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Jace watched me, paying little attention to his pour of whiskey, dousing the cup in the drink. I pulled down on my shirt a little as I fanned myself, ...evealing even more of my black lacey bra. His mind suddenly snapped back to his drink, collecting himself as he mixed the cola with the alcohol. “Ok,” He said, still feeling red. “Truth or dare?”“Truth.” I picked.He stared at me. It felt like forever, but in reality it was probably only like 10 seconds, but he kept on staring at me. It wasn’t. That said, both still had their teeth. They’d both aged well—probably from stubbornness, both of them. Although Miz. Emily, livin’ in the heap to the east, scared the bijezus out of me, it was Mas. Terrence, from the pile on the west, who possessed me and reminded me daily of the low worth of a young black man of little education in Savannah even in the twenty-first century. Mr. Martin, who owned and managed the Casimir Inn and who employed me as a porter and doeverything, wasn’t like that, nor. More

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