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Chapter Twenty-Six
Nala
Jordan is waiting for me when I finish my ten o’clock class.
Since she has class in ten minutes, and is usually already there, preparing to be the smartest person in the room, I can only surmise that Brooklyn figured out what happened when he saw Malcolm this morning. And then he called his girlfriend and blabbed to her at the first opportunity.
Boys, worse than old women when it comes to gossip.
I take a minute to admire how put together she looks—as per usual—in her tidy navy checked button-down, tucked into slim jeans with a thin reddish-orange belt. Her shoes match her belt almost perfectly.
Jordan is the tidiest person I know, with one of the strongest minds, and gentlest hearts, and I’m grateful to the roommate gods for giving her to me.
“Hey, don’t you have class?”
She doesn’t even look at her watch. “I have nine minutes.” Her voice practically vibrates with excitement. On a sigh, I reach out and take her arm, pulling her aside until we’re in a relatively quiet spot against the building.
“Ask.” Her eyes widen, always ready to find a tactful way to approach things, but I swing my hand in a ‘let’s get moving’ gesture. “No need to beat around the bush, Richards. I know why you’re here, waiting for me instead of standing outside of your class, ready to be the first inside and get the best seat, so just ask what you want before you’re late.”
She tilts her head. “So Brooks wasn’t wrong…you and Mal…spent the night together?”
I nod, maintaining composure while she studies me. “Are you all right?” She gives me another onceover, eyes lighting on my T-shirt. “I mean, you look fantastic, and that’s really saying something since a rubber-band is actually a part of your outfit.”
Taking her hands, I hold them still and wait for her to catch her breath. Jordan’s an analyzer. She looks at the details, the facts, wants support and data. She could spend hours on one tiny part of the whole if I let her. “I’m good. Great, in fact.” Then I add a saucy wink. “A little sore, but that’s not a bad thing.”
God bless her, she blushes.
“Want the down-and-dirty details?” I tease.
“No, thank you,” she says on a laugh. And then she sobers, holding my hands now in a gesture of comfort. “Was he good to you, Nala?”
Trust Jordan. My teasing mood turns a little serious, and since her hands tighten on mine, now holding me as much as I was holding her, it’s obvious she knows. When she came home from first spending the night with Brooks last year, I asked her the same question. She was innocent, he was not…I wanted her moment, her first time, to be everything she wanted.
I’m not an innocent; Jordan knows my story, but she asks because, like her moment with Brooks, this one was pivotal for me. Malcolm, he’s not just anyone. He’sthe one.
My entire young adult life, all I wanted was for him to be my first.
“Yes,” I say, clearing my voice. “Yes, he was good to me.” And then the reality hits me, and I’m pulling Jordan close, wrapping my arms around her and holding on tight to my friend because I slept with Malcolm and he told me he loved me.
“I’m so happy for you, Nala.”
“He loves me.” I sniffle, burying my head a little more on her delicate shoulder. “He said he loves me—last night.”
“Oh, sweetie.” Jordan’s hand comes up to stroke my head. “Everyone already knows that.”
“Not me,” I say, closing my eyes until the tears disappear. “I didn’t know that.”
She eases back, holding onto my shoulders. “And now that you do?”
“I don’t know,” I lie.
My friend looks like she wants to call me on it, but her Spidey-sense must also tell her that I can’t go there, not yet, because she nods. “And this morning? How was it after the night of?”
“He was still pretty phenomenal. Helps that he’s hung like a—”
Jordan’s shocked gasp keeps me from finishing the sentence, laughter doubling me over.
“You certainly seem to be happy.”
