I Hate That I Love You: Episode 3 – Static & Sparks
JAZZY
“Mmm,” I moaned the second I walked through the front door and made my way down the long corridor to the kitchen. “Now Mama Bishop, you know you don’t have any business cooking food that smells this good.”
She tossed her head back between her shoulders, her bonnet sliding back just a bit before she caught it.
“I can smell this food from outside,” I said as I approached her, wrapping my arms around her so tight.
“Oooh!” She sighed, hugging me back. “Just be giving the best hugs.”
“Ummm…” my best friend Whitney, who I called Whit, expressed from her seat on the kitchen counter. “Not you saying that in front of your only daughter.”
I snickered as I planted a kiss on Mama Bishop’s cheek. “She said what she said.”
“Don’t get kicked out this quick, Jazzy,” Whit warned. “Not before you eat, friend. You just got here.”
I giggled, walking up to Whit and holding my hand out so we could do our little handshake.
We’d been doing this for years—twenty-seven, to be exact. And ever since we graduated high school, I’d been coming to the Bishop family’s brownstone for Sunday dinners. It was only a few blocks from the brownstone I grew up in, and the tradition became even more important once Whit started college and began her grueling pre-med track.
Whit gestured with her thick lips over my shoulder.
I wrinkled my brows as I turned that way to see Wes sitting quietly on the couch in the living room.
Oh.
I didn’t even know he was here. Probably would have spotted him if I’d made my way through the living room to get to the kitchen instead of through the corridor that was separated from the living room by a wall.
Definitely would’ve started fucking with him sooner.
I kissed my teeth then turned to her. “You couldn’t have told me he would be here?”
“You mean my brother, you ass?” Whit asked with a smirk.
“Is he your brother, though?”
Whit hollered a laugh.
“Like for real, Mama Bishop,” I turned to their mother, walking up to her and draping an arm over her shoulder. “You might not be able to keep it real with them, but you know you can keep it real with me, right?”
Mama Bishop snickered.
“Wes is adopted, huh?”
“Aht!” Mama Bishop hollered. “Jazzy, do not do it.”
“Someone left him on your doorstep and because y’all are good people, y’all just took him in, huh?”
“Jazzy,” Wes said from the living room, his voice that deep, rich baritone I couldn’t ignore even if I tried. “You can always leave my house.”
“Oooh.” I winked at Mama Bishop. “He speaks.”
She pointed at me. “You better stop.”
I stuck my tongue out at her, making her giggle as I turned toward the living room.
“Wow,” I said, drawing the word out like it had more letters. “What a rare sighting.”
“Jazzy,” Whit said in a warning tone.
“I’m surprised the prodigal son has returned.”
I didn’t miss a Sunday dinner. Not these past few years. With my parents away, traveling the globe like they promised they would do every summer starting two years ago, I craved a family setting, and the Bishops always provided that for me effortlessly.
Wes was hardly around, though. Often caught up with work or whatever Ogres do when they aren’t working at demon labels. So it was a pleasant surprise to see him lounging on the couch I first met him on when I attended his sister’s—my best friend’s—birthday party when she turned four.
“I’m here for the food,” he said, sitting all cool, detached, and sipping something dark and smooth like he owned the damn air in the room. “Not the extra estrogen. So leave me alone.”
“Estrogen overload. Too much estrogen,” I said, mimicking a robot. “Must find testosterone before I self-combust.”
Mama Bishop snorted a laugh and that got Wes to lift his attention away from his phone to focus on her.
That made me laugh as I turned to look her way in time to see her swallowing her laugh and holding up a hand.
“Come on baby,” she said to Wes. “That was funny.”
He kissed his teeth and looked away again.
I turned, pleased as always that I’d gotten under his skin. It was always so easy to do.
“You better leave my baby alone, Jazzy!” Mama Bishop said, loud enough for Wes to hear her.
A total performative move for her baby. I wouldn’t challenge her. I loved her too much.
I met the Bishops when I was three, dancing at a local ballet studio. I was the only child in the room who didn’t go to the daycare down the block, so I didn’t make friends as fast as the others. But Whit was the first to approach me, commenting on my big curls. And we’d been friends ever since. She was the reason I went to BSMM. If not, I would have remained homeschooled until I was done with the 12th grade. Whit didn’t go on to seek a career in entertainment, but we still remained close because I loved that woman to the moon and back.
