“You came,” she said. She held her arms open.
Kiana hugged her quickly, patting her on the back softly before pulling away. “I almost didn’t,” she said.
Michelle raised an eyebrow and glanced over at Genevieve. “You didn’t respond to my text messages, but I’m sure you received my incentive,” she said with a wink.
“Yeah,” Kiana said. “I got it.” She looked over at Genevieve with a small shrug.
“Well, I’m glad you’re here,” Michelle said. She smoothed the front of her dress, which was short and strapless, color-blocked gray and black spandex that fit her like a second skin.
Kiana took a deep breath. She found it difficult to look into Michelle’s eyes. She needed to remember why she had come. She needed to forget the kiss from the other night. Yet, the glowing rainbow of a bar and enticing tug of the music threatened to pull her where she didn’t want to go. Heat rose to her cheeks. Genevieve cleared her throat and squeezed Kiana’s hand.
“I’m so fucking rude,” Kiana said. She turned to Genevieve, hoping for an encouraging smile. Genevieve delivered. “This is my friend, Genevieve,” she said.
Genevieve released Kiana’s hand with a smile and extended her hand to Michelle, who looked down at it with a smug twist of lips. She chuckled and pulled Genevieve into an unexpected embrace.
“It’s so nice to meet you,” Michelle said. She pulled away from Genevieve, running her hands down her arms and holding her wrists. Her eyes traveled the length of Genevieve’s body, lingering on her long, toned legs.
“Nice to meet you, too,” Genevieve said, gently pulling her arms away from Michelle’s grasp. She shot a confused look at Kiana.
“She’s pretty,” Michelle said to Kiana, her eyes still on Genevieve. “You like them pretty though. Pretty and easy.”
“Excuse me?” Genevieve said. She put her hands on her hips.
“Oh, I didn’t mean it like that,” Michelle said. She placed a hand on her chest and laughed. “I meant friendly, easygoing, like that.” She smiled. “I mean”—she turned to Kiana—“you’ve been here all of what? A few days?” She looked at both Kiana and Genevieve and said, “And here you both are. Friendly, cozy, and…” She shrugged and clapped her hands together. “Never mind.”
“Yeah,” Kiana said. “Never mind.”
Genevieve raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips, her hands still on her hips, her head cocked on her shoulders.
“Let’s go get a drink,” Michelle said. She spun and headed toward the bar.
Kiana exhaled and reached out to massage Genevieve’s shoulders. “See why I needed a friend?”
“Because your ex-girlfriend is a bitch?” Genevieve said. She relaxed under Kiana’s fingertips. Her arms dropped to her sides. She smiled.
“She’s just…” Kiana stopped and watched Michelle at the bar. She leaned on it, the light beneath the bar changing from red to orange, an inviting glow leading the way from her ankles and up her smooth, shapely legs, chasing away the shadows between her thick thighs. “She’s just a little rough around the edges. Like you,” Kiana said with a final caress along the nape of Genevieve’s neck. She rested her hands on her shoulders.
Genevieve removed Kiana’s hands from her body. “Baby, me and that character over there, ain’t got nothing in common.”
Kiana smiled. “Okay. I’m sorry if I saw a connection there. I like what I like,” she said.
Genevieve raised her eyebrow in challenge, slapping at Kiana’s shoulder.
“What?” Kiana chuckled. “Come on.”
By the time they reached the bar, Michelle had already ordered three drinks.
“I know you don’t like mixed drinks, Kiana,” Michelle said, picking up one of the Collins glasses filled with what looked like dark, angry pink lemonade. She handed the drink to Kiana, who took it hesitantly. “Well, I know you don’t prefer mixed drinks.” She picked up another drink and held it out to Genevieve. “Truth is, Kiana’s never met a drink she didn’t like,” she whispered in Genevieve’s direction. She giggled. “Here. This one’s yours.”
Genevieve smiled a small, phony smile. “No, thank you. I don’t drink.”
Michelle’s eyes widened, and she put the drink down on the bar, her mouth gaped open. She burst into raucous laughter. “Seriously?” She looked at Kiana.
Genevieve set her jaw on edge.
