Meek’s brow lifted. “Yo, Mo. Don’t write a check your ass can’t cash,” he said. “I ain’t fucking with that cheap college shit y’all drinking.”
“Last time bruh had 1800, we aired the whole fucking club out.” Isa snickered. “Cuz a nigga stepped on this pretty nigga Buscemi.”
Laughter filled the room, and Meek blushed as he shook his head in embarrassment. “One too many, G,” he mumbled. “I ain’t proud of that.”
“I think I have dark,” Mo said. She lifted from her seat and walked the short distance to the kitchen. She reached for the cabinet above her stove and stood on her tiptoes, barely able to reach the top. The scent of Tom Ford cologne enveloped her, announcing Meek’s presence before she even felt him push into her as he reached to grab the bottle of Hennessey with ease. Morgan steeled and gripped the edge of her sink. He took a step back and turned to open another cabinet, retrieving a glass. Morgan turned to him.
“I can’t believe they’re getting married,” she whispered. “Like they almost said, ‘I do,’ today.” Morgan covered her mouth with one hand to conceal her laughter.
“Shit’s wild as fuck,” Meek answered, snickering. He opened the bottle and half filled two glasses, handing one off to her. “You ain’t missed a beat. One day you’re hosting charity events, the next you’re talking big shit over cards. You were always able to turn your hood on around us.”
“What you mean turn it on? You don’t think I’m hood? How you know I don’t turn it off when I need to?” she asked, frowning.
Meek shook his head. “Nah, you ain’t hood. You were around the way, but you not from around the way. That’s how it’s supposed to be. You’re removed from the bullshit.”
“And somehow it still touched me,” she whispered. A pain filled her, and her eyes fell to her feet because she didn’t want him to see how affected she was. She had lost everything, and although Morgan looked like she was doing okay, she was lost on the inside.
Meek lifted one of the tumblers, and she wrapped her dainty fingers around it. He lifted his own, and she connected hers to it before lifting it to her lips taking a sip. She pretended to gag.
“Oh my God! Meek! This is going to make me grow chest hair!” she protested.
He laughed, smiling wide, a rare sight because he hardly gave up more than a smirk.
“Kill that shit,” he said. “You’ve always been dainty and shit.”
“I am not dainty!” she said defensively. She took the words as a challenge and frowned while lifting the cognac to her lips again. She grimaced as she took a bigger sip.
“Dainty as fuck.” He smirked as he finessed his beard. “I ain’t mad at it. I ain’t mad at it at all, Mo.” He said it like he was appreciative. Like he enjoyed every single line that filled her face from the bite of the potent libation. Like it was too strong for something so pretty, it made her weak quick. She made him weak quicker.
She grabbed the bottle and led the way back to the table.
“So, we have to toast,” Aria said as she lined up four shots. Three tequilas. One cognac. Mo reached for one and held it in the air.
Aria looked Isa in the eyes. “To love…”
“Fuck love,” Mo piped up. “I’m not toasting to that.”
She looked across the table, and Meek’s eyes were on her. Dissecting her. She meant those words. She couldn’t toast to something she didn’t believe in … to something that had broken her … to something that had convinced her to lower her guards only to be deceived. Love had left her burned. No, Mo would never toast to that.
“To friendship,” Meek said.
There was a time when she had resented Meek. When she had blamed Isa for being privy to the secret that had destroyed her, but deep down, she knew they weren’t to blame. Here they were two years later, sitting, laughing, like nothing had changed. Only something had. Her heart. The bully named Messiah that never played but sat with a watchful eye on her kitchen countertops was gone, and only a foursome remained. She loved each of them for different reasons, and even through the loss, they all had tried to reach out to her to make sure she was okay. She could toast to friendship. They touched glasses and swallowed the shots.
“Bring it right back,” Isa said, pouring another round.
The second shot went down smoother.
“I’ma need food, bruh,” Isa said. “Ali, you gon’ cook something? That’s wife shit.”
“Not this wife. Let’s be clear. I don’t cook. I can feed you, though, baby, a mouthful of something real natural with your vegan ass,” she said.
