Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142866 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
“Speculation,” Judah cuts in, smiling in spite of the gravity he clearly tries to lend his tone. “That was purely speculation, and I’d prefer you keep it to yourself.”
“It’s Maverick Bell,” I blurt. After keeping our text messages and calls and nightly simul-watches of Top Boy a secret, I’m almost relieved to tell my friends. I need them to tell me it’s okay. That I haven’t crossed any lines. That I’m not in the wrong.
“Oh.” Soledad steps from Judah’s arms and walks back to the counter. She starts straightening things on trays and moving cheese around unnecessarily.
“Spit it out, Sol.” I roll my eyes. “You obviously have something to say based on how suddenly busy you are with your charcuterie.”
“It’s just…” She falters and looks at Yasmen, silently recruiting her help. “Ya know.”
“No, I don’t.” I squirm on my stool at the counter. “Tell me.”
“Well, didn’t he date your friend?” she asks. “Is that breaking some kind of girl code?”
“She and Zere are business associates,” Yasmen pipes up, reaching for the jam and drawing back when Soledad lightly pops her hand. “Not like besties. And Zere and Maverick have been apart for what? For how long?”
“About two months,” I reply weakly.
When I say it out loud, it seems like no time. And yet, I feel so close to Maverick; have felt connected almost from the beginning. The regularity of our communication has only heightened the sense of friendship. Hell, if I’m being honest, of intimacy. Not like fucking or phone sex or anything like that, but the way someone truly gets to know you, begins to anticipate your responses and untangles knots in you it usually takes others years to loosen.
“We’re just friends,” I say, and even I hear the defensive note in my voice. “Really we are.”
Damn. It’s getting worse.
“Babe, could you carry this through to the living room?” Soledad gives the tray to Judah and smiles in that disarming way that makes everyone do her bidding and like it.
“I’ll grab a tray, too,” Josiah says, taking the hint. He slaps Yasmen’s ass when he walks by, and the casual intimacy of it creates a tiny ache in my heart. When was the last time someone slapped my ass like that? Not in a gropey, creepy way like sneaking a feel in a crowded club, but with a possessive familiarity? A sureness that his touch would be welcome because there’s no place on me that doesn’t feel like his and there’s no place on him that doesn’t feel like mine?
Seeing my friends makes me realize that I do want that someday with the right person. Maybe I have wanted it for a while and not acknowledged it because I know I’m not settling for no trash man. And let’s face it, most men are trash. I don’t feel like getting on an app or meeting someone new, or figuring out if I’m being catfished. I’m too old to be bothered with that shit, so maybe I hid from myself that I want someone to touch me, to look at me like that. Someday.
“Okay if you’re just friends, great,” Yasmen says after their guys leave the kitchen. “If you’re more—”
“We’re not,” I cut in to assure them and myself. “We’re just friends.”
“And you don’t want more?” Soledad’s expression softens. “You know we won’t judge you if you want it to be more, Hen.”
I do know that, and as I look at my closest friends, I’m reminded that I’m not actually alone in this world. In addition to Mama and Aunt Geneva, I have Soledad and Yasmen, and by extension, their beautiful families, their amazing children. I have them all and I can be as honest with them as I need to be with myself.
“Am I attracted to him?” I ask. “Hell, yeah, of course I am. You saw the man in a wetsuit.”
Yasmen shivers dramatically. “It was a sight we won’t soon forget.”
“But it’s not just how he looks,” I say, fiddling with one of Soledad’s toothpicks and dropping my eyes to the counter. “He’s generous and thoughtful. When we’re together… when we talk… something sparks. I look forward to our conversations. He makes me think and question and… Well, I like having him in my life.”
I glance up, searching my friends’ faces. “Is that wrong?”
“Nothing wrong with any of that,” Soledad says. “I’m glad you have it. I just want every step you take to be with your eyes wide open. If something more than friendship develops with him, it gets complicated.”
“If there’s one thing you are more than anyone else I’ve ever met,” Yasmen says, dipping a pecan into the fig jam and grinning at Soledad’s indignant face, “it’s honest. You’re always honest with us. Make sure you’re being honest with yourself.”
A laughing roar erupts from the room next door.