Page 230 of The Wright Man

We ended up on the couch, plates balanced on the coffee table, her feet in my lap. She had her food in one hand and the remote in the other, but passed it to me with a sigh of surrender before curling into my side like a heat-seeking missile.

I picked something old-school and comforting—something we used to watch on those lazy Sundays before everything got complicated. Back when "just friends" felt like a lie we both pretended not to notice.

Now, with her toes wiggling under my hand and her mouth full of fried rice, it didn't feel like anything had shifted. Not really. It just felt like we'd finally landed where we were always supposed to be.

Halfway through the second episode, I felt her body relax. Her breath evened out, soft against my shoulder. I glanced down. She was out—curled up like a cat, one hand still resting on her now-empty plate, the other tucked beneath her cheek.

My chest ached in that good, deep way. The kind that made you want to thank something—God, the universe, her stubborn ass—for letting you witness this kind of peace.

I muted the TV, shifted a pillow under her head, and just sat there for a while. One hand on her calf, the other brushing her knuckles.

And for the first time in years, I didn't need to be anywhere else.

Chapter Forty

Angelica

"I'm just saying," Tina said, already halfway to a full-body gesture, hands flailing like she was pitching a blockbuster film instead of her latest ridiculous idea, "Part Two of The Emancipation of Angie needs strippers. Tasteful ones. Like, artsy hoe strippers."

Alicia didn't look up from the wig she was plucking. "Tina, you need deliverance."

Tina ignored her. "I'm saying something bold. Something disrespectful."

"Oh Lord," I muttered, already shaking my head, but it was too late. Tina's wheels were spinning.

"Maybe a backyard cookout-slash-bonfire where we roast your old wedding dress like it's a marshmallow," Tina said, dead serious. "We could do a whole theme. 'Freedom & Fire.' I'll DJ. Alicia'll make Jell-O shots. Bella can sage the perimeter in case that man's weak-ass spirit tries to linger."

"Can we not commit arson in the name of sisterhood?" Alicia chimed in, still calmly tweezing. "Also, she already donated the dress."

"Then we burn a picture of him instead," Tina fired back, undeterred. "Something needs to go up in flames."

The rest of the shop was already howling.

It had been almost two weeks since I moved in with Maleek, and this kind of unfiltered joy had become my daily bread. I was still adjusting to how...quiet my spirit felt. There were no sharp edges to tiptoe around. No tension creeping in through the drywall. Just warm mornings, slow kisses, and Maleek's cologne clinging to the throw pillows because he insisted on cuddling me to sleep every night like it was his part-time job.

The house already felt like us. His big, masculine energy was still in the bones of the place—warm-toned furniture, clean lines, dark woods and leather. But now there were colorful throw pillows on the couch, my art on the walls, and a hot pink bonnet perpetually on his nightstand. We moved like we'd always lived together. Coffee in the morning. Grocery runs that turned into Target dates. Calls from my sisters on speaker while he folded laundry. We were soft and easy and...real.

And while we hadn't had sex yet—because Maleek was keeping his promise to wait until my divorce was finalized—everything else was fair game.

Maleek Wright was a pleaser. Dominant. Attentive. Smart-mouthed and nasty in the best way. The man absolutely worshipped my body. The way he could talk me through an orgasm? Dangerous. The way he looked at me after I gave him one? Borderline illegal.

The kitchen scene from last week alone could've earned us both community service. One minute he was making popcorn, the next I was on my knees doing things that should've required a liability waiver, and I was still thinking about the look on his face when it was over. That memory lived in my head like it had paid a security deposit.

"ANGELICA DAY!" Tina snapped, dragging me back to the present with a dramatic clap. "See? I knew it. You over there lost in them hoe-ish thoughts again."

"Excuse me?" I said, blinking. "I wasn't—"

"Don't lie. Your eyes glazed over and everything. I saw you drift."

"I could've been thinking about anything," I argued, crossing my legs and sipping my drink.

Alicia side-eyed me. "You were smiling. And blushing. You weren't thinking about taxes."

I scowled. "Let me live."

"No, you're living too good," Alicia said. "If I had Mister Nobody waiting for me at home, I'd be walking around here humming too."

"Mmm-hmm," Miss Reesie added from her dryer chair. "He fine and polite and built like he could bench press a Buick. That man walked in here that first time and I was ready to risk my pension."