Page 273 of The Wright Man

"I'll be right back," he said, backing away from the bed without taking his eyes off me. "Let me get you a washcloth or something."

I rolled onto my side, quirked an eyebrow at him with a smile. "So you can put me through the mattress and be a gentleman afterwards? I'm a lucky girl."

He didn't answer. Just pressed a kiss to my hip and walked to the bathroom in all his naked, glistening glory.

I stretched across the bed, boneless and grinning, full in a way I'd stopped believing was possible.

Our chemistry had always been loud, alive, pulsing through every conversation and glance like its own secret language. So no, I wasn't surprised that our bodies spoke to each other fluently. What stunned me was how much it felt like a continuation of everything else—how the heat between us carried the same depth, the same trust, the same ridiculous, irreverent joy that we'd always had. It was fire and foundation. Lust and love braided so tightly I couldn't tell where one ended and the other began.

I'd imagined this more times than I'd ever admit. But the reality? Somehow softer, deeper, sexier, and infinitely better than any version I'd dreamed up.

He was perfect for me. Absolutely, irrevocably perfect.

And mine. Finally.

15 year-old Angelica would have blushed and called me a liar.

"I just fucked my best friend," I giggled to the ceiling, hand covering my face like it was supposed to be a secret.

"You just made love to your best friend," Maleek corrected, returning with a washcloth in hand.

I let my hands fall to my sides as I watched him climb back on top of me and place the warm cloth between my legs. I gasped at the contact.

His dick was already hard again, hot and heavy against my thigh, and I was immediately wondering how fast we could ruin these sheets a second time.

He kissed me deep, then murmured against my lips, eyes soft and voice rough—

"And you're about to do it again."

Epilogue

Angelica

One Year Later

"Can we bring actual chairs to the next Sister Sunday?" Bella whined, shifting her weight dramatically as she sat cross-legged on an upside-down HomeGoods crate. "My ass is going numb."

"What ass?" Tina smirked, flicking a grain of rice at her from across the folding table.

I snorted, watching it bounce off Bella's hoodie. "Y'all are a mess."

We were nestled in the heart of what would soon be me and Bella's nonprofit, though right now, it looked more like a post-move picnic. The incense I'd lit thirty minutes ago still hovered in the air—soft, earthy, grounding—fighting for dominance with the rich scent of Peruvian takeout containers open on the table in front of us. We'd ordered enough lomo saltado, plantains, and yuca fries to feed a small army. Or, in our case, three overstimulated women who had been too busy dreaming to eat all day.

The walls were still bare, the windows still smudged with fingerprints from construction. Only one of the outlets worked. But none of that mattered.

The bones were good.

Bella sat on her crate, knees pulled into her chest. Tina and I had claimed the two cheap beanbags from Target the moment we arrived, sprawling on them like royalty. The way our voices echoed in the unfinished space made it feel even more like a beginning—like the universe was bouncing our laughter off the walls for safekeeping.

"I'm serious," Bella muttered, rubbing her hip. "My hip bones aren't made for this kind of struggle."

"You're not even twenty-five." Tina took a long sip from her Inca Kola. "You're still on your starter ass. Be grateful."

I leaned back, letting the moment settle over me. This space—ours. Across the street from GhostFit, just a stone's throw from where everything else in our lives had started and stopped and started again. I could still see the glow of the gym's neon sign if I turned just right. But now? Now there was this.

A sanctuary. A mission. A dream we'd dared to make real.

Raised and Rooted.