Chapter 27
Antonio
Ibroke our friendship code. Balled it up, did a crossover dribble, and shot a three over whatever line Miriam and I told ourselves not to cross.
The line is more figurative than literal, but I’m pretty sure tasting her mouth isn’t allowed.
There’s no excuse. Everything went blank when disappointment weighed in her smile. How the hell does she think she’s not my type when she’s the fucking blueprint of my desires? My toes are scraping my flip-flops right now, trying to keep me from levitating off the ground.
Every dip and curve of Miriam’s body excites me to the point of shame. She’s right that the women I mess with don’t look like her. Why would I want a copy when the original is right here?
The moment our lips touched, I saw a future with her. A house, and higher insurance deductibles. If today is my last day on Earth, I’ll happily go to the upper room with a two-step and a smile.
I kissed her. I’m still kissing her, and I don’t have the brain cells or the common sense to tell me how bad of an idea this is. I’m pretty sure you need blood to think, and every ounce in my body is headed south.
Words were a safer option, but I went with what felt right. Apparently, that involves my tongue massaging her trachea.
I swallow another moan, unsure if it’s hers or mine. I inhale rose oil mixed with sunscreen when I kiss Miriam’s neck. Her gasp pulls my lips back to hers while my hands toy with her hips under a layer of spandex.
I’ve never wanted to be a swimsuit so bad.
I’m high on her.
The lips wilting against mine.
The thighs teasing me in that one-piece.
At this point, detaching myself from her will take an act of God.
Or a bucket of ice.
“Shi—”
“Ahh!”
Ice cubes mixed with freezing water spill over my neck and down my shirt. I move Miriam out of the way to keep her dry as I squeal at the razors shooting down my back. There’s ice in my ass.
“Yo!” A few pieces fall through my trunks.
“My bad, Cap! I was aiming for Bread!” Quincy yells, sprinting away with an ice bucket in hand. He knotted a towel around his neck to match his superhero trunks, and he’ll need special powers to outrun Bread.
“You okay?” I cup Miriam’s face. She blinks slowly but nods.
The party resettles to hits from the ’90s and ’00s. Drinks are in the air, bodies swaying through a cool breeze. No one is paying attention to us tonguing each other down. They either don’t care or have seen me with enough women to know no one sticks.
Would you be willing to stick for her?
Everything is back to normal. Everything except us.
The water droplets scattered across her glasses catch in the sunlight. She wets her lips, drawing my mouth in to follow the path of her tongue.
The DJ’s record scratch is another ice bucket.
“Whoa.”
“I’m sorry!” I lift my hands and step back. “I got caught in the moment.”
“Young’s modulus—”
“It was an accident, Doe. I swear.”
“—quotient between longitudinal stress and material strain.”
I rub the back of my neck. “I’m fucking this up.”
Miriam frowns. “I should go.”
Shit, I’m scaring her off.
She disappears between bodies on the makeshift dance floor. I ball my hands into fists to stop myself from doing something else stupid, like chasing after her to kiss her again.
What the hell did I do?
I didn’t mean to. At least, I don’t think I did. She looked amazing, the opportunity was there, and I…this is bad.
It’s been a minute since I kissed anyone.
Come to think of it, I haven’t kissed or slept with anyone since I ran into her at the MLK celebration.
Maybe that’s why I pounced, but that can’t be true.
I’ve been around half-naked women since we came to the pool and didn’t brick like I did when I untied Miriam’s robe.
The urge to satisfy my need for release with a random willing participant isn’t there anymore. It’s her.
“Someone’s in love.”
“Shut up.” I have zero interest in Kendrick’s poolside commentary.
His small braids are in a ponytail, his feet kicked up with a towel covering his blue swim trunks. He eyes me over the rim of his sunglasses and flips the newspaper in his hand. “Had your leg in the air and your toe pointed.”
I collapse onto the lounger next to him and cover my face. “I’m fucked.”
“The first step is admitting it, Papa Smurf.”