Page 9 of The Plus One

“There’s a difference?”

“And you’re interviewing them through your contacts?”

“I’m reviewing previous performance.”

Ace stared at me. And I stared right back. Then we bothe started chuckling. He had a nice smile. I looked away before my drunk ass started getting ideas that had absolutely no business forming again. “You’re ridiculous,” he said.

“I’m efficient.”

“You’re tipsy.”

“I am not drunk.”

"I didn't say drunk. I said tipsy."

He looked at the empty lemon-drop glasses. And I followed his eyes. Before I rolled my eyes. I hated when a nigga was semi right. I couldn't imagine agreeing with a man. Okay. I was approaching drunk. But I wasn’t there yet. “I need another drink.”

"No, you need water.”

“I don't want water.”

“You’re about sixty percent water.”

“Then I have enough.”

Ace stared at me. I smiled. He shook his head before grabbing a bottle from behind the bar and setting it in front of me. “Drink.”

“You’re not my daddy.”

His eyes held mine. “No. But I could be.”

Something about the way he said it made my stomach do a weird little flip. Oh, hell no. I grabbed the water. Because it was definitely time to sober up. There were approximately eight hundred men in this city I could take to Cancún. Ace Davis was not one of them. He was Markel’s best friend. Which made him unavailable. Off-limits. Not even an option.

I twisted the cap off the water and took a long drink. Ace watched me. “Good girl.”

I damn near choked. His mouth lifted at the corner. Oh, this nigga knew exactly what he was doing. And suddenly, finding a plus one wasn’t the biggest problem I had tonight.

Two

Ace Davis

She was here again. Watching Kema sit at my bar was becoming one of my favorite pastimes. If only she could sit somewhere else. I had this problem when it came to Kema Anderson. I wanted her ass. I had for a little minute too. I just had enough sense not to do shit about it.

Kema was fine. And not regular fine either. She was the type of fine that made you look twice even when you knew damn well you shouldn’t have been looking the first time. She was tall for a woman, standing around five-seven, with dark chocolate skin that made my mouth water. She kept her jet-black hair long and bone straight, split right down the middle, and always had some type of gold in her ears. I knew because I’d spent more time than I should’ve studying her face.

Especially that little hoop in her nose. But her body? Kema’s body needed to be studied. She was a BBW with thick thighs, wide hips, an ass sitting right, a soft stomach, and big ass titties. Everything soft where a woman was supposed to be soft.

And one thing about a real nigga? I liked my women thicker than grits. I couldn’t explain what that woman did to me, but every time we interacted, I had to tell my dick to calm the fuck down. That wasn’t new either. I wanted Kema the first time Kel brought her around.

And I hated that I wanted her. Not because she wasn't attractive cause she was. I just hated that I wanted her because I knew I couldn't have her. And watching her with Kel pissed me off. The crazy thing was he hadn't done anything wrong at the time.

I was starting to hate him because Kema was his woman. I was mad he got to touch her, kiss her, and leave functions with his hand sitting comfortably on her ass while I could only dream about her.

And for four years, I never said anything, tried anything, or gave Kema a reason to think I looked at her as anything other than my boy’s girl. But I looked. Shit, I wasn’t blind. I just had boundaries. Then Kel fucked around and cheated on her. I still hadn’t decided if I wanted to beat his ass for being stupid or thank him for finally making her single.

Probably both. Not that her being single meant she would automatically become mine but judging by the damn audition she’d been conducting from my barstool all night, Kema had options. Too many if you asked me.

Kema pushed a shot glass across the bar toward me. "Take one with me."