Meek snickered and stood from the table, placing a hand on Isa’s shoulder, patting him sympathetically before heading toward the bathroom.
“Yo keep talking and you gon’ be coming off that shit tonight, Ali,” Isa stated.
“I might bless you,” she answered, a sly smirk on her face as she propped her elbows onto the table, making a bridge with her hands and resting her pretty face atop it.
“We about to break out,” Isa said, eyeing Aria like she were prey.
“What? I thought we were kicking it,” Morgan protested. “I have two kids. Do y’all know how long it’s been since I’ve been out? Since I was able to let my hair down?”
“Sorry, Mo,” Aria said, still locked in on Isa.
Morgan looked on appalled as her friends stood from the table.
“I’ll call you when I get home,” Aria said as Isa snatched her hand, pulling her toward the door.
“She ain’t going home,” Isa said. “She’ll call you tomorrow.”
Morgan laughed, shaking her head as she watched them walk out. Such an unconventional pair. Aria and her beast. She stood and grabbed the empty glasses from the table. Meek emerged from the bathroom.
“Party’s over, I guess,” she said, shrugging. “You think he’s serious? About marrying her?”
Meek shook his head, then blew out a breath in overwhelm. “When he called me earlier, I thought he was bullshitting. When I got to the courthouse, I realized he wasn’t. When Isa lock in on something, he doesn’t ease up until he gets it. The fact that he couldn’t get her made him want her more. I think he’s securing that. Aria’s a good one. She’ll be good for my nigga,” Meek stated, smiling. He grabbed his car keys from the table and headed toward the door. “You good? You staying here or going back to Ethic’s?” Meek asked. “You want me to follow you?”
Morgan pulled her sleeves down over her hands and folded her hands across her chest. “It’s late. I’ll grab the twins in the morning. It’s been a while since I’ve slept in an empty house. When I have them, I complain about having no me time; now they’re gone, and I’m a little afraid to be alone. Gives me too much time to think.” She gave a weak smile.
“What you thinking about, Ms. Atkins?” Meek asked.
“How I lost control of my own life,” she answered. She leaned against the back of the couch, placing her hands beside her. A heavy sigh fell off her lips. “I don’t even know who I am anymore, Meek.” She lifted her left hand and pulled the pretty ring off her finger. She twirled it between her fingers “This. London. It’s not me. It’s a great life, but it doesn’t feel like my life.”
“So why stay? Why pretend like that’s what you want?” Meek asked, leaning against the door, one foot kicked up behind him, one hand locked around the opposite wrist.
“I mean, what else is there? There’s nothing here anymore. The memories haunt me, Ahmeek,” she said, eyes glistening. She looked down and slid the ring back in place. “Do you miss him?” The question was nothing more than a whisper. She said it like she was ashamed to, like she was embarrassed to even think the thought. The possibility of missing Messiah, of acknowledging that he even existed, but it was hard for Mo not to … she looked into his eyes every time she looked at Yara and Messari. They were constant reminders, keepsakes of the man that had broken her heart. She was mad at him for dying because it made her feel wrong for hating him, but damn, she did. She hated him so much.
“Every day, Mo. He was my brother. I followed him into a lot of wars. Some we won, some we lost, but it was the Ls that made us men. The three of us were rocking for a long time before he died. He ain’t have a lot coming up after his pops got sent away. His mama didn’t give a fuck. I used to sneak breakfast sandwiches and shit out the house for him, to take to school for him. My mama used to beat my ass because I would lose pairs of sneakers and shit, but I wasn’t losing them shits. I was giving them to bro, because he ain’t have shit. If I had a dollar, he got half of that shit. Different mothers, nobody-ass daddies, but somehow that nigga was my family. We may not have been blood, but we were brothers. Isa too. Shit will never be the same, Mo.”
The tear slipped down her nose, itched her skin before falling to the carpet.
“It’s okay to miss him. It’s okay to love him, Mo.”
“No, it’s not. That’s not okay. After the things he did, it’s not okay at all. He didn’t love me,” she shot back.
“He did, Morgan.”
