If I Was Your Best Friend

Chapter 1 Asia

"No."

The word escaped my lips a fraction of a second before she finished her question.

My best friend cocked her head to the side and pursed her lips at me. "Asia." The weak December sunlight filtered through fog-kissed windows, catching the burgundy undertones in Bella's dark hair and the annoyed set of her jaw.

"I said no, Bella." I wrapped my hands around my oversized mug of hot chocolate, grateful for the warmth seeping into my fingers still stiff from the biting wind outside.

"Why not?" she whined, and I glanced around the packed cafe before providing my response.

The space was crowded—college students with steaming cups beside their laptops, professionals in scarves and coats having meetings over coffee, all of them creating a pleasant murmur that provided privacy to our conversation.

"I already told you, I'm not interested in a relationship right now. Plus, you should know enough about me to know I would never agree to a blind date. And especially not with one of your coworkers." I shifted in my seat, the wooden chair creaking beneath the weight of my coat draped over its back.

Bella blinked in mock-offense. "Damn, rude much? What's wrong with my coworkers? Que is sexy as hell!" She slid her phone off the wooden table and eagerly swiped her screen to show me a picture of him, but I was already shaking my head.

"Then why don't you date him?" A barista called out an order over the soft jazz playing through the speakers.

She stopped mid-scroll and eyed me. "Because I work with him. I'm not fucking up my coins over no nigga."

"Exactly," I replied. "So why would I want to date your coworker?"

She squinted. "Because you don't work at the company…?" She pulled her chunky knit cardigan tighter around herself as someone opened the door.

I remained silent, sipping my hot frappuccino and hoping the moment would pass so she would forget about trying to hook me up with yet another nigga.

It didn't.

Bella swiped her screen a couple more times then turned her phone to face me.

I had to admit, Que was fine. Caramel colored skin, amber eyes, well groomed beard and starter locs on the top of his head.

A brief vision of me running my fingers through those locs as he tongued me down flashed through my mind but I quickly squelched it.

These niggas had taken me through the ringer enough times as it was. I had no more room for games.

Bella's eyes twinkled like she knew she had me. Placing her phone back on the rustic wooden surface, she grinned. "Right, like I said."

I huffed. "You ain't said shit, 'cause I still ain't going."

She blew out a breath that disturbed the artful foam leaf atop her latte. "Ugh, you're impossible."

"I get it from you."

We sipped our drinks in silence for a few, my mind on an upcoming work project and Bella's mind on God knows what. The café hummed with quiet conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Then she placed her mug down on the table with a soft clink and grinned at me again.

"I know…" she drawled. "A group outing!"

I wrinkled my nose and repeated her words, watching a barista place a fresh pile of cinnamon sticks next to the register. "A group outing?"

"Yes." Her eyes held that twinkle again as she leaned forward. "We can all go as a group - me and you, along with Que and a couple of his friends. That way it won't feel like a blind date, you can still get to know him, and shit, if he has any sexy friends, maybe I can get some dick too."

She almost had me til that last part. "Girl, what?" I choked out, nearly spitting my drink across the table, drawing a disapproving glance from the man in a wool scarf reading a newspaper at the next table.

Bella burst out in a fit of giggles.

"Oops, did I say that part aloud?" Her smile widened, the deep berry lipstick she wore perfectly intact despite her drink.

I rolled my eyes.

She continued, tapping her manicured nails against her cup. "But I'm saying though, what other plans would you have for this weekend?"

"Oh so now we're setting dates?" I reached for the cinnamon shaker to add another dash to my chocolate.

"Yes, we are. And you're coming. You have to, because it's not a date.

I'm your friend, and he'll bring his friend, and we both might get fucked by the end of the night.

" Her voice carried just enough for the barista behind the counter to glance our way, a knowing smile on his lips as he steamed milk for another order.

Shaking my head, I gave in. "Girl, you are impossible."

"I get it from you,” she replied in a tongue-in-cheek fashion, then stuck out her tongue at me.

***

I didn't know why I always allowed Bella to talk me into shit.

