Page 6 of Real's Love

So, exhausted, excited, elated, I told them.

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“All that time and money to come back with scraps?” I muttered at Emory and Theory as I looked down at myself.

While I had rested and recovered under Pip’s thoughtful eyes, Emory and Theory had driven to Monroe to shop for this party they insisted we attend to wrap up the week. Pip flat-out rejected the skin-tight jeans they’d grabbed for her, pairing the t-shirt they’d picked out with a dreamy little skirt she’d brought with her from Houston.

For me, they’d chosen a spaghetti-strapped, lilac, body-con dress that was almost iridescent in its soft shimmery-ness. I was bigger than my sister and cousins, but our Granny Nette had blessed us all to be shapely. The shapewear Emory had grabbed didn’t hurt, either. It was a pretty dress, but it was a little—a lot—more revealing than I was used to. I tugged on it, almost stumbling in the strappy little shoes they’d brought back.

“It’s your birthday, and this weekend is all about getting out of your comfort zone,” Em fussed, smacking my hands away from the dress’s hem.

For once, Em and Pip agreed on something—the power of deep breathing. We spent a few minutes taking deep breaths and slowly blowing them out. Epiphany encouraged us to center ourselves. Emory encouraged us to tap into our inner bad bitches and prepare to own the room. I guess they couldn’t be too similar.

Emory drove the few minutes to the venue, and we tumbled out of her car, freshening ourselves with last-minute spritzes of perfume and mint candies. I smoothed my dress one last time, kind of ready for Tate to see me in it. He seemed to like my curves, and this piece of material definitely had them on display. Neither of us had mentioned being here tonight, but I knew he’d be strolling around the dance floor with his frat brothers. I rolled my eyes as my impatient ass sister grabbed my hand and tugged me toward the party venue’s front door.

“Bring yo’ ass on!” she said, bossy as ever.

The sounds of Silentó bombarded us as we waited to pay the entry fee. A few minutes later, we were inside. Emory and Theory were swept up by their local Sorors, leaving Pip and me to watch the crowd of partygoers.

“Wanna walk?” I asked, projecting my voice over the loud ass music.

She shrugged. Outside of Emory, Epiphany was my best friend, and I knew this really wasn’t her scene. She just came this week because the rest of us were going to be here, and she wanted to spend time. We were going to have to do something more her speed next time.

We walked the perimeter of the dance floor, taking in the crush of eager college kids looking for one last turn-up before getting ready for the school week. Finals were soon, and they probably wouldn’t come out like this again until graduation time.

Suddenly, I felt Pip’s touch on my arm. I looked back at her, and she inclined her head.

“There go ya boy,” she said.

Following the direction she indicated, my eyes landed on Tate’s tall, slim frame as he led his brothers in a smooth, rolling shimmy. Oh, my God, that move was always so sexy to me, especially when he did it in slow motion like he was now. My panties were instantly wet, and I bit the inside of my jaw to keep from moaning or squealing or something. His declaration of love came back to me, and I couldn’t help smiling.

“Yo’ ass got it bad, Cousin,” Pip teased.

“Shut up,” I fronted, swatting at her.

“I’m just saying, I’on think you gon’ make it to Huddle House to eat with us.”

“Oh, I’m getting those hash browns tonight,” I popped, leaning in so she could hear me.

She grinned. “Girl, the only thing getting scattered, covered, and smothered is you!”

We both laughed then, making our way onto the dance floor as The Weeknd poured from the speakers. We danced for a minute, eventually joined by a couple of guys we knew from our hometown. By the time we left the floor, Emory and Theory were taking a break, too, handing us much-needed mini-bottles of water. I was content to stand on the sidelines, chopping it up with my family and sipping on the cool liquid.

Then, the opening sounds of Jeremih’s “Oui” started. I loved this damn song! I raised my hand, hips already rocking.

“Aww, hell! That’s yo’ shit, huh, Cousin?” Theory hyped me.

“And there go yo’ little yella boyfriend. You betta get this dance!” Emory urged.

My eyes popped up. Tate was a few feet in front of us, talking to some of his friends. My first instinct was to feel nervous, and I twisted my hands together, just looking. But being nervous was not something my girls allowed. They talked their shit until I breathed deeply and walked toward him, their nosy asses on my heels. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he turned around. A smile was already spreading across my face as he turned.

Tate looked at me, but for once, he didn’t return my smile. He looked almost confused. Over his shoulder, I saw Marcia grab his hand.

“Tate, c’mon, let’s dance,” she yelled, pouting.

I waited for him to yank his hand from her, to tell her to go the fuck away.

Instead, he said, “Hold on, baby,” and turned back to me.

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