Speaking of BSMM, though…
“Did Wes tell y’all we’re going to be working together?”
Whit’s brows shot up and Mama Bishop turned to face me.
“Mmm-hmm.” I nodded, feeling really proud of that. “Finally going to put the talk to bed about who the better label is.”
“Hmph,” Wes huffed from the living room. “That’s already clear, but go off.”
“Sure is,” I replied, turning to face him. “And it will always be Voltage.”
My eyes coasted over his arms that appeared to be bulkier than ever from my view. The man had been working out like he was training for something and unfortunately for me, the extra muscle looked good on his mean ass and made it hard not to notice.
“I’m gonna go find Dad,” he said, scooting to the edge of his seat. Before walking off, he tossed me his usual you-get-on-my-last-nerve sidelong glare that—if I wasn’t me—would probably make me feel a way, but I didn’t give a shit. I happened to hate Wes just as much as I was sure he hated me… and at this point, I was fine with that.
“Why are you always messing with him?” Whit asked, hopping off the counter.
“I didn’t know he was going to be here,” I said, leaning on a nearby wall. “He’s never here.”
“This is his house, Jazzy!” Whit insisted.
“Uh-uh.” I shook my head. “His house is on Park Ave. Ain’t that where he lives?”
Whit curved a smile. “And how do you know that?”
I stared at her for a moment, watching her small smile grow into a big smile.
“You’ve mentioned it… once or twice.”
“I mentioned it never.” Whit’s smile still hadn’t subsided. “Not even once—”
“Anyway,” I said, walking away from Whit. “Do you need any help in here, Mama Bishop?”
Dinner went a lot like how it went when I first arrived. A lot of Wes sitting quietly, only speaking to ask someone to pass him something.
He made very little eye contact with me, and I don’t know why that bothered me.
Though I thought about approaching Voltage’s Vice President of A&R to see how I could get out of working with Wes, a part of me was curious how this would all go. I always felt like I needed to prove myself to people in this industry—his ass being one of them.
And the crazy thing is, I used to be such a huge fan of his as a kid. When he was a teen dropping us to school before heading to BSMM, I used to think he was so cool. Tacked on him being very handsome—even as a kid—and that he could rap, I was damn near in love with my best friend’s older brother. He sure did a number ruining that when he ruined the career of my favorite artist. And he did it in such an unforgivable way.
“Wesley told me your labels are gonna be competing?” Mr. Bishop mentioned as we finished the last of our meals.
“Oh,” I said, refocusing on Wes. “Did Wes mention me?”
Mr. Bishop laughed, covering his mouth with his fist while shaking his head.
“Yeah,” I confirmed with a nod, cleaning my mouth when I was done with my last bite. The food was delicious, as always. “It’s for BSMM. They’re at risk for shutting down, so we’re gonna have this show with the hope it’ll attract the right people to sponsor and donate.”
“It will attract the right people to sponsor and donate,” Wes said—the very few words he actually spoke at the table that night. “Because Dope is behind it, and everything we touch is a success.”
I scoffed. “Y’all only bother touching things if it’s the color of money.”
He shrugged. “The greatest color in the world.”
I rolled my eyes so hard they hurt in their sockets.
“I think that’s great,” Whit commented, nodding. “Finally put this rivalry to rest.”
“Or finally settle the score,” I said.
“No score to settle,” Wes said, cleaning his mouth too. “Dope has been at the top building legacies and will remain on course. Voltage is simply being used as a pawn, a means to an end. There has to be a loser for there to be a winner, and that’s the only reason I’m cool with all this.”
Wes pushed his seat back before I could say anything in response, and I wanted to lunge at him from my seat at the table because of it.
“As always,” he said as he made his way around the table, swaggering to his mother. “The food was amazing. Thank you always, Mama.”
Mrs. Bishop looked like the happiest person on the planet as her son planted a big kiss on her cheek and embraced her in the sweetest hug. “Thank you for coming, baby.”
“Yeah, son,” Mr. Bishop echoed. “Very good seeing you on a Sunday. Don’t let too many more go by without us seeing you again, you hear?”
