“Does it need a label?” I shift down onto the sofa arm beside her, close enough to breathe in the warm, sensual pull of her scent. “Can’t we just be two people reconnecting after too damn long, who want to spend time together… in and out of bed?”
Lot’s never still when she’s thinking. It’s like her body’s running on the electricity in her head. Her knees bounce, her hands glide up and down her thighs. I fight the urge to touch her and test if her skin feels as buttery soft as it looks.
“No pressure,” I say instead, because Lot still means more than just a hot lay. “I want you back, hanging out like we used to. With or without sex.”
“Gotta admit,withsounds better.” Her tongue sweeps across her bottom lip. “But I’m not going to act on impulse.”
“Take all the time you need,” I say, forcing patience, my gazelingering on her mouth before lifting back to her eyes. “I’ll be waiting.”
“Tryna charm me, Jones?”
“Nope. Just speaking the truth.”
She pulls her gaze from mine, reaches for the bag of jelly beans on the table, rips it open, and offers me one.
Green. Just like that day in her backyard, over twenty years ago.
We grin at the memory, but when our fingers brush, the spark that jumps is nothing like the innocence of back then.
She feels it too. I see desire flare in her eyes. I could have her right now. But after all this time, I don’t want some rushed fuck on her cousin’s couch. I want it long and slow—an entire night with Lot finally in my bed.
Chapter Ten
Lot
Think you can handle my equipment?
It’s been a day and a half since I’ve spoken to Dice. Thirty-some hours since his confession… and mine.
For years I told myself Dice didn’t care. Turns out, I was dead wrong. Rayne saw it. C saw it. But me? I missed the signs, too busy nursing my own hurt feelings to notice Dice was busted up over me leaving. Shrugging it off was just his way of coping.
And yeah—I hate to admit—what I did was mean. Straight-up petty. If I were Dice, I wouldn’t be half as forgiving. But then he goes and says that he doesn’t just want me back in his life—he wantsme.
He’s wanted me all along. Just hid it well like I did.
It took everything in me not to pounce on that man right then and there. My feral impulses were loud as fuck. But that little voice in my head kept telling me to pause, breathe, get some perspective. I’m not that naive girl anymore, pining for Dice, hoping he’ll fall in love with me.
We live seven hundred miles apart. Different states. Different lives. I like my freedom and independence, and Dice for damn sure likes his.
Still… just because neither of us is looking for anything serious doesn’t mean sex between us won’t get messy. That’s why I gotta stifle my wilder tendencies and actually think this through.
“Meow.” Queenie hops up on the bed, curling herself next to Spider-Man.
“Girl, that’s mine, and you have your own bed.”
“Meow.”
I give her the evil eye and go back to wrapping Sophia’s present. As a die-hard Beyoncé stan, I framed a sketch I drew of her in the silver bodysuit and big silver hat from the Renaissance tour. I’m sure Soph’s gonna flip over it. I also picked up a pair of earrings with dangly butterflies, her other obsession. After adding the tissue paper to the gift bag, I shower and get dressed, taking a little extra time, making a little extra effort. No harm in showing up cute.
By the time Rayne and I arrive at C’s—wrestling Queenie in her carrier had put us behind—the evening’s in full swing. The door’s unlocked. We hang up our coats and leave the gifts on the table with the rest. Swells of laughter and conversation rise as we descend the stairs into the basement. Beyoncé’s voice pulses through the speakers. The scent of food and drinks mixes with the heat of bodies mingling in a shared space.
Sophia is at the center of her Beyhive crew, the four of them dancing in formation, mouthing every word to “Get Me Bodied.”
Lexie, at home as hostess, waves us over to the table.
Dice is easy to spot. A durag covers his fade, and a taupe V-neck sweater fits snug around his arms and torso. He’s at the card table with C, C’s barista Jamar, and Benny from Docks, dominoes slapping down in sharp, rattling bangs. That cocky smirk tells me Dice is winning this round. He takes his dominoes almost as seriously as his music.
Rayne sways to the beat, her hips moving in a pair of curvy-girljeans—the style that fits the waist while giving more butt room for those of us with larger assets. She pulls me toward Lexie, but I stammer, caught mid-step when Dice looks up.
