“Enough to know what two people look like after they did it.”
A deep laugh shakes my chest. “Yourass better not be fucking.”
That same sheepish expression she had back in the bookstore covers her face. “Shut up... just tell me.”
“Iwantedto fuck her.”
To spite Javier. To even the score. To take something precious from him, like he did to me.
“Until I realized we liked the same type of females.”
I still remember the car ride to prom where our lips almost touched until Cree big-faced me and threw up all the shit we drank out of the car window.
“I like girls, Ace,”she said, wiping her face.“I like girls, but Javi and Mama don’t know that.”
They still didn’t, so I hold on to her secret like she holds on to mine.
“Ha!” Phat laughs, closing her eyes. “I know what type of female that is.”
I know what she’s getting at and today isn’t a day that I can ignore it because version two of her likes to push my limits.
“You don’t know shit about what I like.”
Nobody did. They only knew what the media told them. Never mind that I was a black bitch connoisseur. It didn’t matter the country I was in, I’d find them with no trouble—even in white-washed countries like Sweden where they went crazy over my accent and the creative positions I could bend their brown bodies in. None of that matters when a leggy blonde cries foul though.
My hands roam back to her braids.
Her eyes pop open as if she’s been waiting for this moment.
By now I’ve forgotten about the Maui Waui Cree brought me from back home.
Phat pushes away from me and twists her body around so she’s on her knees in front of me with her breasts spilling out of her bra and her braids billowing over her bare arms.
There’s a tinge of red in her eyes from the secondhand smoke. I see the questions about LA swirling in them just like I saw fear in Marcus’.
“So what do you like, then?”
I pick up my glass. “You—just like this, behaving for me.”
“You didn’t answer my question,” she whispers. “What kind of girls you like?”
My body sags as I mull over her multi-layered question she doesn’t even realize is layered. “I like women.”
“Okay,women.” She rolls her eyes. “What kind of women do you like?”
“Perfect ones that know what it means to trust me.”
“Trust?”
“Yup.” I swallow another mouthful of the burning tequila. “That’s it.”
Her eyebrows furrow.
“So, all they have to do is trust you?” she asks as her eyes skirt away from mine. “And that’s what you like?”
I nod, taking another swig of the tequila to the head.
I savor the bitter taste and the way it soothes those ugly ass memories I left in LA and rearranges them so they hurt less.