I twisted my lips to one side, watching as Wes gave his father a handshake then a hug. The idea of Wes ruining another Sunday with his presence didn’t sit right with me, but this was his family… I guess.
Wes walked up to Whit and took her head in a gentle headlock, rubbing his knuckles over her soft curls.
“You ass!” she shouted.
He laughed and held a smile on his lips, and the shit did something to my heart. Something weird.
“Later, kid,” he said to her, crouching a little to kiss her on the cheek, his eyes moving to me as he stood upright again. “Later, Jazzy.”
I bit inside my cheek watching as he made his way to the front door before I was pushing my chair back to stand too.
“I’ll be back, y’all.”
“Mm-hmm,” Mama Bishop said with a smile. “Please don’t raise my child’s pressure, girl.”
By the time I caught up with Wes, he was already jogging down the last of the brownstone’s stairs.
“Wes,” I said as he made his way to his car that was parked right out front.
He turned for only a second, sighing heavily when he saw me jogging down the stairs behind him. “What, Jazzy?”
“The polite way to respond to someone calling you is not ‘what.’”
He turned completely to face me. “What do you want, Jazzy?”
“We should schedule a time to meet up.”
He stared at me.
“To… discuss our roles… for the show so we can get the artist selection started.”
Still nothing.
“Look, my VP of A&R and the other higher-ups at Voltage want me to spearhead Voltage’s artist lineup for the event, and I want to make sure our artists are paired up fairly.”
He folded his arms over his chest.
“I just want to make sure your people lose fair and square.”
He scoffed. After another brief silence, he told me, “I’ll have my assistant call your assistant to set something up, aight?”
I kissed my teeth. “Your assistant? You waste their time like that? They should quit.”
He sucked his teeth and turned to head toward his car.
I exhaled loudly through my lips, really not wanting to concede but also wanting to keep my word to the label execs about making sure I spearhead this show to the best of my ability.
I grabbed his arm to stop him and immediately noticed how warm, solid, and built he was. The realization was instant for my body, because heat pooled in my belly so damn fast, I couldn’t stop it. Couldn’t stop the pull of the walls inside me either.
He glanced down where I’d touched him and lifted his attention to me, not making the situation any easier to deal with.
“Friday,” I purred, before clearing my throat. He continued making his way to his car and I drew closer. “Let’s get this on paper. Lineups, structure, vibe. What do you say? Are you free?”
“Unfortunately,” he said, stepping into his car.
I kissed my teeth.
“Can we please just agree on a day and time, Wes? God!”
Even just him sitting in the driver’s seat of his luxury sports car, Wes looked like a damn editorial model.
I hate him so much.
Hate that I even noticed that.
“8pm at Gray Area,” I added, my eyes focused on his bulging biceps in his tee. “Does that work for you, Wes?”
He balled his lips, turned his attention to focus out of his windshield before he was reaching for his car door. Right before closing it, he told me, “Sure. Friday, Gray Area, at 8pm.”
With that, he started up the car’s engine, the roar of it echoing down the city block. A second later, he peeled out of the parking spot and drove down the street, and my ass stood there the whole time watching his taillights disappear into traffic.
Just so damn cool and frustrating at the same damn time.
Ugh!
“Still as insufferable as he was when we were kids,” I said to myself as I turned to climb his parents’ brownstone stairs.
Wes has always treated me like his little sister’s friend. Like an inconvenience, especially once he was a teenager and started rapping, making a name for himself in the underground circuit. I ignored his rude ass because I always thought he was so cool. But when he burned my favorite artist, what I once thought was cool became pompous, and he went from someone I admired to someone I truly hated.
Wes always just seemed like he was above the culture. Money-hungry and demeaning without even trying. But damn if he didn’t smell so damn good and laugh in a way that made my chest feel just as weird as when he looked at me.
I dropped my head back between my shoulders when I reached the top of the stairs and turned the knob on the door to step into the Bishop residence again.
Because the show was going to be hell. There was no doubt about that. But… I don’t know… maybe, just maybe… it’ll be worth it.
I’d see soon enough, for better or for worse, I was sure. And that was the part that was concerning.
A New Episode of I Hate That I Love You Will Be Sent And Posted On Monday, April 21st!
