Wait, what?
His words hit me like a gust of wind, stealing my breath.
“You don’t?” My voice trembles in surprise, and I must look at him like he’s sprouted a second forehead, because he barks out a deep, guttural laugh that’s strangely comforting.
“No, I don’t. I still think of you like a sister, E-boogie.” He nudges me with his elbow, taking in my appearance, from the strappy silver heels to the bold red lips, lingering on my short hair. “I like the new look. It suits you.” His smile softens, then fades into something more wistful. “I’ve been listening to your videos, and, uh, knowing Jules didn’t value you like he should have…” He shakes his head. “If he wasn’t my brother, I would’ve kicked his ass.”
We both laugh, and I love him even more for saying that.
The fact that I can be angry with his brother and still care so deeply for him is a reminder that, even while I’m reinventing myself, I don’t want to lose my core values. I never want to hide behind a hard shell, distancing myself from the people who make me feel like the best version of me.
“Thank you for saying that, Nelly Belly.”
He pulls me into a smothering big-little-brother hug, assuring me he’ll always be there for me.
“Nelly?”
We both glance just off his shoulder toward a stunning Black woman with rich, radiant dark skin in a flowing gown. Her seductive eyes, framed by thick lashes, are locked on him, and we both know I should probably leave because I’m—
“Yeah, you’re cock-blocking, E,” Nelly whispers out the side of his mouth.
Exactly.
“Oh, well, it was so good seeing you. Take care.” I wave awkwardly at the woman, then hurry out of the private area toward the restroom.
Except, when I step back out, makeup refreshed and ready to jump into the mix before the event wraps up, I can’t make myself move past the bar. My feet root to the ground as I spot Lincoln Bridges sitting on a center stool, legs stretched out, work boots planted on the floor, and sleeves rolled up, showing off his tattooed forearms.
Dear,sweet Jesus.
A beguiling smile curves his full lips as he watches me.
Immediately, I can’t tell if I should be glad or mad at myself for choosing this dress, because I’m going into withdrawals. Even thinking of his mouth on me feels like a gateway drug, and I’m heading down a dangerous, addictive path. Every time I see him, all I can think of is how I want more—harder, faster—hits of him.
“Any luck?” he asks, casually, across the bar.
“What?” At first, I have no idea what he’s talking about until he tips his head toward the private room. “Oh, no.” I chuckle, finally regaining feeling in my feet long enough to walk slowly over to him and settle on the stool by his side. “Were you in there, too?”
Linc softly shakes his head, letting his gaze drift, agonizingly slow, over my exposed thigh peeking through the slit.
“You look stunning,” he says, his words landing like a match striking low and tight in my belly.
“Thank you.” I avert my gaze, focusing on the fresh glass of honey-amber liquid in front of him. “Early nightcap before your road trip tomorrow?”
“Ah, no. Just buying myself some time before I head over for dinner with my mom and dad.”
I smile. “Oh, wow. You all still do weekly dinners?”
“Mm-hmm,” he replies, grinning.
But then our eyes meet, and I’m not sure if he’s testing my memory, recalling all the times he cut our tutoring sessions short to make it to family dinner night.
We both say, almost at the same time, “The best flowers come from the roots you nurture.”
In a glimmer of a moment, I forget all about the understated luxury of my dress and my Chanel clutch.
We laugh, obnoxiously loud and unhinged.
It feels so damn good.
