Chapter Twenty-Nine #2
“Well, Black don’t crack.” Brittney quipped without looking at me.
I’d been noticing how fleeting her glances had been.
Like she thought the second we made eye contact, I’d know every deep dark secret of hers.
Meanwhile, I didn’t have any secrets, and the idea of spilling my guts to her didn’t feel so scary anymore.
It felt like we were eighteen again, thrown into a crash course of how much we could learn about each other in the smallest amount of time.
I closed my eyes and saw our younger selves, my unbleached hair and Brittney’s space buns.
I felt the slip of her hand into mine, the goosebumps I’d blamed on the nerves of being pierced but were actually nerves I got only around her.
A mix of fear because she was so good and so beautiful.
There was a brief period of time where she’d looked at me with warmth and familiarity, even when we were strangers.
And it felt like I was getting that old look back now.
“How are you feeling now?” She faced her body toward me and leaned her arm and head on the back of the couch.
I rolled my neck, trying to find the words. I didn’t want to unload, I was used to carrying everything inside and letting it out when I played. But I was still two weeks away from training camp, and someone had to know losing to the Violets this season, no matter how many games, wasn’t an option.
“Are we on an emotional rant basis yet?” I asked timidly. My need for human connection beat out pride telling me to keep everything close to my chest. I didn’t know who I was right now.
But maybe I felt myself softening around Brittney, within these walls.
Her arm crossed into my space without hesitation, her face turning sincere and kind at the sound of my voice.
She grabbed my hand, her skin immediately making mine feel like it was engulfed in fire, and I had to look down to make sure it wasn’t.
I forgot how her hands were slightly smaller than mine, but her grip was firm, like she was sending every ounce of strength to me, whether she knew I needed it or not.
“We are absolutely on an emotional rant basis, Nola.”
I nodded my head, the last ounce of hesitance and full acceptance of us being friends, I guessed, shifting in my brain to accommodate for our new dynamic.
“I finally spoke to my mom.”
“Oh, shit.”
“Tell me about it.”
“And that was…good?”
“As good as it could go.”
“And yet…” She tilted her head, her thumb swiping back and forth on my hand. “You don’t look like a weight’s been lifted off your shoulders.”
“Because what’s an apology when this isn’t the end? We’re going to play the Violets in forty-seven days.”
“Have you ever played against your mom?”
“Not unless it had to do with her coaching me on my performance.”
“Okay, so we’ll beat your mom.” Brittney declared matter-of-factly.
“You say that like it’s so easy.”
Now she definitely looked confused. “Is it not? You’re afraid of what everyone’s going to say when the season starts. Can we play together? Are we too stacked? Is a team with a former MVP and Olympian what a losing team needs to become a winning team? I can keep going if you want.”
“No, I got it.”
“Right. So, we just prove them wrong.” Our hands tightened around each other’s, my stomach rocking like a boat. “What happened to the cocky Nola? You know I used to want to wrap my hands around your mouth?”
“Yeah, I know. So instead you used to elbow my jaw.” I rolled my eyes.
“Hey, that was always accidental.” She winked, and I saw stars. “I think the league knew not to mic you up. You talk dirty.”
“I like getting under your skin.”
“Or do you like trying to make me blush?”
Oh so we’re going there.
A smile bloomed on my face, the muscles moving into their natural home, the smile I used to get people to love me a little more, give me a free shot at the bar, and charm plenty of pretty girls into my bed.
Do I want Brittney in my bed? Will that get this energy we have to finally die down? Just pent up sexual frustration.
I cleared my throat; tried to regain some type of composure and blurted out, “Are you a hugger?”
Okay so my composure just went out the window.
“Nola Belle Young.” Brittney smiled like the Cheshire Cat.
“Please, not my middle name.” I shook my head.
“I am a middle child, of course I’m a hugger. Do you want to hug? Are you asking for physical touch right now? I didn’t think you had it in you.”
“We’ve literally been holding hands this whole conversation.” I pointed out. Why did she think I’m allergic to people?
“And I know you liked it, but I didn’t know you could move so fast. I always thought you’d be a slow burner, make ‘em wait, you know, make girls beg for it or whatever you masc lesbians like to gloat about.”
She was baiting me. I knew it, and I still wanted to correct her; still wanted to prove her wrong as if she would even care that she’s wrong anyway.
I wanted to touch her. No, I didn’t. That would be stupid, and it wasn’t why I’d come here.
She was being a good friend. We should continue to try being good friends.
But I just didn’t want this moment to end.
“You don’t know how fast I can move.” I shook my head, begging for this townhouse to not feel so small and tight.
When did it get hot? When did I lose control of the conversation?
I was the one who was supposed to be making her hot and bothered.
But across from me, Brittney was the picture of unbothered.
Her eyes glinted with mischief—her default.
She leveled her gaze at me, her voice low, her words silky. “Actually, I know exactly how fast you can move.”
Her hand slipped out of mine, slowly moving up my thigh with a touch so light it was like she was a ghost, an apparition only I could see.
They reached the hem of my short t-shirt and I felt more than just her hands near my body.
Her eyes caressing thighs, the peak of my abs, my bottom lip.
Her fingertips skimmed the frayed fabric, back and forth, and I stopped breathing.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispered.
I was hypnotized—maybe in deep paralysis—but I was so deeply in tune with my body as everything around me slowed. I couldn’t get air through my windpipes, so I nodded.
She leaned in toward my face, her citrus tang wrapping me up in a blanket that made me hotter. I watched her gaze linger on my lips then back up to my eyes. She moved in closer again, so close I could practically taste her. But instead of our lips touching she moved toward my ear.
“I still think about how I made you moan.” The words flowed like lava from her lips to my ear to my brain. My mouth was dry; I was so goddamn hot I thought I actually might spontaneously combust.
I didn’t know if Brittney was playing me, or if she was giving into the attraction we shared. I’d be an idiot if I couldn’t figure out why we barely made eye contact and only felt sane when we weren’t in the same room.
But also what if she wasn’t?
Before I could over think it, my left hand caught her waist, my hand touching cotton when I’d much rather feel her bare skin. She was so close I didn’t have to lean forward to reach her ear.
“You’re the only girl I’ve ever moaned for,” I confessed.
She inhaled so softly, I would’ve missed it if we weren’t so close. Her fingertips danced from my shirt to my abdomen, her hands firm on my waist.
I didn’t want to lose this moment. I didn’t want our bodies to part. I wanted to hear her say my name. I wanted to see if she still tasted like she did all those years ago.
So I planted a soft kiss in between her jaw and earlobe. I didn’t think before I was planting a row of kisses down her jawline. Slower than I’d like, but at least giving Brittney the time to break away if this wasn’t what she wanted. If I wasn’t what she wanted.
But I knew I wanted her.
By the time I reached the corner of her mouth, I hovered. Her grip on my waist tightened.
And then we crashed into each other all over again.