She looked up at Meek, and the tension in his forehead and gloss in his dark eyes put a knot in Morgan’s stomach.
“Do you want to stay?” she asked. “Talking about Messiah. It brings up bad things in me. Really dark thoughts. I hurt myself after he left … after that day at Bleu’s. Thinking about him makes me feel…”
“Like you’re going to hurt yourself?” Meek interrupted. “What does that mean, Mo? I know I got to be misconstruing this shit because I know you’re not talking about…”
The tremble of her lip caused him to stop speaking, and he placed a hand to the left side of his chest. His face collapsed in ruin as the realization of her admission crushed him. “You didn’t do that, Mo. Don’t tell me that. Nothing’s worth that.”
She was humiliated, and she tore her eyes away from him, turning her head to the side before placing her lips to her own shoulder. There were very few people who knew about that day … about her attempted suicide. Just her family and Aria.
“Can you just stay?” she asked.
Meek nodded and took a step toward her. “Yeah, Mo,” he answered. “Whatever you need.”
“I’m fine. I’m not crazy. I just get lonely sometimes,” she whispered. “I’m in a roomful of people every day, and no one hears me. No one gets me, and then I think about him and I want to die.”
“No, Mo,” Meek stated. “You not on that no more. Fuck that. Whenever you feel fucked up, you hit my line. I don’t care how late it is. I don’t care if you’re halfway around the world with that corny-ass nigga. If you feel like that, you call me first. You call me so I can listen. I won’t judge you. I’ll just listen so you can get it out. Can you do that for me?”
Morgan nodded and tilted her head back as tears rolled out the sides of her eyes. He pulled her hand, and she submitted, falling into his embrace.
She closed her eyes and held on tight, staying there until she was done crying. He was patient and rubbed circles into her back until she calmed. He knew better than to rush her somberness. He had held his mother a lot of days as a child as she cried, and he had learned to let a woman cry until she couldn’t anymore. To empty her soul into exhaustion.
They stood in the middle of her apartment clinging to each other, rocking slightly back and forth as he rested his chin on top of her head.
“No more Henny for you. You get to crying and shit.”
Morgan burst into laughter, grateful for him breaking the ice. He laughed too and then pulled back, swiping a hand over his wave-covered head.
“You don’t have to stay, Meek,” she said.
“Shut up, nigga. I’m staying,” he concluded. He walked to the couch and grabbed the remote control to her television. She plopped down onto the love seat diagonal to him as he clicked on Netflix.
“I’m not watching anything except Grey’s,” Morgan said.
“Fuck is Grey’s?”
Morgan sat up off the couch. “You don’t know what Grey’s Anatomy is?” She stood and leaned to snatch the remote control from his hands. He shrugged.
“I don’t watch TV. I’m never home. I keep up with the scores and shit … ESPN, so I’ll know what teams to bet big on, but that’s about it,” he said, snickering at the look of shock on her face.
“Season one, episode one,” she said. She walked to the hallway closet and pulled out two blankets, tossing one his way.
“Yo, if it’s on some soap opera shit, I ain’t fucking with it,” Meek protested.
“Boy, just watch it,” she shot back, laughing as she got comfortable.
Meek kicked off his shoes and tossed one leg onto the couch before covering his lower body with the blanket. Morgan was already tuned in. She hit Mute on the television.
“Hey, Ahmeek?” she called.
“What’s good, Mo?”
“Thank you, for staying.”
8
Aria emerged from the bathroom wearing Isa’s Versace robe. It was big for her, hanging off her frame, revealing one chocolate shoulder and cleavage that looked good enough to eat. Beads of water clung to her skin, and her wet hair curled beautifully. Isa was gone on a food run. Three o’clock in the morning and Aria wanted lobster, so lobster he was sent to retrieve. She was high maintenance and uncompromising. She wanted what she wanted. Her requirements weren’t optional. Isa had been fulfilling her desires for the past two years. Spoiled. Aria was spoiled rotten, and she hadn’t even had sex with Isa yet. She heard his keys in the door and then listened as his heavy footsteps carried down the hall. He pushed open the bedroom door carrying two large brown paper bags.
