Page 73 of Can't Get Enough

“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 Idowant 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.

“Draw four, Aaron!” screams Lottie, Soledad’s youngest.

No answering response comes from Aaron, who is only partially verbal. I love how, now that he’s comfortable with our group, he’s a little more engaged.

“Jesus,” Yasmen groans. “Uno again? Please make it stop.”

“We also have Taboo,” Soledad says, rubbing her hands together. “And Cards Against Humanity.”

“Josiah does like that one,” Yasmen admits grudgingly. “I guess let the games begin.”

Another text message flashes on my phone.

Maverick:Hey. So we starting a new episode or what?

The scene of domesticity suddenly feels a little tight around my collar. Everyone paired off. All the kids having blended family fun. I’m usually fine being the glamorous third wheel who needs nothingand nobody beyond my girls. But tonight that ache spreads over the surface of my heart like an ink stain, and I want… more. Something else. The world isn’t designed for women like me. Women who’d rather be single literally for years than settle for a partner not worthy of her. A woman who doesn’t want to be a mother, and assumes the rich auntie role with panache, but occasionally feels left out on game night.

“Can I get a rain check?” I ask, grabbing a paper plate and loading it with several hors d’oeuvres and some of Soledad’s brownie batter dip. I love that shit. “I think I’m gonna head out.”

“And miss game night?” Soledad’s consternation is clear.

Yasmen’s eyes drift from my face to the phone still clutched in my hand. “Let’s give her a pass, Sol.”

“I promise next time,” I say, heading for the back door and balancing my heavy plate. “I’m in for Taboo and Picklenary—”

“Pictionary,” Soledad corrects me with a smile.

“That too. All of ’em. Next time. Love yous!”

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