It’s so damn easy with Bristol—our banter, the chemistry, the perfect rhythm of our conversation. It was one of the first things I noticed when we met all those years ago. We didn’t read each other’s minds or finish each other’s sentences. It wasn’t cosmic, but it was a connection that seized me by the brain and grabbed me by the balls. She was as smart as she was sexy, as curious as she was forthcoming. There were years in between when we made things complicated, when things were strained, but now with our hearts settled on each other for good, it’s simple.
This.
Her.
Us.
I’m as sure of her as I am that every night the moon will show up, the stars will shine down, and hours later, the sun will rise again.
This is my favorite part of every day. The sun is down, and we eat by fairy lights strung overhead. We both devour the steak and salad I prepared. When our plates are scraped clean, I’m on my second beer and Bristol has gone through half a bottle of red wine. We’re cracking each other up and just sharing what happened during our day, which leads her back to lunch with Kevin.
“Your fans would eat up a poetry book from you.” Bristol pours another glass of red. “And it would showcase the breadth of your talent beyond hip-hop.”
I stand and gather our plates. Bristol,
bottle in one hand and wine glass in the other, follows me to the door that leads back to the loft.
“I’ll think about it.” I gesture for her to walk ahead of me down the steps, mostly so I can catch glimpses of her ass under my shirt.
“Don’t just say you’ll think about it.” She looks over her shoulder, rolling her eyes when she catches me checking her out. “Really? You see me naked every day. Don’t guys ever mature beyond tenth grade?”
“Chronologically, yes.” I drop a kiss in her hair as I pass her prop- ping the door open for me. “In dick years, no.”
Her phone dings from the coffee table in the living room. I hate that phone sometimes. Managing entertainers, her work is around the clock and all over the globe. Bristol’s clients are usually spread across a few different time zones and never take into account the one she’s in.
“Hmmmm.” She takes another sip of her wine without glancing up from her phone. “You still interested in that panel in New York? The Artists as Activists thing?”
As soon as she says ‘New York,’ I’m reminded of my quandary. I have to talk to her about next semester before the night is over.
“Uh, yeah.” I load our plates and utensils into the dishwasher, watching her across the open space. “Definitely.”
“Hmmmm.” Bristol continues scanning whatever she’s reading, a slight dip between her brows.
“What’s up?” I ask. “Something wrong?”
I cross the room to read over her shoulder. It’s an email from the organizer, a popular New York-based radio personality named Angie Black with an army of loyal followers. I’m pretty sure Black isn’t her real last name, but she’s a titan on Black Twitter, #BlackGirlMagic at its best. I study the details, trying to figure out what has Bristol grunting and scowling, and then one name leaps from the list of panelists Angie provided.
Qwest.
“I didn’t know Qwest was invited.” I keep my voice casual, pull Bristol’s hair back, and tuck my chin into the crook of her neck and shoulder.
“Hmmmm,” she non-comments again, stepping away to set her wine glass on the counter, her monosyllable speaking volumes.
“You okay with that?” I grab her wrist, forcing her to face me. I cup the smooth line of her neck and lift her chin so I can see her expression. “I don’t have to do the panel.”
She squints in consideration for a few seconds, her lip between her teeth.
“No, it’s fine,” she finally says. “Qwest performed on tour with you this summer for a few shows and everything was okay, right?”
Qwest joined me on tour for two shows and everything seemed fine, but then I did avoid her like syphilis when we weren’t on stage together.
“Yeah.” I nod, keeping the syphilis qualifier to myself. “And you have to work on her next album, right?”
We struck a deal from the beginning—Qwest featured on my album, and I’d feature on hers. I also agreed to produce two of the other songs on her project.
“Those are all things I’m legally committed to do, though.” I kiss the corner of Bristol’s mouth. “If you don’t want me to do the panel, I won’t.”
“But you really want to do the panel.”