flatter yourself. But if you’re free, I could use some company.”

Justin sighed, and I could already tell where this was going. “Look, Lennox, I told you the last time I was over there that I was done. You hit me up when you’re bored or horny, and I’m supposed to just drop everything and come running? I’m not doing that shit anymore.”

I blinked, caught off guard by his sudden change of tone. “I didn’t realize you had a problem with it,” I said, my voice cooler now.

“Yeah, well, I do. I want more than just a booty call, Lennox. I want all of you. But you’ve made it clear you’re not interested in anything serious, so I’m done.”

“Wow.” I scoffed.

I stared at the phone in my hand as the line went dead and felt a pang of something I didn’t want to name. Frustration? Disappointment? Loneliness? All of the above? I tossed the phone onto my bed and flopped down beside it, staring at the ceiling. Now, I was left with nothing but my thoughts. And Omir was one of them.

OMIR

The night started like any other. The jazz club was alive with music, laughter, and the clinking of glasses. The scent of bourbon and fried appetizers hung in the air, and the band was deep into their second set, the saxophone player wailing out a mournful tune that spoke to something deep in my soul.

I was stationed at the bar, keeping an eye on the flow of things. It was my ritual—make my rounds, check in with the staff, and settle into a spot where I could see and feel the pulse of the night. Business was booming, and the crowd was just the way I liked it: lively but not rowdy.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me from the rhythm of the room. It was O’Shea. I sighed, debating whether toanswer. He’d been a pain in my ass lately with his bullshit baby mama drama and money issues.

“Yo, what’s up?” I said, keeping my voice low enough not to disturb the patrons around me.

“Bro, I need to talk to you,” he said, his voice urgent. “I’m bouta be outside the club. In the back.”

“O—”

“Just come out, bro.”

Something in his tone stopped me from brushing him off. I nodded at the bartender to hold things down and headed for the back entrance. The moment I stepped outside, I saw him pacing by the dumpsters, looking over his shoulder like someone was after him. He was jittery, his usual cool, cocky demeanor replaced by something bordering on panic.

“What’s going on?” I asked, crossing my arms.

O’Shea stopped pacing and turned to me, his face tight. “I need some money, O. Like, right fucking now.”

“Are you fucking serious?” I shook my head. “We’ve had this conversation a million times. I’m not your bank. You gotta stop putting yourself in these situations.”

“This ain’t like the other times, man,” he said, his voice rising. “These niggas I owe? They’re serious. If I don’t pay up, they’re coming for me. I told ’em to meet me here.”

I stared at him, frustration boiling in my chest. “How much?”

“Eight grand,” he muttered, avoiding my eyes.

“Eight gr. . .” I nearly shouted. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Omir—”

Before I could respond, the sound of raised voices cut through the alley. Two men rounded the corner, their postures tense, their eyes locked on O’Shea.

“This him?” one of them said, nodding toward my brother.

O’Shea stepped back, his hands up. “Look, I just need a little more time?—”

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