“Seriously,” Kiana said. She turned to Genevieve. “I’ll get you a cranberry juice.” Genevieve smiled that same fake smile at Kiana, and her heart sank. Genevieve walked over to the opposite side of Kiana and leaned back on the bar, staring straight ahead. The woman with the carefree copper hair and razor sharp nose came up to Michelle, who composed herself by sipping from her drink.
“I’m surprised at you,” Michelle said. The copper-haired woman whispered in her ear. “Excuse me a second,” Michelle said. She and the woman took a step back and entered into a hushed conversation.
Kiana turned, raised her hand, and smiled as one of the bartenders came over to her right away. The woman licked her shapely, red-tinted lips and leaned on the bar, her breasts propped up against the rounded glass edge.
“And what can I do for you?” she asked. She bit at her bottom lip.
Kiana caught herself staring at the bartender’s breasts, green and blue and yellow bouncing off the curve of them. She cleared her throat. “A cranberry juice. Can I get a cranberry juice? With a lime.”
“That’s no way to celebrate,” the woman said.
Kiana looked over her shoulder at Genevieve who stared across the room at the two-way mirrors, watching the dance floor and nodding her head to the Portishead surging from the speakers above the bar. It suddenly felt like a mistake asking her to come with her. Or maybe it always felt like a mistake. She swallowed. The tequila long worn off, her throat felt dry and itchy. It ached. She unbuttoned another button on her shirt, the tension between Michelle and Genevieve choking her like a fishbone, a sharpness of anxiety just below her voice box. She swallowed again, forcing a smile.
“Can I just have the juice, please?” she managed to croak out.
The bartender curved her moist lips. “You can have anything you want, but we’ll start with the juice.” She licked her lips again before turning to get the juice. Kiana turned around, swiping up her drink but not sipping it. She stared into the glass. It smelled sweet.
“So you’re on the wagon?” Michelle said, sliding closer to Kiana and talking across her. The copper-haired woman moved away from Michelle and leaned on the bar. She chatted with the bartender, both of them smiling and touching hands while they whispered.
Genevieve turned to Michelle but looked at Kiana, her eyes sending messages that made Kiana uncomfortable as she stood between them.
“I guess you can say that,” Genevieve said.
Michelle laughed again, but not as heartily. She wrapped her lips around the narrow black straw of her drink and sucked. She reached out to take the straw from Kiana’s drink. She tossed it on the bar, still sucking her drink. She glanced at Kiana and raised an eyebrow. She pulled her mouth off the straw and exhaled, her eyelashes fluttering.
“This shit is so fucking good,” she said with a giggle. “I don’t know how many I’ve had.” She licked her lips. “So, you don’t drink at all?” she said, shaking her head in confusion. She leaned on Kiana’s shoulder.
“No, I don’t.” Genevieve frowned. “How many times do I need to say it?”
Michelle leaned back, a hand on her chest. “I’m sorry. Am I offending you? You don’t have to be all sensitive and shit.”
Genevieve shot a look to Kiana.
“Look, Michelle,” Kiana began. She turned to put her drink down on the bar.
Michelle laughed again and nodded toward Kiana’s abandoned cocktail. “You, too?” She sucked at her drink and laughed into her straw. “The pussy must be magic,” she said, her teeth clenched on the tip of the straw.
“What the hell did you say?” Genevieve said,
pushing herself off the edge of the bar.
Kiana turned to her, placing her hands on Genevieve’s shoulders. “Genevieve, Genevieve,” Kiana said, holding Genevieve still, turning to block her view of Michelle, who chuckled and stirred her drink.
Genevieve took her bottom lip between her teeth, her honey eyes glaring in the red to orange lighting of the bar. “You better get your girl,” she said.
“I will,” Kiana said. “I’m sorry. Just…” She stopped and took a deep breath, glancing over her shoulder over at Michelle. She frantically searched the bar for the woman with the beauty mark that was supposed to be getting Genevieve’s cranberry juice. She spotted her still talking with the copper-haired woman. She turned to Genevieve. “Okay, I’m going to talk to her. She’s drunk.”
“I’m not drunk,” Michelle said.
“Michelle, stop,” Kiana said without turning to look at her. She squeezed Genevieve’s shoulders and looked her in her eyes. “I’m going to talk to her. Then we’ll go. Okay?”
