But I was the first to pull back. The first to end this torment. This small wildfire, that absolutely shouldn’t grow into anything more than friendship.
I cleared my throat, mumbled, “Okay, cool,” and I ran to the showers, desperate for relief.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Nola
Tonight would be the first time I saw any of my family since I got verbally jumped and fired by Henry and Evie. I had no experience in conflict resolution, even with a sister thirteen years my junior simply because there was no way in hell I was fighting with a child. Clay practically worshipped the ground my mom walked on, and my own father couldn’t keep a relationship longer than the league’s offseason.
I wasn’t very well-versed in family drama.
Fresh out of the shower, I headed downstairs to the townhouse bottom floor in baggy jeans and a cropped muscle tee, the outfit was one of my most well worn looks and yet I still felt inclined to snap a bathroom picture and post it to my story.
If I was going to lose to Brittney today, I could at least use some external validation for my pain and suffering.
On the way downstairs, I could hear a woman rapping through Brittney’s speakers while she showered, and I knew that meant she was nowhere close to getting out of the shower soon.
It was weird how in only two weeks time I was catching up to home habits and daily schedules. The first time I saw the extra juice in the fridge I legitimately thought it was a test. Like I could disregard the poisonous note, drink it, and then get yelled at for touching her things. But I had to remind myself that Brittney was making a conscious effort to be better. Which meantIhad to do my part and show the same consideration.
Because even if we weren’t going to be in competition with each other anymore, that didn’t mean I still couldn’t try to beat her at something. Even if it was a game on my side.
Rashida and Allison offered to pick up takeout, and it wasn’t until Brittney confirmed she’d stay that I told them they could pick up from a new Filipino-Cuban fusion restaurant. I didn’t know how authentic it’d be or if she’d even like it, but maybe she was missing her mom’s cooking and could use a boost.
I was really trying, or whatever.
I turned on the lights downstairs and opened the door to Daya who stood on the welcome mat swaying and slightly blushing. Her hands were heavy with wine I knew I’d need until everyone went home.
“Why do you already look tipsy?” I already knew the answer but still wanted to hear it.
“Because I underestimated the happy hour drinks at a gay bar,yet again.”She stepped into the townhouse, her outfit giving cutesy girly pop date night.
“Who was your date with?”
“Who said it was a date?”
“Okay, fine. Keep your secrets,” I conceded. “Be nice tonight, I invited Brittney.”
Daya feigned shock as she set the wine down, “I am the epitome of nice, Nola Belle Young.”
“Your middle name is Belle?” Brittney yelled, bounding down the stairs. The front half of her hair was braided and tied withcolored rubber bands, and I let my eyes skim the rest of her body.
Fuck me, we’re matching.
“Oh my God, you guys are matching!” Daya yelled, fueled by her happy hour drinks. “Did you plan this?!”
“Of course not,” I answered at the same time Brittney said, “Of course.”
And then she fucking winked at me.
Brittney wore baggy jeans and a white ribbed tank top that was definitely see through, because not only could I tell she was not wearing a bra, but her nipples were pierced too.
Great, good.
Daya clapped like an easily entertained child, and I was immediately regretting this new duo that was forming.
“Daya, I think you should take a picture of us. I want to post it.” Brittney walked past me, her sweet scent filling my nose—this time I could name it. She smelled like guava and lemons.
Before I could come back to earth, Brittney was handing tipsy Daya her phone and running over to clutch my side. I didn’t even think I had time to look at the camera because I was looking down at Brittney, that hot feeling returning. Before I knew it, the moment was over, and Brittney grabbed her phone back.
