Both men looked at me like I’d said something heavier than I meant.
“Damn,” the friend said finally, eyebrows lifted. “You come ready with a whole sermon?”
I laughed. “No sermon. I just know a little about how things connect.”
Quentin’s hand pressed at the small of my back again, touch saying what his mouth didn’t:proud.
Later, while his friend was across the room holding court near the stage, I leaned toward Quentin. “So how long you two been friends?”
His eyes softened. “Since I moved in with Grandma. I was thirteen, hurting bad. Malik lived two doors down. Showed up with a beat-up controller and a stack of video games, dragged me into his living room like I’d always belonged there. First time I laughed after my parents passed.” He shook his head, smiling. “Been my brother ever since.”
Something tugged low in my chest. I looked over at Malik—loud, funny, larger than life—and then back at Quentin. I could picture it. Two boys, one broken, one determined to fix it with laughter and late-night button mashing.
It made me see Quentin in a whole new light—steady, yes, but also the kind of man who held on to people that mattered.
We mingled, picked at hors d’oeuvres that cost too much for too little, let the music slide into our bones. Quentin stayed close, always close—leaning down to murmur jokes at my ear, his breath tickling the curve of my neck, his hand brushing my waist like it lived there. I was drunk on it all—the wine, the bass line, the steady hum of his body near mine.
I slipped away to the ladies’ room, still carrying him in my chest. Still replaying the way he looked at me like I was both problem and solution.
When I came back, I stopped dead.
She was stunning. Deep brown skin glowing under the lights, hair cropped close in a sleek taper that showed off cheekbones made to wound, body poured into a red dress that turned heads without asking permission. She leaned into him, fingers trailing his sleeve, smiling like she was already halfway to yes.
Heat spiked low in my stomach—sour, ugly, uninvited.Jealousy.A feeling I’d sworn off years ago, when Vontrell taught me the cost. Seventeen, watching him grin at me with the same mouth that kissed another girl on homecoming night. Back then I swore I’d never let another man make me feel second choice.
For a second, the old ghost whispered: maybe Quentin would slip too.
But he didn’t. He leaned back, shook his head, said something low I couldn’t hear. Whatever it was made her laugh awkward, step away, smoothing her dress like she knew she’d overplayed.
Then—he looked up. Straight at me. Found me across the room like no one else existed. And the smile he gave me was easy. Certain.
The heat in my stomach cooled, embarrassment replacing jealousy. I shoved the ghost out. Why waste energy when he’d just shown me his focus wasn’t shifting?
Still, history made me wary. My brain said careful. But my body—my body already trusted him. My body believed him.
I walked up, lifted a brow. “Everything good?”
“Perfect,” he said, threading his fingers through mine.
And just like that, the rest of the night smoothed out. Laughter, music, his hand steady at my back. Every touch of his palm, every slide of his thumb on my skin, reminded me he was here—with me, not anywhere else.
By the time we stepped back into the cool night air, I was floating.
He walked me to the truck, his hand still warm at the small of my back. That pressure had me humming, thighs pressing every time his thumb stroked low. I could still feel him from earlier—my body clenching at the memory, nipples tight, pussy slicking just from his glance. And those glances? Darker now. Hotter. Like he’d been biting down on restraint all night and was one brush away from breaking.
The city blurred by on the drive—neon, streetlamps, brake lights bleeding into gold streaks. None of it mattered. All I felt was his hand on my thigh, inching high enough to remind me exactly how wet I was. How swollen. How ready.
When we pulled into his place, I didn’t hesitate. I couldn’t.
Chapter 9
Double Kiss
Rayna kicked her heels off, one after the other, like she couldn’t stand anything between her and the floor. That black dress clung, simple and devastating, sliding over her hips as she moved deeper into my apartment. She looked back once, chin tipped, eyes daring me to keep up.
I didn’t bother with my jacket. Dropped it on the chair, loosened my tie, and followed.
The kiss was instant—hard, greedy, tasting of wine andwant. My hand slid into her hair, tugging just enough to tilt her mouth to mine. She moaned, low and raw, and that was it. We didn’t make it to the couch. I pushed her against the wall, yanked her dress up, panties aside, and slid into her in one stroke.
