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“Oh, where is she right now? Paris?”
“Yep,” Brooklyn said proudly. “She has a residency dancing at a club there.”
“Wow! Shit, I’m going to be late for this housing staff meeting!” my sister said.
“I’ll walk you there,” Brooklyn said.
“Cool!”
“Well, let me head on out, too. I’ll catch up with you later, Cake,” I said.
BROOKLYN
One and two and three and kick and roll and stop!
Don’t forget to smile!
Control your breathing.
Stop thinking about him!
The recorded version of the song—Green Lightby John Legend—ended and I felt like I would pass out. The combination of hours of practice coupled with the lunch I’d missed was about to kill me. No,himbeing back was about to kill me.
Seeing him sitting there in Sharla’s suite, hearing his voice, witnessing the swagger in his walk again had taken my appetite and replaced it with a lump of something foreign in the pit of my stomach. Regret? No, longing.
I longed to feel something I believed I’d pushed out of my twenty-one-year-old mind. How could I long to be up against Vann London’s wide, strong body when I’d implementedPlan Icebox, named after the Omarion song, the plan that explicitly outlined how I would use men for sex until I found Mr. Right-and-Very-Rich. The plan had been going well, too. I had Jamaal Williams, who was great in bed and too busy on campus to make time for more than an occasional fuck. So, for all sexual intents and purposes, I was good. Or IthoughtI was good, but then I saw Vann London’s big fine, gray-eyed ass and I lost it. Couldn’t eat or concentrate and now, as practice ended, I felt like a freight truck had backed over me.
Shiiiiiiiiiit!I whined internally.
And to top it all off, Jamaal was waiting for me outside the fine arts building looking every bit the Nubian god he was. Yet, every deity in existence knew there was no way I could give him even a morsel of pussy at that point. Not even if I wanted to, and I didn’t because my coochie was river dancing for Vann-fucking-London.
I didn’t even attempt to smile as I approached him, and my “hey” was monotonous.
“Damn, hey to you,” he said, towering over me all chocolaty and sexy and stuff. “It’s like that? They must’ve really kicked your ass in there.”
Resting my forehead against his hard chest, I groaned, “They diiiiid. I’m exhausted. All I wanna do is sleep.”
“You wanna sleep over?” Jamaal had a decent apartment off campus, but he also had two roommates and the place tended to smell like musty nuts.
Since I was sure I couldn’t stomach that, I shook my head against his chest. “I just wanna go to my room and—”
“Brooklyn!”
My head snapped up, brows knitted in confusion as my foggy mind tried to decide if I’d actually heard my name being called or if I’d imagined it.
“Who the fuck is he?” Jamaal asked.
“Who the fuck is who?” I queried, my eyes sweeping the area. I knew the voice but surely...
“Ole dude in the parking lot. Looks Mexican or something.”
Well, that confirmed that I wasn’t insane. Vann was biracial but could pass for Latino if you didn’t look closely. Finally, my eyes bumped into him leaning against the hood of what I guessed was a rental car. He was wearing this intense look that made my belly lurch and my nether regions liquify. He looked...angry.
“Oh, that’s Sharla’s brother. He’s kind of protective over me like he is with her,” I lied.
“Oh. They don’t look shit alike. Must got different daddies,” Jamaal observed.
“Yeah…I forgot he said he’d give me a ride to Kitt Hall. I’ll call you later.”
