Page 4 of Sunday

There was laughter throughout the reception hall, except for between Sunday and me. Her eyes ballooned as she stared at me.

“It’s all good. I know I asked you here to ward off my matchmaking ass mama and aunts.”

“And to protect your heart from shattering at the sight of your ex-wife and her girlfriend all night.” Sunday smirked.

“And that. But you ain’t gotta do that shit.”

“Come on, men. Show your girl what you’re working with,” the deejay called out again.

Sunday looked around, and I did too. Everyone was kissing on the floor except for us. And the single women and men on the edge of the floor were watching us.

“It’s okay. Do what you gotta do. I’m good, Cedar. I promise.”

“I’m not trying to disrespect you.”

“You’re not. I came here under the pretense of being your woman. Might as well give them a show,” Sunday declared and caressed the nape of her neck with her fingers that were casually draped behind me.

My family had betted on Sunday and me transitioning from roommates to lovers over a year ago. Although it hadn’t happened, we led my family to believe that it had. It was all so that I could save face with my ex-wife who turned up at the wedding with the woman she cheated on me with. I felt bad for lying to my family because they had always liked Sunday, but it couldn’t be helped.

I moved one hand from around her waist and carefully cupped her chin. Tilting her head back, I caressed her chin with my index finger and thumb.

“You sure?”

Her nut-brown eyes narrowed, and her lids lowered slightly. “I’m sure.” I could have misread the moment, but Sunday’s voice was thick and husky. I knew that I shouldn’t do it despite what she said. I knew I should have said “fuck what everyone thinks,” but I couldn’t. The temptation to do what I’d wanted to do for some time was too great, and now she was giving me permission.

I brushed my lips gently across hers as I held her chin in place. I repeated the gesture gently several times before I pressed into them. Sunday pressed back and licked my lips with her tongue. That shit caught me off guard.

I pressed back into the kiss. Sunday whimpered, and I pulled her closer. Her soft curves felt like they belonged against my body. Her warm, sweet fragrance tickled my nose. Her lips, curves, and scent all combined to create an intoxicating elixir that had me drunk off her aura and not wanting to pull back from the kiss.

If my dick jumped in my pants, that wouldn’t have been too bad. Sunday was beautiful, smart, funny, and sexy as hell. But that wasn’t the only thing that happened.

A warm glow filled my insides, and my heart squeezed in my chest like I was having a heart attack. My hand dropped from her chin, dragged over her shoulder, and down her arm. My other hand tightened around her waist, not wanting to let go, but even as the song switched up, I knew that I needed to.

There was just one problem. When I tried to pull back from the kiss, Sunday pressed deeper into it. What the fuck had I just done?

My little homie, my roommate, and the woman who worked for the same company that I did had always been off-limits. I knew that she wasn’t ready for a nigga like me, who was damaged goods. From the first time I found myself attracted to her, I vowed that I would never pull her into my shit. But now, . . . I would never be able to forget the kiss.

Sunday Birgitta Monroe

“You’re the only one I know who still reads the Sunday papers. I’m surprised that they even still sell those shits in stores.”

I shoved the newspaper aside. Before I responded, I took a moment to do what I always did—study Cedar, unbeknownst to him. We were roommates who had grown into friends, but that didn’t mean that I wasn’t attracted to him.

His dark, bad-boy looks caused many women to stumble in their steps or take a second look. Rich, unlined mocha skin hinted at good genetics and an excellent skincare routine. A broad nose, full heart-shaped lips, and prominent, angular cheekbones spoke to his African ancestry.

Although Cedar worked as a general contractor now, he was a construction worker during his college years. He didn’t do as much physical labor anymore. However, he maintained the muscular definition of his broad shoulders, flat abs, and tatted arms, chest, and legs with a rigorous workout routine.

Cedar kept a fresh line-up, no matter how busy he got, and his full mustache and long, bushy beard were always well-groomed. He turned those sloe-shaped, chestnut-brown eyes my way.

“You know you can get that same information online, right?” he asked in a teasing voice before he broke out in a snicker.

“I grew up reading them every Sunday with my daddy. It’s our thing.”

“Is that why you and he spend an hour on the phone every Sunday afternoon when he gets home from church?” Cedar asked from his spot at the stove where he was flipping pancakes.

“Yep. We talk about what was in the paper.”

Cedar’s phone rang, dragging his attention away from our conversation. I set the newspaper aside and headed upstairs into my room and grabbed a book. When I returned to the kitchen where Cedar was cooking our usual Sunday brunch, I sat in the kitchen’s bay window and pulled my knees up to my chest. I opened my book and read a chapter before I set it aside.

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