A tiny mewl comes from the back of her throat and the warmth from her middle burns through my shirt when she thrusts her hips into my back.
“Open your mouth,” I add. “I can’t read your mind.”
Crickets chirp in the distance while the music from the building thumps between our bodies.
“Will I always wanna fuck you after you do stupid man-things that hurt my feelings?” she blurts.
A swarm of butterflies burst out of the cages in my stomach as if this drunkenhellatoxic conversation is the definition of romance, and I almost choke on them.
“Nah, that’s the liquor talking.” I swallow the butterflies. “You’ll wanna kill mefirstand then fuck me after I make it better and I promise I’ll always make it better.”
I breathe through the fluttering in my stomach. “Let me put you in the car so I can make it better. A’ight?”
“‘Kay...” she squeaks out against my neck one last time before I take the last few steps to my truck.
“Phat?” Brandy gasps when I yank the backdoor open and drop her inside. “You okay?”
I see the subtle eye roll Phat gives her underneath the interior light and I hold in a laugh, slamming them inside together.
When I pull open the driver’s side door, Brandy’s leaning over the console with her head poking in the backseat, babbling about how dope it is that the rumors are true about Pops giving us host families. She’s already come to her own conclusion about me rushing across the city for my “host sister.” Neither of us correct her.
“Cute swimsuit.” She grins, bobbing her head toward Phat. “Where’d you get it?”
“My nigga.”
I blow out a quiet laugh, pulling my bottom lip into my mouth to suck her off of it.
“I didn’t know you were dating somebody.”
“I’m not. Can you lea—”
“Lourdes,” I call out, backing out of the field and easing back onto the road that led us there. “Put your seatbelt on.”
She smacks her lips, and I hold in my urge to reach in the backseat for her. I flick my turn signal to merge into the line of cars leaving out and lean back in my seat.
Brandy pulls her head from the back and flashes a shy grin toward me, but it’s not like Phat’s little half smile-half frown.
“Hey, I gotta get her home. You mind if I cut our night short?” I ask, lifting my lips into a calm smile.
“Oh.” She frowns. “I mean, I was really hungry.”
“Don’t trip. I still got you. Uber Eats on me?”
“I guess. I really wanted to hang out though. You sure you can’t swing by after you drop her off to her mom?”
Another one of those soft sounds eases from the back of Phat’s throat.
“Nah.” I shake my head, pulling my phone from my pocket and unlocking it. “I have to wake up early to check on somebody.”
I dangle it in the backseat toward Phat. “Chop it up with Phat. She’ll order you whatever you want. It should be at your door when we get to your place.”
Letting go is the worst part of control. Mom always said the aftermath of letting go would tell how well I controlled a situation. Six years and hundreds of unpredictable girls later, I still get tense before the first interaction.
Brandy rolls her eyes at me and turns into the backseat. “Can you order me a chicken strip basket?”
They stare at each other.
I eye my wildcard in the rearview mirror, pouting and pressing buttons on my phone.
