Page 57 of The Sweetest Return

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You don’t have to. Your face is loud.”

Camille took a lazy sip of her lemonade, completely unbothered. “You are on that man’s dick the same way you were when I would have to slip right back out of our quad because I heard clapping and sighs.”

Noelle choked on her drink.

“Oh, Dreee, you feel so good.”

I covered my face. “Camille.”

“What?” She looked at Noelle, who was coughing and dabbing at her chin with a napkin. “Am I lying?”

“You are being obscene in public.”

“I’m being historically accurate.”

I wanted to toss something at her beautiful ass.

Camille’s expression stayed calm as she lifted her glass again. “Don’t be shy now, Imani. I was there. Got receipts. And enough audio memory filed away to last me for decades.”

Noelle patted my arm while still trying to recover. “It’s okay, boo. We’ve all been there.”

I dropped my hands from my face and stared at her. “Have we?”

“Well.” She cleared her throat. “Emotionally.”

“I hate both of y’all.”

“But we love you.” Camille blew me a kiss. “That’s why we’re giving you until tomorrow to accidentally-on-purpose fall on your man’s dick.”

“That is not my man, Camille.”

“Sure, baby.”

Noelle patted my arm again. “You’re doing great.”

“I need new friends.”

“No, you don’t,” Camille said.

“Unfortunately.”

For a little while, I let them have me. We walked the Yard, stopped for hugs, laughed with old classmates, and let Crown Weekend be the part I remembered without flinching. Women I knew from business workshops and late-night study rooms were founders now, executives, attorneys, doctors, stylists, consultants. Women with money, taste, stories, and the kind of attention luxury brands were always trying to earn and rarely understood.

For almost twenty minutes, I was fine.

Then a familiar voice came from my right.

“Still trying to figure out how to make folks want what you already see?”

My head turned.

Dre stood several feet away, and the entire Yard seemed to make room for the sight of him.

Dark jeans. White T-shirt beneath a custom Jeff Hamilton leather jacket in AWU purple and gold, the school crest worked into one side of his chest and twenty-two stitched small near the cuff.

Even his Nike Air Force 1s were one of one, white leather broken up with purple and gold and his number worked into the heel. Sunglasses covered his eyes, but they did nothing to make him less recognizable. The low cut. The full beard. The diamond at his ear. The watch at his wrist. The mouth I had spent too much of the night before pretending I had not thought about.