One girl—a petite, light-skinned chick in a dress that stopped barely below her ass cheeks—strutted up. She placed a manicured hand on Zio’s chest, leaning in to whisper something close to his ear.
The liquor in my system decided right then and there that this bitch was playing in my face.
I stepped forward, sliding my hand directly over hers on Zio’s chest and peeling it off like a piece of trash. “I want to hear the secret too.”
The girl blinked, then smirked up at Zio, who hadn’t said a word. “Oh, you don’t want to share it?”
I cut my eyes to him, my voice dropping an octave. “What did she say, Zio?” I gave him my you-better-tell-me-the-truth look.
“She asked me why I haven’t been calling her.”
I looked back at the girl, waving her off like a fly. “Girl, move along. Who is out here begging a nigga for a phone call in 2026? It’s embarrassing.”
I glared up at Zio, completely forgetting we were in a room full of people. He raised his hands in mock defense. “What? You didn’t even give me a chance to respond. I was going to tell her to move around. I ain’t even talked to her in four years.”
She was still standing there, looking expectant, so I gave her the final word. “Bitch, bye.”
From behind me, I heard somebody burst out laughing. “I like her, Zio!” Ivy called out, raising her glass in my direction.
Zio didn’t look embarrassed; he looked like he had just won the lottery. The negro would enjoy women arguing over him. The girl stayed right where she was, like I wasn't crazy. He pulled me away from her, under his arm, guiding me toward a quieter corner. He started to explain that he had a history with that girl—nothing serious, just the past. We weren’t in the corner for more than five minutes before some BS popped off.
Two girls came tumbling out of the bathroom, I assumed—tussling like they were in a parking lot. I’m talking snatching weaves, broken nails, and muffled screams. That was not what I expected at this type of party.
Then a dude who looked like Trevante Rhodes strolled out of the same room, calmly zipping up his jeans. His brown-and-black button-up was gapped open, revealing a chest that had seen the inside of a gym. He didn’t look stressed like he got caught cheating; he was laughing at them.
Instead of stopping the fight, he looked over at Ivy and Xavier, who were rushing over. He apologized to Ivy, but he was still chuckling, clearly high off something. He looked back at the girls on the floor and shouted, “Whoever wins gets to be my Valentine!”
Xavier broke up the fight. He looked pissed. The guy started heading in our direction, and Zio just shook his head, his face tight.
“You must be Sky,” the guy said, his eyes roaming over me. He was checking me out—not in a disrespectful-to-Zio way, but more of a let-me-see-what-Zio-sees-in-this-chick type of way.
Zio had a full grimace on his face, the muscles in his jaw working. “Sky, this is my best friend, Brent.”
I just stood there, shaking my head.
“So,” I whispered, leaning into Zio’s side, “you weren’t as perfect as you seemed. You have a messy friends.”
Chapter seven
February 3
Zio
It was after midnight. Sky and I had officially made it three days into February without her running off. I was leaning against the deck railing, the party still going. It was cold as fuck, my leather jacket barely keeping me warm, and the condensation from my glass was cold against my palm. The Atlantic was roaring, but it was being drowned out by yelling.
Sky and Brent were at each other’s throats over a game of dominoes, and I had never been more amused in my life.
“Bones!” Sky screamed, slamming a tile down with enough force to make the legs of the table wobble. “Read ’em and weep, Counselor! Mr. Lawyer. You’re out here talking like a giant, but you’re playing like a toddler, bitch.”
Brent looked like he was about to have a stroke. He had his sleeves pushed up to his elbows and an ice grill on his face. “You’re cheating, Sky. I know you’re counting tiles. You write sex books for a living; you ain’t good at math, or you’d be doing something else. Scam ass.”
“Maybe you’re just trash, Brent,” she fired back. She didn’t even look at him; her fingers were already dancing over the tiles tomix them for the next round. “Your mouth is way too fly for your skill level. You’re light, baby.”
I couldn’t help the grin spreading across my face. I caught Ivy’s eye, and she was smirking too. This was exactly what Brent needed—somebody who treated him like he treated everybody else. After another round, we could all see Brent was about to get mad for real.
Ivy interrupted the game. “So, tell me, Sky. What are you working on? Zio gave me a couple of your books. I liked your alien story.”
Sky completely forgot the game. She loved telling people her new story ideas. I made my way down, lifted her from the chair, and sat her in my lap. She started talking like nothing had happened.
