I slide my hands over the ridges of his abs and chest to link my wrists behind his head, peppering gentle kisses over his lips. “You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you?”
“Not a chance.” Grip rests his hands at my hips, pulling me into his hard heat. “You can be a bird—my pretty bird.”
I lift to touch my lips to his, ready to settle into a stolen kiss before we have to get back to the party.
“I shoulda known,” Ms. James says from the kitchen door, hands braced on her hips. “Sent you in here to get Bristol, and here you go, all booed up.”
Grip and I both laugh, holding each other loosely, our bodies cooling off as his mother approaches the sink.
“I heard you needed this.” She hands me a Band-Aid before leaning over to inspect my handiwork, nodding her approval.
“Good job.” She starts transferring the greens into a large pot of water. “That’s enough for today.”
“But I just washed!” My mouth hangs open. “I didn’t learn anything new.”
“You gotta work your way up to my greens, girl.” A quick grin creases the still smooth skin at her eyes. “Next time, you boil.”
I take in her friendly face like a balm to the abrasions from my conversation with Jade. The first time I was in this house, Grip’s mother and I weren’t friendly. We didn’t exchange smiles, and there was no affection slowly growing between us. It’s been baby steps for us, both of us loving Grip and wanting to know and like each other for his sake. If I can have this with Ms. James, I have to believe one day I’ll have it with Jade, too. This warmth I’m basking in between Grip and his mother, the sense of family with them in this kitchen and permeating the entire house—I want it. I never had it for myself growing up, and I’m adopting it as my own.
I lean into Grip’s chest, tucking my head into his neck and smiling at his mother, who watches us with eyes warmer than I ever thought they would be.
“You’re right, Ms. James.” I give her a quick nod, returning her smile. “Next time.”
Chapter 9
Grip
BRISTOL’S laugh hooks me from across the yard, drawing my attention from the abysmal hand of cards I’m holding. If you’re playing Spades and all your cards are red, that’s not good. These cards are bleeding, but at least Bristol is still having fun. It’s amazing the wonders food and alcohol can work. With a full belly and a bottle of beer, she’s seated in a circle of lawn chairs, shoes off, hair tumbled from the knot she had it in earlier. She throws her head back, the muscles in her throat contracting to push out the sound that takes over everything else, at least for me.
She’s sitting with Shon and several of the girls I’ve known all my life. Once they realized Bristol knows everyone in the music business and manages many of its hottest stars, she became really popular. They wanted all the gossip she could divulge. Talk of music quickly shifted to her shoes, her bag collection, where we’ll be living in New York, all the details of our so-called glamorous life. Bristol isn’t one of those women who has lots of friends. Over the years, she has hand- picked a tight circle of people she trusts and would do anything for. Under the prickliness, and when she sets her mind to it, she’s all charm. She has my lifelong friends eating from her hand and hanging on her every word.
Bristol was nervous and stiff at first, and I can’t blame her. This isn’t an easy group to jump into. Some are territorial, many mistrusting, and a few just downright biased when it comes to white women. But, they’re also the most loving, supportive, give-you-the-clothes-off-their-back people you’ll ever meet. They’re my family, with or without blood. I know some of them don’t like or understand that I’ve chosen to spend my life with Bristol, but that’s all based on shit assumptions. I’ve seen too much good in their hearts to believe they’ll hold on to those notions once they see how much I love her and how good she is for me, once they see how much she loves me, and that is one thing Bristol can’t hide. My dick twitches when I remember her confessing her possessiveness in the kitchen. This party is for me, but I’m wondering how soon we can be out. I leave tomorrow for New York, and Bristol won’t be able to join me there for at least the next week or so. With Kai’s debut album dropping Tuesday, Bristol can’t and won’t leave her side.
So, I’m thinking we should probably fuck a lot before I leave.
“Man, it’s getting late.” I lay my awful hand of cards facedown on the table. “You guys still into this game or you wanna call it?”
Please call it so I can take
Bris home.
“Oh, no. We’re finishing this, ese.” Mateo, my friend since elementary school, wrinkles the folds of skin above his brows into a frown. “You always trying to get ghost when you have a sorry hand. I know you.”
I roll my eyes and, resigned to finishing this crappy game, pick up the blood-red cards.
“Maybe if you concentrate on the game,” Mateo says, never looking up from his hand, steadily shifting cards around, “instead of drooling over your girl, you and your partner wouldn’t be in the hole.”
“I’m focused,” I say, distracted again when Bristol gets up and crosses the yard toward us.
“I meant focused on the game. I give you a pass, though.” Mateo turns his stare on Bristol, too. “’Cause your girl’s fine as hell, Marl.”
He’s one of the few who never took to calling me Grip, which always irritated me, but not nearly as much as the fact that he’s still looking.
“Matty.” I lean forward to snap my fingers in his face. “Eyes on the cards and off my girl.”
“Awww, you skeered I’ll take her from you?” The bastard blows me an air kiss.
Mateo, half Black, half Mexican, hair loose and hanging down to his waist, is a good four hundred pounds. I have nothing to worry about, but his remark does make me crack a smile. We both laugh, but when she gets closer and his eyes drift over her long, tanned legs, the laugh clogs in my throat.