Rolling my eyes as I styled my hair, I huffed out an exasperated breath. It was not behaving tonight. The lighting above me highlighted every imperfection, every strand out of place.

First, I tried an updo, but little lumps of hair kept popping up and I got tired of trying to comb them down.

Then I went for a straight back ponytail, but it looked boring.

Then I was going to go with two braids, but it was giving elementary school. I glanced at my phone on the countertop, the screen illuminating briefly with another text from Bella: You better not bail on me! The time read 7:15 PM. I was already running late.

I was tired of this night already.

Might as well throw my whole head away.

Huffing and puffing and cussing out Bella, I stared at myself in the mirror.

Why was I upset?

Of course I knew why. My ex boyfriend Quan had taken me through the ringer. Two years had passed since we broke up, but it seemed like the longer I spent away from him, the less interested I became in love and relationships.

I couldn't understand it.

He hadn’t done anything spectacularly different from the other bad relationships I had been in - it's that he was the last straw.

It seemed that the men these days weren't interested in settling down and building something solid. They refused to treat you like a queen because they were too busy trying to be a motherfucking princess.

Since when was the man the prize?

Last time I read my Bible, it said he who found a wife found a good thing, not the other way around.

Granted, I understood that some women used and abused men just like men did women, but I wasn't one of them. Whenever I was in a relationship, I went hard for my nigga. Loyal to a fault, and look where it got me.

My mind traveled back to Bella. Her story wasn't much better than mine - in fact, hers was worse.

Her last nigga had the audacity to put his hands on her.

Thankfully, my friend was able to get away from him after that - with a little help from her brothers.

My lips curved into a devious smile as I replayed the imagery of Boston's ass getting stomped out in my mind.

Served him right - Bella was a beautiful, caring woman who did way too much for that nigga to treat her like he did.

I reached for the tube of concealer on the countertop, the expensive brand I splurged on because it was the only one that matched my skin tone perfectly.

The outfit I'd chosen for tonight was laid out on my bed – a deep burgundy sweater dress that hugged my curves just right, black tights, and knee-high boots. Simple but sexy, casual but put-together. Nothing that screamed "trying too hard" but enough to make an impression.

Even though Bella went harder for her niggas than I did, we were in the same boat, except I was ready for shore.

As much as I told myself I was over relationships, I wasn't done. If the right man came along, maybe things would work out. But I was damn near forty. How long would it take for the "right man" to come along?

Was there such a thing?

I was starting to think there wasn't.

When I was younger and fantasizing about love and marriage, older woman would always say that relationships weren't what they were cracked up to be.

I never understood what those older women meant til I found myself in a bunch of bullshit and drama. These men were so damn childish, I couldn't deal.

Sucking my teeth and rolling my eyes, I hurried to fix my hair again. The clock on the wall showed 7:30 now – Bella would be calling any minute to rush me. I could almost hear her voice already, the mix of excitement and impatience that always came when she was waiting on me.

Settling on the updo, I smoothed down the sides, inspecting my head from all angles to ensure not a hair was out of place.

***

The moment Que approached us with another guy I presumed he brought for Bella, I knew I had wasted my damn time.

From the way he studied me, he felt the same.

He was attractive, just like his pictures showed, but I wasn't attracted to him. I didn't feel a flame, a spark, nothing.

Judging from his quick scan of my face and body, then the micro-expression of disinterest I spotted before he fixed his features, the feeling was mutual.

Oh well.

Bella didn't seem to get the memo. She was all giggly, and from the way she eyed Que's friend, I could see why. Her breath came out in visible puffs in the cold air as she laughed at something he said.

They didn't share the problem Que and I did.

It was obvious there was attraction between Bella and whatever the hell his name was.

The way they gravitated toward each other reminded me of magnets, unconsciously decreasing the space between them with each passing second while Que and I maintained our polite distance.

Que took charge. "Bella, this is my boy Blake." He turned to me. "And you are?"

I took his outstretched hand and shook it, his palm warm against the night chill. "I'm Asia. Nice to meet you."

