“That’s not fair.” I clear away the cartons and paper from our delivery meal. “If I ask you about songs I like, you probably wouldn’t know them, either.”
“Wrong. I would shut you down.” He takes his phone out of his pocket and puts it on the counter. “Check my playlists.”
I look at him for an extra few seconds, and he tips his head in invitation toward the phone.
“Go for it.”
I sigh but grab his phone and scroll through his songs.
Coldplay, Alanis Morisette, Jay Z, Usher, Justin Timberlake, Lil’ Wayne, U2, Talib Kweli, Jill Scott.
“Carrie Underwood?” I glance up from his phone to meet his wide grin.
“First of all, the girl’s fine as hell. Second of all, who doesn’t like ‘Jesus, Take the Wheel’?”
“Oh, my God! You’re ridiculous.”
“We’ve talked a lot about my musical tastes today, but not about yours. I showed you mine, now show me yours.”
I will not think about him showing me his. I wonder, not for the first time today, if I packed my good vibrators.
“Let’s just say my playlist would be a lot less varied,” I offer, dissembling all thoughts of the muscular physique hidden beneath his clothes.
“White bread, huh?” His knowing smile should irritate me, but I find myself answering with one of my own.
“And what would you call yours?”
“Multi-grain.”
I shake my head, dispose of the trash, and head back into the living room. I sit on the couch but don’t make a move to pick up my laptop. When I look up, there’s uncertainty on his face.
“Are you gonna work or …” His question dangles in the air waiting for me to catch it.
“No, someone told me even Ivy League should relax on spring break.”
He laughs and takes his spot in the opposite corner of the couch.
“Rhyson should be home soon,” he says.
I’d almost forgotten to be irritated with my brother. Grip does a great job distracting me.
“It’ll be good to see him again.” I sit cross-legged on the couch and palm my knees. “I’m glad he found you guys out here. He needed somebody in his life.”
“We’re as close as brothers,” Grip says softly. “I probably wouldn’t have made it through those first few years of high school without him. That school was like a foreign country.”
“Was it so different from your old one?”
“Uh, night and day. Growing up in Compton is no joke.” The quick-to-smile curve of his lips settles into a sober line. “The School of the Arts required a completely different set of survival skills. I’ve learned to navigate any world I find myself in. Be whatever I need to be for every situation.”
“You adapted?”
“Had to. Constantly.” Grip chuckles just a little. “It was tough, but it taught me to be comfortable, even in environments where there’s no one else like me. I got whiplash trying to be one thing at school and another thing at home with my friends and family.”
He shrugs.
“So I just decided to be myself. To adapt, yeah, but never lose who I am.”
“That’s cool,” I say. “It took me longer to figure that out. Sometimes I think I still am.”