Page 89 of Can't Get Enough

“You trying to wrap them legs ’round somebody by the end of the night?” Chapel faces the wall, lifts one leg, and twerks. “’Cause I know I am! Ayeeeee!”

“The only thought I had about these legs was the chafing stick I usedbetween them so I can dance freely.” I toss a long curtain of hair over my shoulder. “If I can get used to this wig. I never wore this much hair in my life.”

“Both of us went for middle part, bussdown.” Chapel shakes the long pink hair flowing down her back. “You need to pull something tonight. You looking a lil’ pale, sis. When was the last time you had some vitaminD?”

“It’s been too long,” I admit ruefully as the elevator doors open. “I been in the BYOO club.”

“BYOO?”

“Bring your own orgasm.”

We high-five and cackle.

“That’ll do in a pinch,” Chapel says, the humor still lingering on her glossy lips. “But I want somebody’s actual mouth on my actual pussy tonight.” She surveys the mass of bodies already dancing to “Big Poppa” when we step into the ballroom. “’Cause I see some ladies tonight that should be having my baby.”

“You so crazy, but for real, let me know if you leave without me. I don’t want to be wondering if somebody snatched your lil’ ass.”

“All right, Mom,” Chapel says with a fake pout. “And please remember this is a party, not office hours. Don’t be networking and shit all night. Have fun. Get turnt. Do not waste that dress and that wig on good behavior.”

The opening beats of Faith Evans’s “Love Like This” drops, and it sets off a bomb in the crowd. Arms lift and sway in a hip-hop hallelujah, hips start winding, and in just a few notes, Faith’s honeyed voice downshifts the party from hype to a vibe. It’s one of my favorite songs, and as soon as I drop Zere’s gift off at the table in the entrance, I hit the dance floor, barely making sure Chapel is with me. She’d better keep up or find her own groove because this—when this song right here hits—is mine.

It takes about 2.4 seconds for some dude to dance up on me and grind his half-mast dick into my ass. It is wall-to-wall bodies in here,so some contact is unavoidable, but his breath is on my neck. I did not spritz Valentino all over just to smell like whatever cheap-ass cologne he bathed in.

“Excuse me,” I say, thrusting an elbow back into his ribs. “I think you and your erection need to sit this one out.”

He releases ahhhhmphat the jab, and miraculously I’m free to grind and roll without his hard-on as my partner. Chapel finds her way to me and we dance through three more songs, chatting as people walk up to us. Ever since the Miami party, Chapel’s profile has risen. Part of that is being associated with Zere. Chapel has been invited to all the right events, been seen in all the cool places with powerful, popular people. But it’s not just association. It’s what she does with the spotlight, even if it’s for only a few seconds. She stands out. She shines. She makes you remember her. And she’s right. This is a party, but my office is always open so my eyes are peeled for her next opportunity.

“This DJ is good,” Chapel yells to be heard over the music. “His mixology game is strong.”

“Yeah, I need to pace myself.” I lean in to her ear. “These shoes did not come with Megan Thee Stallion knees, so I’m gonna grab a drink and sit my ass down for a few minutes.”

Chapel looks over my shoulder and flashes a salacious grin, licking her lips invitingly. I glance in that direction and am not sure if it’s the girl, the guy, or the both she’s scoping as her conquest for the night, but I want to get out of the line of fire.

“You know where to find me,” I tell her, heading for one of the few empty spots on a couch against a wall of windows overlooking the New York city skyline. It’s a sheet of midnight velvet sprayed with shattered glass stars. I don’t know what glitters brighter, the stars on that side of the window or this one. Everywhere I look there’s an A-list celebrity. Zere definitely knows how to party, and her fortieth birthday celebration is an epic affair. It’s such a crush of people, I haven’t seen her, but as soon as I sit down, she dashes over and settles beside me.

“Hey, Hen!” she squeals, pulling me into a seated side hug. “Thank you for coming.”

“It’s the birthday girl!” I squeeze her and smile. “You look beautiful as usual.”

“Not a day over forty, huh?” A tiara nestled among her golden-brown curls sparkles. She’s as svelte in her body-molding dress as she was in photos from twenty years ago.

“Happy birthday, Zere. I truly hope you get all you deserve.”

“Thank you. I’m so glad we’ve become friends over the last few months.”

Guilt twists my insides at the word “friends.” According to girl code, you don’t dry-hump a friend’s ex. You don’t come all over his lap. And you certainly don’t get yourself off in bed every night for a week from the memory of it.

“Me too,” I say lamely. “Are you enjoying your party?”

“I am. Everyone’s having a great time.” Her eyes roam the packed room of beautifully dressed people here to celebrate her life, and her bright expression dims a little. “Well, almost everyone. I haven’t seen Mav yet.”

It’s as if she plucked his name from my guilty conscience, and for a moment my tongue clings to the roof of my mouth, reluctant to get words out.

“Oh, is he coming?” I ask with a held breath because I don’t know what I want her answer to be.

“Supposedly.” She shrugs her slim shoulders as if it doesn’t matter to her one way or the other, but her eyes tell too much. She wants him here.

I didn’t acknowledge the flowers Maverick sent with even a text to thank him. I gave him my answer, which is no. If I have any hope of standing by that decision, I need to stay away from him. There have been no more text messages. No more simul-watching Netflix. I’ve gone cold turkey, and apparently so has he. Besides the 144 champagne roses, he hasn’t tried to contact me either. I ignore the hot knot of irrationaldisappointment. I told him there was no possibility of anything happening between us.

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