Que nodded and smiled. "Nice to meet you too."

"Damn, Que, you ain't tell me your coworker was this fine," Blake said, not taking his eyes off my best friend.

I studied Blake and decided I liked him for Bella.

He was tall, brown-skinned, and clean shaven with alluring eyes.

That nigga better do right by her too. The leather jacket he wore couldn't hide his broad shoulders, and the way he looked at Bella was refreshingly direct and respectful at the same time.

"Shall we, ladies?" Que said, playing host, and he gestured toward Dave and Busters. The warmth from inside escaped through the doors as a group exited, bringing with it the sounds of arcade games, laughter, and the clink of glasses.

Inside, the atmosphere enveloped us —the flashing game lights, the smell of fried appetizers, and the buzz of conversation punctuated by occasional shouts of victory from the arcade area.

We settled into a booth with plush seats, the table between us dotted with condensation rings from previous patrons.

Despite the lack of romantic chemistry, Que and I fell into an easy conversation about work and our mutual connections.

He had a dry sense of humor that made me laugh, and I found myself enjoying his company in a way I hadn't expected.

I felt comfortable with him, like I was talking to a cousin I hadn't seen in a while.

Hours passed in a blur of shared nachos, friendly trash talk, and the comfortable rhythm of four people enjoying each other's company.

When it was time to leave, my feet ached from standing and my cheeks hurt from more smiling than I'd done in months. The night air hit us as we pushed through the exit doors, even colder now that midnight approached.

Que held the door open as we filed out. I glanced at Bella, whose fingers were now intertwined with Blake's, her eyes sparkling. A small pang of something tugged at my chest.

"Tonight was fun," I said to Que as we walked across the parking lot. "Even if it wasn't what Bella planned." I gave him a knowing look that he returned with a chuckle.

‘Cause how was she trying to hook me up with Que and ended up with a nigga for herself?

"I feel you," he replied, his voice low enough that only I could hear. "But I'm glad we came out anyway."

I was half-disappointed about not feeling butterflies for Que. He was good people—respectful, funny, stable. The kind of man I should want. But chemistry wasn't something you could force, and at least I'd made a new friend.

That's when I heard it—the quick, rhythmic footsteps of someone jogging toward us from across the lot.

"Yo! Hold up!" a deep voice called.

We turned in unison to see a figure approaching, tall and moving with purpose. My body tensed as I took in his features.

"My bad homie, I overslept," he said, out of breath as he dapped Que and Blake up.

He wore a charcoal peacoat over a simple black sweater, his dark jeans and boots completing an effortlessly put-together look.

A navy beanie covered his head, and a well-groomed beard and mustache framed his chocolate face.

His designer glasses glinted under the parking lot lights.

But when he looked at me and Bella out of curiosity, time seemed to stop.

Electricity flooded through my veins, sudden and overwhelming.

I stared at him, taking in his sharp jawline softened by full lips, the intensity of eyes so dark they absorbed light rather than reflected it, and the slight indent of a dimple in his right cheek as his mouth curved into a questioning half-smile.

In other words, this nigga was fine as hell.

His gaze roamed my face as if memorizing its contours.

The cool night air between us seemed to crackle with invisible static.

I didn't believe in love at first sight—hell, I barely believed in love at all anymore—but this.

.. this was something I couldn't explain away.

It was primal, magnetic, and terrifying in its immediacy.

Que looked between us, a knowing smirk spreading across his face as he caught the silent exchange. "Asia, this is my boy, Nyree." He paused. "Nyree, this is Asia, Bella's friend I was telling you about."

Nyree extended his hand, and when our palms met, the contact sent a shiver up my arm.

"Asia," he repeated, as if tasting my name.

His voice was deeper than I expected, with a slight rasp that tugged at something low in my stomach.

He sort of sounded like Lyfe Jennings, and my panties wettened at the imagination of him belting out a few lyrics.

"Nice to meet you," I managed, surprised my voice sounded normal when everything inside me felt scrambled.

"The pleasure's mine," he replied, holding my gaze a beat longer than necessary before releasing my hand.