CHAPTER 3
Sasha stood at her kitchen sink, watching the light filter through the dusty blinds in long amber slants.
Her body felt different. Every movement carried a lingering, pleasant ache in her core, a hum deep in her lower belly that had not truly faded since the night Natasha had laid her on the living room floor.
Her skin felt warm, responsive, hyper aware of the cotton tank top clinging to her chest and the bare wood beneath her feet.
Outside, a horn blared on East Grand Boulevard, followed by the familiar, low bass rumble of an old Chevy passing by. A second later, two quick knocks rattled her front door.
Sasha pulled the door open to find Mandy leaning against the doorframe, a giant cup of iced coffee in one hand and her heavy leather purse slung over her shoulder.
Mandy was East Side through and through, dressed in a bright orange crop top that showed off her soft brown stomach and fitted denim shorts that hugged her hips.
Her hair was styled in long, immaculate box braids that clicked together as she stepped inside.
"Look at you," Mandy said immediately, setting her coffee on the counter and pulling Sasha into a tight, warm hug that smelled of coconut oil and vanilla perfume. "You looking like you actually got eight hours of sleep for once in your life. What is going on with you?"
Sasha let out a low, throaty laugh, returning the squeeze before stepping back. "I am getting sleep, girl. Just busy. Working on the business stuff with Natasha."
Mandy raised one sculpted eyebrow, her dark eyes flashing with a wicked, knowing humor. "Oh, is that what we calling it now? Business stuff? Because the last time I checked, business stuff do not make a woman look like she glowing from the inside out."
"Shut up, Mandy," Sasha chuckled, turning toward the bedroom to grab her keys. "Come on, let us go get these groceries before the store gets packed. I am out of everything."
They took Sasha's old Impala, rolling down the windows to let the morning breeze blow through the cabin. They drove down Jefferson, passing the old brick facades and the vacant lots where wildflowers grew high, heading toward the large supermarket on the corner of Conner Avenue.
The parking lot was already half full, smelling of hot asphalt and fresh bread drifting from the bakery vent on the side of the building.
Sasha grabbed a cart, the metal wheels rattling against the concrete as they walked through the double sliding glass doors into the blast of cool air conditioning.
"So," Mandy started, leaning her elbows against the cart as Sasha pushed them past the display of fresh berries and melons.
Her voice dropped low, sliding into that intimate, gossipy register they had used since they were fourteen years old sitting on porch steps.
"Tell me for real. How does it feel? Like, for real getting taken down by a woman?
Not just playing around behind the rec center like when we were kids. The real thing."
Sasha felt a slow wave of heat creep up her neck, making the roots of her Bantu knots tingle.
She kept her eyes on a pile of dark red plums, but her mind immediately flashed back to the feeling of Natasha's fingers deep inside her, the cool metal of her nipple barbell clicked against Natasha's teeth, the heavy weight of Natasha's thigh pinned between her legs.
Years ago, back when the neighborhood was still full of grandmothers on porches and streetlights that actually worked, Sasha and Mandy had shared a quiet, trembling kiss behind the brick wall of the community center.
It had been sweet, clumsy, and terrifying.
Sasha had panicked back then, pulling away and running all the way home, afraid of what that softness meant.
They had never spoken of it again, preserving their sisterhood above all else.
"It is different," Sasha said softly, her voice dropping into a serious, honest register.
"It is not like with these niggas, Mandy.
It is not just somebody trying to hurry up, get theirs, and turn over to go to sleep.
It is... heavy. She looks at me like she wants to eat every piece of me, but she takes her time.
She listens to my body. When she touches me, it feels like she really sees who I am. "
Mandy stopped walking, looking at Sasha with a soft, genuine smile that softened her sharp features. "Damn. You really got it bad for her, huh?"
"I like her," Sasha admitted, her dimples digging deep into her cheeks. "A lot. She treats me right. She respects what I am trying to build. And in the bed... man, she is vicious."
Mandy threw her head back and laughed, a bright, loud sound that made an older lady picking out greens turn around to look at them.
"That is what I am talking about! Get yours, girl!
You suffered through that broke bitch Jermaine for two whole years.
