My jaw drops. I grab a pillow and swat her with it. “Tell me everything.”
She shrugs shyly. “It was… good.”
“Good,” I mock. “Wow, thank you for the riveting details. I’m rock hard.”
“That doesn’t even make sense. Why do you want to hear about this? We’re both women.”
“Exactly.That’show desperate I am, Aliyah.”
Aliyah laughs so hard she snorts. “I hate you.”
“Seriously, though. What was it like?”
“It was great. Like, mind-blowing. Cam did this thing with her fingers where she—”
“Okay! I take it back,” I say, wincing. “Too far. I’m really happy for you, though.”
Aliyah rolls her eyes as she takes another hit from the dwindling joint. “It’s not just about the sex, though. I seriously think Ilikeher.”
I feel a strange tightening in my chest—a twisted mixture of happiness and jealousy. Just like me, Aliyah has never been in a serious relationship. She claims to be too busy for dating, but the way Aliyah speaks about Cam is different. I’ve never seen this soft and doting side of her before.
“Well, shit,” I mumble. “Now I feel even worse about dragging you out of the bar that night. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t feel bad. Ben was a shithead.”
“Yeah.”
“You deserve a sweet guy,” Aliyah insists, snubbing the joint out in the ashtray.
She falls back onto my mattress and pulls me down with her. I’m not a touchy guy, but Aliyah usually wants to cuddle when she’s high. I run hot, and she’s always freezing. She calls me her personal space heater.
“Have you ever been in love, Mason?” Aliyah asks quietly as she stares at the ceiling.
“No. I don’t think I’ve even had a crush.”
“Seriously? Not even Sam?”
I hum thoughtfully. “Maybe. Sam was nice. We were friends, and the sex was good. But I never wanted it to be more than that.”
Aliyah huffs. “I’m kinda jealous of you, dude.”
“Why?”
“Because crushes suck. They’re terrifying. Like, what if Cam doesn’t feel the same? What if she just wants something casual?”
“Don’t be an idiot. Of course she likes you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Literallyeveryonelikes you, Aliyah. It’s just a fact,” I mutter. “I wish I was more like you.”
Aliyah laughs. “You wish you were a bisexual Black woman?”
“Fuck off.” I huff. “I mean your ability to hit it off with strangers. Everyone adores you, and you make new friends everywhere you go. I’m… not like that. It’s hard for me to trust people, I think.”
“You’re prickly,” Aliyah says, matter-of-fact.
She’s used that word to describe me before. She says I’m like a hedgehog—sharp spines on the outside, with a soft, fuzzy underbelly that’s only shown to those I trust.
