Page 20 of A Little Kissing Between Friends

I took myself on a date every week and made sure that I learned what made me happy. Rediscovering Juleesa was a journey that I thoroughly enjoyed. I hadn’t had sex in almost a year, and most of the time I didn’t even think about it.

Most of the time.

The rest of the time...let’s just say that the person I end up with might need to schedule a few sick days so that I can release my pent-up...emotions without rushing.

They might also need to have a recovery massage lined up.

“Here,” Poppa called, tossing me her keys and simultaneously breaking me out of my thoughts.

I climbed in the passenger seat of her car and cranked up the engine while she pulled my car into her garage. From the outside looking in, it might have seemed chivalrous, but the truth was that she regularly talked cash shit about my driving and once said that she’d rather move my car herself than have me scratch up something of hers. There was nothing wrong with the way I drove; Poppa was just particular. Some might—and have—call it controlling, but I didn’t see it that way. I loved the way she took the reins of her life and steered it in the direction she wanted. As someone who had spent my formidable years living according to what my parents decided was right and wrong, I admired the hell out of Poppa for that.

Locking my door with the key fob, Poppa jumped behind the wheel and we headed south to Xeno and Trisha’s house. They were already in the car and waited for us to circle the cul-de-sac before exiting the neighborhood. We made it to VR Club and Lounge and followed Xeno’s bodyguard through the building and up to VIP. Once we were situated, the DJ shouted out Poppa and Xeno before playing Xeno’s latest single. The volume in the building grew as folks cheered and began rapping along to the lyrics.

It was like a mini concert, with the energy getting even the most introverted person hype enough to start spitting lyrics at strangers. The VIP was just as lit as the dance floor. Status didn’t matter when it came to appreciating good music, and what Xeno was doing for the rap game—let alone Houston—was too impressive to ignore.

Several rap songs cycled on before the R&B came out. That’s when things became a little weird. We went from rapping to dancing, all of us up on our feet vibing out to the spectacular mix of tracks the DJ was spinning. It was nothing for me to bend at the waist and back it up on Poppa. I’d done it a million times before, and she usually just laughed and slapped my ass once or twice. Sometimes she caught it and danced with me for a few beats before waving me off with a laugh.

To my surprise, she didn’t do either of those things that night. Gripping my hips, she ground against me, rolling her body sensually. And because I wasn’t new to this, but tried and true to this, I rolled with her. We danced as if we’d had a brief interview on a black leather couch beforehand. My body was heated, primed, and ready to go. I forgot where I was until the side of her arm brushed my chest and the fear of Poppa feeling my erect nipples through my mesh dress and thin bodysuit snapped me out of my fog. Thankfully, the song came to an end, giving me an excuse to pull out of her grasp, and she didn’t protest.

Why the hell was I so juiced up from a damn dance? I did this shit on a regular and by this point, a dance was nothing. Turning around, I pasted a grin on my face, prepared to laugh it off, but the expression on her face stopped me.

I had to be seeing things. That was the only explanation, because there was no way Poppa would be giving me the Dirty Dancing hungry eyes. Hell, there was no way Poppa—my Poppa—would’ve been giving me a proper daggering as if we were at a Caribbean fête either, and yet, here we were. My mind was racing, scrambling trying to come up with a logical reason for my body’s reaction and now this look on Poppa’s face. Her lips parted and my chest tightened, but Xeno clapped a hand down onto Poppa’s shoulder, breaking the seconds-long stare-off we were locked into. Grateful for the distraction, I immediately excused myself to go to the bathroom, pulling Mercedes along with me. The dance floor wasn’t too crowded, and there wasn’t a line to nab one of the eight stalls. The bathrooms were single, unconnected rooms with frosted-glass doors along a dimly lit hallway. Mercedes primped in the mirror while I peed, and then we switched places.

“You gonna tell me when you and Cyn Tha Starr started fuckin’ or are we still pretending y’all are just besties?”

Usually I was ready for Mercedes’s random vulgarity, but I was caught off guard this time around and it was purely because I was distracted. My mind was back in VIP with Poppa’s hands on my hips.

Frowning, I glared at Mercedes in the mirror.

“We are just besties!”

Smirking, Mercedes quirked an eyebrow. “The kind that bump coochies?”

Flipping her the bird, I didn’t even bother answering her. After she washed her hands and refreshed her lipstick, we exited the bathroom.

“Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress!”

A gorgeous, caramel-skinned baddie stood in the middle of the hallway, a hand on her hip as she grinned at us. Instinctively, I knew the woman was talking about me. Hell, it was almost verbatim what I’d said to myself before I left the house for the night. That wasn’t to say that Mercedes didn’t look good, because my girl was bad, but it was an inexplicable feeling that came, along with the feeling that she wasn’t being completely honest. I wasn’t unused to random compliments from strangers, but something about this woman’s declaration rang false.

Slim, with tig ole biddies, she wore a silver, sleeveless minidress with a heart-shaped keyhole at the base of her neck, which put said biddies on display. The dress stopped mere inches below her pussy and showcased the miles of oiled-up legs she possessed. Her rust-brown hair was styled in two massive afro puffs, and there were exaggerated swoops gelled at her temples. With glossy, two-toned lips and silver rectangular hoops in her ears, baby girl was capital-F fine. I might’ve been on a self-imposed sex sabbatical, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t look.

After giving her what was surely an obviously thorough once-over, I dipped my chin. “Thank you, gorgeous. I must say the same about you.”

Her face brightened and smile widened. “Thank you!”

Sudden chattering sounded from her right and our left as a group of women came down the hallway in search of the bathrooms. Baby girl was all in everybody’s way, but instead of continuing on into one of the stalls, she took a step closer to me and Mercedes. Confused why the moment wasn’t over and the woman didn’t just continue on into one of the stalls, I turned to meet Mercedes’s eyes. She had an eyebrow quirked but otherwise didn’t look nearly as lost as I felt.

“Oh, hey! You two were in VIP with Xeno, right?”

Mercedes instantly started cracking up and I rolled my eyes, giving her an exasperated look before swinging my gaze back to the woman.

Damn.

I’d thought we’d just experienced a beautiful moment of club bathroom appreciation, but it was all a ploy.

Baby girl was a groupie.

Don’t get me wrong—I had nothing against groupies, I swear. Hell, I had a few myself despite only working during primetime one weekend a month. Sanity was one of the most popular strip clubs in Houston, which was saying a lot, so I was used to kicking it with celebrities from all mediums, and groupies were a part of the fame that couldn’t be avoided. I wasn’t judging baby girl for having stars in her eyes; it just stung a little to realize that my intuition had been right and her praise likely wasn’t genuine, but instead only a means to an end.