Genevieve didn’t say anything. She pursed her lips and rolled her eyes.
“Just go sit over there for me, please.” Kiana jutted her chin toward a group of plush chairs surrounding a small glass table. The setup was opposite the sectional where Michelle’s bridal party sat, talking and drinking. “I’ll bring you your juice in a minute. Okay? Please.”
Genevieve cut her eyes over Kiana’s shoulder and clenched her jaw. She looked at Kiana with a sigh. “Ten minutes. You got ten minutes.” She turned and walked over to the chairs.
“What the fuck is wrong with you, Michelle?”
Michelle laughed and sipped her drink. The straw slurped against the ice in the glass, the magenta liquor concoction nearly gone. “Nothing.” She shrugged.
“Something’s wrong with you,” Kiana said. “You’re being an asshole.”
“Oh, really?” She smiled. “I wonder if it’s the drinks?” She sucked down the last of her drink. “You think it might be the drinks?” She laughed.
Kiana turned away from her. The bartender finally brought the juice. She winked as she set it down. Kiana went into her pocket and took out a five.
“Open bar, baby,” the woman said.
Kiana put the five on the bar anyway. The bartender looked at it, but didn’t touch it. She smiled then stuck a wedge of lime on the edge of the short glass. “Enjoy.” She nodded at Michelle, who set her empty glass down and nodded back to indicate a refill.
“You didn’t even taste yours,” Michelle said. She picked up Kiana’s drink. The ice nearly melted, condensation dripped down the tall glass as she handed it to Kiana.
Kiana took it. Her mouth watered. “Michelle, I came here to tell you—”
“Just taste it,” Michelle interrupted. She moved the glass toward Kiana’s mouth. “Just one taste,” she said. “Remember you used to say that to me? ‘Just one taste’?” She leaned into Kiana’s side, her lips grazing her ear. “You used to slide your hand between my legs while I was sleeping. You would find my spot within seconds, and I’d get so wet.”
Kiana’s pussy clenched. She did remember. She would rub Michelle’s hips and thighs while she slept. On the brink of sleep herself, Kiana teetered between haunting nightmares and waking dreams, caressing Michelle’s smooth skin subconsciously but with an intention borne of unending desire. Her palm would find Michelle’s pussy thick and hot, her fingers moving between the folds, more flesh, more heat. As Michelle groaned in halfhearted protest, Kiana would whisper her plea, just one taste.
Kiana took a deep breath as Michelle continued to whisper in her ear.
“I would let you,” Michelle said. She chuckled softly. “Half-sleep but wanting you, I would let you. I would open for you. My legs would be limp with sleep, but then…” She sighed.
“Michelle, stop it,” Kiana said. She shrugged Michelle off her shoulder and away from her ear. “I’ll taste your drink, but cut the shit, all right?” She sipped the drink. Michelle knew her, knew that she didn’t prefer mixed drinks, but she also knew what she liked when she had one. The drink’s sweet smell was misleading. Kiana recognized whiskey instantly, the dry bite, then the sharp tang of lemon. She sipped again. A deep sip. She held the drink in her mouth, let it tingle on her tongue. She breathed through her nose, a faint berry sweetness, the snap of red wine.
“This is good,” Kiana said. She drank more. “What is it?” She furrowed her eyebrows, sipping again, trying to figure it out for herself.
Michelle laughed. She pumped her fist. “Success!” she said. “I thought you would like it. I hoped you would.” She giggled and picked up her new drink, the same deep pink, the same sweet smell. “It’s called a Whiskey Seduction.” She toyed with her straw, tapping it against her bottom lip.
Kiana took a few more sips then looked over at Genevieve, who sat cross-legged, looking out at the dance floor. Her foot bouncing with impatience. Kiana put her drink down. “The drink is good, but you are fucked up.”
“Why?” Michelle sucked at her straw then put her drink down on the bar. She shrugged and tilted her head toward Genevieve. “Because of her?” She puffed air through her lips with a pout. “I was just messing with her,” she said. “She can’t take a joke? Then again, was it even a joke? The pussy must be good. She’s so…I don’t know…different. Odd.” She scrunched her nose as she stared over at Genevieve. “I’m surprised by her. I’m surprised by you.” She picked up her drink.
