Page 245 of The Wright Man

It flashed in my mind. Her heat, her tightness, her wetness, what it was gonna feel like when I was finally inside her.

I shook my head, trying to keep the thought from spiraling.

Six more days.

Six days til her fucking court date.

Gavin better sign those goddamn papers.

Chapter Forty-Three

Angelica

The second I stepped outside, I stumbled. Literally. My heel caught on the front step, and I barely caught myself on the railing. I hadn't even made it halfway down the walkway when Tina leaned out of the open driver's window of a hot pink Sprinter van, smirking like the villain she was.

"Why your knees already shaking like a hooker in church, bitch?" she called, eyes hidden behind oversized cat-eye sunglasses but still somehow full of judgment. "We ain't even got to the sinning part yet."

I glared at her, cheeks blazing.

"None of your damn business," I muttered with a smirk, adjusting my dress and trying not to limp.

It was entirely Maleek's fault. I'd been halfway through my second coat of mascara when he decided that wasn't where the morning needed to go. By the time he stood up, pulled my dress back down, straightened his shirt, and murmured in my ear — "Don't let your sisters make you forget who the fuck you belong to tonight" — I was gripping the bathroom counter for support and my lash was already lifting.

I was still floating when Tina texted me.

Tina :

Outside. Hurry up, heifer.

Now here I was, barely recovered, heels already hurting, and faced with a full-blown girls' day orchestrated by a demon in a leopard print bucket hat.

The van door slid open with a loud whoosh, revealing my crew in all their ratchet glory.

Everyone was dressed for mayhem. Hair laid. Nails weaponized. Dresses tight enough to bankrupt a marriage. The energy inside the van hit me like glitter and bad decisions. Bella was stretched across the back row in a plunging pink romper and chunky platform boots, sipping something suspicious out of a neon green flask that read "Gavin Who?" in glittery script.

Alicia, Kia, and Imani were in the back with her, drinking out of their own flasks.

Ms. Reesie sat prim and proper in the jump seat closest to the door, legs crossed at the ankle, sipping brown liquor from a bedazzled tumbler that read Jesus Is My Homeboy. Her pinky was raised. Her lashes were twenty-five millimeters long. She was already tipsy.

Bella held up a flask toward me—bright yellow, customized in black vinyl.

"Future Ex-Wife."

I laughed and took it, unscrewing the top to sniff. It smelled like pineapple and regrets.

"I'm sorry," I said, eyeing the monstrosity they pulled up in. "Are we committing crimes today? What the hell is this murder van?"

"A hot pink murder van," Tina corrected, grinning from the driver's seat. "We fancy."

"I'm scared," I deadpanned, climbing in and immediately getting swallowed into a cloud of expensive perfume, sticky lip gloss, and Black Girl Magic.

"You should be," Alicia said sweetly, passing me a stack of yellow sashes like they were evidence. Bella grabbed one and dramatically draped it across my chest like I was being crowned.

It read:

"Hotter Without Him."

The whole van screamed in approval.