You deserve somebody who knows what the fuck she is doing. "
They moved through the aisle, tossing in bags of yellow onions, garlic, fresh collard greens, sweet potatoes, and packages of seasoned chicken thighs. The routine of shopping together felt comfortable, a piece of their childhood carrying over into their adult lives.
They were standing near the fruit displays, Sasha reaching up to grab a bag of seedless oranges, when a heavy shoulder slammed violently into her side, knocking her back against the cart.
"Watch where the fuck you going," a harsh, raspy voice barked right in her ear.
Sasha spun around, her fists clenching automatically, the hood instincts rising in her chest like a sudden flash fire. Standing there in a heavy gray hooded sweatshirt despite the morning heat was Jermaine.
His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw unwashed and covered in dark stubble. He looked mean, desperate, and entirely unhinged.
"What the fuck do you want, Jermaine?" Sasha spat, stepping right toward him, her tall frame towering over him as her eyes narrowed into dark slits.
"You embarrassed me, bitch," Jermaine hissed, keeping his voice low so the store employees down the aisle would not notice. "You had them security niggas put their hands on me at that lounge. You think you somebody now because you hanging around that rich old woman?"
Sasha did not hesitate. She took one long stride forward until her chest was nearly touching his, her heavy breasts pushing against the cotton of her tank top, her body vibrating with pure rage.
"Who the fuck are you calling a bitch?" Sasha growled, her voice dropping into a register so dark it made the air around them go rigid. "You got a lot of nerve showing your ugly face around me. I told you what would happen if I saw you again."
Mandy came around the metal cart fast, her heavy leather purse swinging into her right hand. Her face had gone completely flat, all the easy humor gone, replaced by the cold, dangerous look of a woman raised on the East Side.
"Jermaine, what the fuck are you doing?" Mandy demanded, her hand sliding deep into the side pocket of her bag. "Are you fucking stalking us now?"
Jermaine flicked his eyes toward Mandy, his lip curling up in a sneer. "Shut the fuck up, Mandy. This ain't got shit to do with you. Stay out of it before you get hurt."
"Everything concerns me when it comes to my sister," Mandy said calmly.
Her fingers curled tightly around the solid, heavy steel grip inside her purse.
She shifted her weight, unzipping the pocket just enough for the dark metal frame of a snub nosed revolver to catch the fluorescent light.
"I suggest you back the fuck off right now before I pull this blick out and put six rounds through your gray sweater right here in front of the peaches. "
Jermaine froze. His eyes dropped to her bag, taking in the unmistakable shape of the weapon and the cold, unblinking certainty in Mandy's dark eyes. He knew Mandy was not playing. He knew if he made one wrong step, she would pull that trigger and deal with the court date later.
"You bitches are crazy," Jermaine muttered, taking two fast steps backward, his hands coming up in a defensive motion. "You crazy as hell."
"Step," Sasha commanded, her voice like a heavy hammer falling on iron.
Jermaine turned on his heel and walked fast toward the front doors, practically running by the time he hit the automatic sensors and burst out into the muggy parking lot.
Sasha stood there, her chest heaving, her knuckles white from how hard her fists were clenched.
Mandy slowly let her hand relax inside her purse, pulling the zipper shut with a small metal click. She took a deep breath, stepping up beside Sasha and touching her shoulder gently. "You good, baby?"
"Yeah," Sasha breathed out, her shoulders slowly dropping as she forced the adrenaline out of her system. "Yeah. I am fine. Just sick of that nigga. He just will not stay dead."
"He scared now," Mandy said firmly, giving her arm a reassuring squeeze. "He knows we ain't playing with him. Come on, let us pay for this food and get out of here."
***
By four in the afternoon, Sasha had transformed her apartment into a sanctuary.
The windows were cracked just enough to let the afternoon breeze carry in the sound of distant traffic and birds, while the ceiling fan spun in slow, quiet circles above the living room.
The scent of seasoned chicken frying in garlic, onions, and sweet peppers filled every corner of the home, thick and rich, mixing with the sharp, earthy smell of greens simmering slowly on the back burner with smoked turkey.
Sasha stepped out of her bathroom, fresh from a long, scorching shower that had washed away the tension of the morning.
Her skin was glowing, glistening with a light layer of sweet almond oil.
She wore simple blue denim shorts that rode high on her thighs and a thin white tank top that left her broad, tattooed shoulders and nipple piercings completely visible through the light fabric.