Kiana drank the last of hers but held on to the empty glass. The cold against her fingers felt comforting, almost as comforting as the whiskey which seemed to have settled her stomach, moistened her dry, aching throat.
“I would say I am surprised by you, but I guess I’m not,” Kiana said.
“What do you mean?” Michelle asked.
“The kiss the other night. The tequila. The text message. ‘Last night of freedom.’ Even this fucking drink,” Kiana said. She lifted her empty glass. “You’re trying to get me. I know you. You’re trying to use me. Even those things you said at the café. You could always manipulate my feelings.” She shook her head. “Enough. I came to tell you I’ve had enough.” She realized it as soon as she said it. Michelle did use her. She always knew how to turn things around, always made herself come out on top.
Michelle raised an eyebrow. She chuckled. “You came to tell me that you’ve had enough?” She licked her teeth and nodded. “And where did this epiphany come from? Her?” She tilted her drink toward Genevieve, who happened to look over at them in that very moment and crossed her arms in warning to Kiana.
“No,” Kiana said. “Yes.” She shook her head. “I don’t know. I don’t even know…”
“You’re making too much of all of this,” Michelle said. “I thought we were leaving all this shit in the past anyway. Didn’t we agree to that?”
“Yeah, we did. Then you fucking kissed me. Then you sent me—”
“I sent you a celebratory drink. I designed a cocktail you would enjoy as you celebrated with me tonight. Is that a crime? To want to please my friend?” Michelle smiled. She sipped her drink then sighed. Her shoulders slumped. “You’ve had enough? Okay. Forget I even tried.” She turned to the bar.
“No,” Kiana said. “It’s not like that.” She faced Michelle and fought the urge to comfort her. She hated that she still cared so much. And for what?
“Am I feeling all nostalgic? Yes, I am. Maybe too nostalgic. But I’m fucking getting married. Married, Key.” She turned to look at Kiana. Tears quivered at the rims of eyes, her silver eye shadow and black eyeliner elegant and seductive. “I’m scared.” She shrugged.
Kiana put a hand on her shoulder. She looked up and the bartender caught her eyes. She smiled and licked her lips, raising her eyebrow with the eternal question. Kiana bit at the inside of her jaw.
Michelle dabbed at the corners of her eyes. “Look, I’m sorry. You know I’m a lightweight. I’ve been rude.” She took a deep breath. She reached across Kiana and grabbed Genevieve’s juic
e. “Let me take this over to your friend and apologize.” She smiled. “Maybe she’ll agree to stay, and we can just party. Really celebrate the way we should. The way we need to.” She put a hand on Kiana’s arm and walked over to Genevieve.
Kiana watched Michelle as she carefully approached Genevieve. She sat beside her and handed her the juice. Genevieve took it. They began talking, Michelle using hand gestures, Genevieve nodding and sipping her juice. She turned back to the bar and nodded at the bartender, who smiled and grabbed a fresh Collins glass and the Maker’s.
The bongos came first. Then the saxophone. Then Sade. “Smooth Operator.” The copper-haired woman walked over to Kiana as if on cue. The bartender set a new Whiskey Seduction in front of Kiana and walked away. Kiana drew the glass nearer to her. She slid the straw from the glass and set it on the edge of the napkin under her drink. She picked up the cocktail, but before she could sip it, the copper-haired woman cleared her throat and leaned into her.
“I hope you’re raising your glass for a toast,” she said. She raised her drink.
Kiana toasted her own drink, lifting the glass but not clinking. She moved to drink.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” the woman said. “You haven’t said what we’re drinking to.”
Kiana shrugged. “Life,” she said, raising her glass once more.
“To life,” the woman said. “And love and liberty and freedom. Freedom most of all.” She lifted her gimlet and clinked it against Kiana’s glass. She giggled. “I didn’t mean to clink. That’s tacky right?” She drank from her glass and giggled.
“I guess,” Kiana said. She drank deep swallows of the slightly sweet, mostly sharp mixture.
“I’m sorry,” the woman said. “I’ve had A LOT of gimlets tonight.” She laughed again. “My name is Evelyn.” She extended her hand.
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