Brent exhaled slowly, looking away. “You sound stupid as hell, Z. But… I guess I want you to be happy.”
I wasn’t mad at the "stupid" comment. That was just how he was.
“Yeah,” I said, sliding the ring back to the lady. “And your ass is going to be ‘smart’ and completely alone on your deathbed.”
He barked another laugh. “Fine. Be stupid. I’ll buy the ring as the wedding gift then. Go ahead and get something bigger—I can actually afford to spoil your woman, you broke ass.”
I didn’t bother to argue with him. I started looking for something bigger and I was going to let him pay for it, because that was how we were.
Chapter Five
February second, the evening
Sky
I couldn’t decide what to wear. I was nervous, and it was fraying my nerves. The dresses I did have were everywhere—draped across the bed, pooled on the floor, slungover chairs. I had tried on too many. Nothing felt right. Every time I thought I had settled on one, I caught my reflection and changed my mind. Again. And again.
What if his friends didn’t like me? What if they thought I was some girl he was fucking on the side instead of someone who actually mattered? I had a creative writing degree from SPC. They had gone to Ivy Leagues and HBCUs. They probably quoted Baldwin and drank bourbon neat and talked about things like portfolios. I had been writing forever, but I still Googled words to make sure I was using them right, and the best I had was a Fidelity account.
What if they thought I didn’t fit in? I had a little bit of money, but it wasn’t house-on-the-beach money. I had seen Ivy around town—she was always dressed in boutique pieces and expensive heels. She had natural hair, and I still liked a good sew-in after a relaxer. I was more ASOS with a blazer or a long cardigan. More Fashion Nova when I was trying to feel sexy. I didn’t shop vintage—I shopped sales.
“I ain’t going,” I said to no one. I had had five glasses of wine—maybe more. I had stopped counting after the third pour—and there was a heat in my chest that wasn't just from the alcohol. I was spiraling. I took another sip of wine. I leaned on my dresser and closed my eyes, trying to remember why I had agreed to go to this party in the first place.
I paused Olivia Dean. The buzzer going off at the same second startled me. I wiped under my eyes with my thumb and opened the door. Zio was wearing a black polo and black jeans. He was casual, effortlessly so, and so damn handsome it hurt to look at him. I looked down at myself in a fitted yellow babydoll dress I’d wear for brunch. I was overdressed…
He dragged his eyes over me like he was imagining peeling me from my flesh. “You look incredible, Sky,” he said, his voice dropping an octave as his eyes traveled back up my body.
“I don't want to go,” I said, stepping into his space. I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him into the apartment and kicking the door shut. “Let’s just stay here. I can cook. Well, you can cook, or I can order. We can fuck all night. We don’t need this night to be complicated. I understand now what you want, and I’m willing to try.”
The wine had worked its way through me now, making everything looser, slower. It was easy to tell him the truth. I stepped into him, backing him up until the backs of his knees hit the sofa. My fingers hooked into his belt loops, tugging him closer instead of answering whatever he was about to say. My mouth drifted along his jaw, tasting salt and something darker beneath it.
He dropped onto the couch without breaking eye contact. I followed, sliding into his lap, my dress creeping higher as Isettled over him. The heat between my legs pulsed impatiently. I rocked forward, fabric dragging over fabric, and felt him respond.
I fumbled with his belt and managed to unbutton his pants. My hand slid inside and wrapped around his dick. It was thick and hard, hotand pulsing against my palm. I stroked him slowly, watching his jaw clench, feeling him jerk beneath my touch.
“I need this,” I whispered against his ear, rubbing my hand up and down the length of his dick, slick and hot in my grip. “I need you.”
He groaned softly. His hands gripped my hips like he was seconds away from giving in. I reached between us, tugged my panties to the side, ready to sink down onto him—ready to disappear in the thing that made the most sense between us. I wanted him so deep inside me that he would forget there was a world outside these four walls.
But then he pulled me back. “No,” he said weakly. I froze. My breath was still shallow, my chest rising and falling too fast. His hands were still on my waist, nails digging into flesh. I groaned. We were right there—the heat was rolling off us in waves. I could have pushed him. I tried to move again, but he shifted, his grip on my wrists tight enough to stop me. He pulled his head back and watched me.
“Sky,” he said, his chest heaving.
“Don’t talk,” I whispered, nipping at his jaw. “Just… please.”
He stood, picking me up with him like I was fragile. I hated how kind he was about it. I hated that I felt like crying even though nothing bad had happened. I could feel myself pouting. He set me on my feet.
“Fix your face, Sky. I know what you’re doing. You’re trying to fuck your way out of going to this party. We’re going, Sky. I want them to meet you. I’m not hiding you anymore.”
He reached out, cupping my face, and my head spun a little as the wine peaked. For a second, I almost melted into his palm. Almost. When he let go and started fixing his clothes—smoothing his shirt, adjusting his watch like this was settled—I lost it.
“I can’t go,” I blurted, my voice wobbling on purpose. “I don’t even have the right shoes!” I blinked fast, summoning crocodile tears. It was Oscar-worthy. “Ivy and her friend wear red bottoms, and I’m in these heels I got on clearance at Steve Madden. Clearance, Zio. Seventy percent off because nobody wanted them. Is that what you want? To be embarrassed?”
I gestured wildly at myself. “You didn’t give me enough time. My dress is from Fashion Nova. It had come in a plastic bag. I had to cut the threads off with kitchen scissors!” My voice got higher; I was spiraling. “They’re probably the type of women who summer in Tulum and say things like, ‘Oh, this old thing?’ about thousand-dollar outfits. Why are you doing this to me, Zio?”
He sighed, deep and long, like I was background noise, and stepped toward me, closing the gap until I had to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. His brown eyes were steady but he looked hungry for me in a way that made my knees weak. I rose up to kiss him again, to derail this whole thing with my mouth. He dipped instead, tugging my dress down where it had ridden up.
“You could be wearing a paper bag, and you’d still be the finest woman there,” he drawled, his hand sliding down my back to cup my ass. I almost giggled.
