I hesitated at Terrence's door. I was the one who'd messed up; what would he think when he saw me? I knew what I wanted him to think. Like Charlene said, 'This outfit was the ribbon on a package designed to be unwrapped.' Let the unwrapping begin.
I knocked. When the door opened, Terrence wasn't the one standing there.
The chick's skirt was smaller than the handkerchief my daddy carried on Sunday, and her breasts threatened to pop out that training bra she wore for a top. With cornrows down to her waist, she looked like a sister. I could tell, underneath her tan, she was whiter than Wonder Bread.
"You must be Kadence," she said.
"No, I must be pissed. Who are you?"
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