Aria sat on the edge of the bed as he neared, sitting beside her.
“Thank you,” she whispered. She stared at the ring on her finger. “I would be lying if I said I’m not afraid of you, Isa.”
He placed a finger to her chin, turning her head toward him. “You should be, baby, I’m a fucking monster.”
Aria didn’t retreat as Isa leaned forward and sucked her bottom lip into his mouth. He stole her breath away. Fucking thief. It was the most expertly planned heist he’d ever executed. A two-year job. The mission to steal her heart. He pushed her back onto the bed and slid light fingers up her dark thighs. Her pussy felt like silk. She was wet for him, soaked for him, and he pushed two fingers into her cavern, letting his thumb linger on her clit.
She gasped. “Isa … I have to tell you something.”
“What’s good, Ali?” he groaned while kissing her neck.
He smelled like liquor, weed, and Creed cologne. A combination that made her intoxicated. He had blown one in the car on the way back, and the way he was playing her instrument made her join him in a mental high. She was running from his hands, so she could only imagine the ways he would fill her with what she felt hardening against her thigh.
“Damn, boy,” she whispered. “I…” His tongue was behind her ear, tracing the A she had tattooed there. “Isa…”
“Hmm?” he groaned in reply, moving down her body. He untied the robe with one hand, still working her middle with the other, and freed her breasts. Areolas so dark they looked like Hershey’s Kisses greeted him. He pulled one erect nipple into his mouth, and Aria’s back arched as a grunt of bliss pushed from her tense stomach. It felt like lightning was striking through her body as his tongue trailed down the middle of her stomach, dipping into the pothole of her belly button and lingering there, kissing there, before going lower. She tensed, breathing tensed, mind tensed, whole damn body went rigid as he licked the crease that separated her thigh from her vagina.
“I need to—” She paused. “Hmm.” She placed her hands on top of his head as he came up the other side of her left thigh, licking the other crease. “Tell you something…”
He removed his fingers, offering momentary relief, but her body was on fire. He put his hands under her hips and lifted before wrapping his lips around her swollen clit.
“Isa!” she shouted. Her eyes closed, and colors exploded. Fucking fireworks t
o accompany the fire-ass head he was blessing her with. “Isa, nooooo.”
“Mmm-hmm,” he moaned, pulling the flesh between her southern lips and wrapping his tongue around it. He was kissing her middle like he had been dying to for twenty-four months, and he had. He had imagined what she would taste like, and no disappointment existed now that he was indulging. He planned to get his fill.
“What the fuck! Isa!” She reached out to the side and gripped the sheets. It felt so good that she couldn’t take it. Pleasure so intense wasn’t right. Her body wasn’t supposed to feel like this. She placed a hand on his forehead, forcing him back. “Wait. Isa, there’s something you should know.”
“Damn, what, Ali?” he asked, irritation burning through those light brown eyes.
“I’ve never done this before, Isa,” she panted. “You have to slow down.”
Stun painted itself over Isa’s face. “Word?” He finessed his lips with his tongue, then pulled her halfway off the bed. “You been saving this pussy for a nigga, Ali?” he asked, kissing her inner thigh. She craned her neck to look down at him. “All that big-girl talk, and this shit brand new?” He smirked, biting her thigh in the same place.
“I don’t fuck for free, Isa. You’ve got to pay me in emotion,” she whispered. “Men are cheap, and the price of admission was too expensive. Until you. Until now. Is this for real? Me and you?”
“Yeah, it’s for real, girl,” he answered, kissing her middle, slowly, being gentler than he had before.
“Are you mad?” she asked. “Ssss.”
“Mmm-mmm,” he groaned. “I’m about to put my name all over this shit. Can I have it?” he asked. Aria squirmed beneath him, barely able to take the pleasure. She placed her hands on top of his head, tilting his head up so she could look him in the eyes. Aria came up on her elbows.
“I want it to mean something, and I want it to be with you, but I don’t know. This whole engagement. It just feels like a joke. Like you’re doing it to get what you want, and as soon as I give it to you, you’re going to pull out on me. I know you.”
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