Page 22 of A Little Kissing Between Friends

“What are you talking about?” I snapped, annoyance all up and down my tone.

“I’m talking about this—” she gestured at my face “—attitude you recently acquired.” My frown deepened, and her grin immediately spread in response. “Could it have something to do with lil mama from the bathroom pushing up on your...bestie?”

“Ugh!” I hated the high-pitched tone she used when she said bestie. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“How am I saying it, friend?”

“Like you don’t even believe the words coming out of your mouth. Like calling us besties is bullshit. Like me and Poppa are cosplaying as friends but be scissoring in secret!”

Mercedes tilted her head to the side, the corners of her mouth drooping as her shoulders lifted slightly.

“I mean...”

I scoffed. “There’s something about that girl that I don’t like. I can’t fully explain it, but it has nothing to do with her and Poppa being hugged up and everything to do with her lil recon mission earlier.”

Lips curved in amusement, Mercedes dipped her chin. “Oh, okay. You not ready. It’s cool.”

My brows started straining and reaching for each other as Mercedes took a sip from the glass in her hand and cut her eyes to the left as she turned away from me. That’s how hard I was frowning. ’Cause why would she try and play me like that? Why couldn’t she just hear me and believe me? And more importantly, why didn’t she believe me?

As that last question flitted across my mind, I turned back to the dance floor and heaved a long breath as my eyes immediately found Poppa and Lil Miss Afro Puffs. Poppa had her phone out, likely typing in that girl’s number. I felt my lip start to curl because I even realized that I was frowning.

“Oop! There it is.”

Mercedes was right back at my ear, giggling like she’d figured it all out. And...I don’t know, man, maybe there was some merit to what she’d been saying. Heavy on the some.

Because the way my stomach twisted when Poppa kissed that girl’s cheek after she slid her phone into her front pocket felt a little like betrayal, and I wasn’t quite sure if it was entirely friendly.

Chapter Seven

Cyn

Clubbin’

The moment Jucee and Mercedes disappeared down the stairs in search of the hallway where the bathrooms were located, a group of ball players arrived. The crowd on the dance floor seemed to double in size and the volume surged. I was out to chill with my people, but I couldn’t turn my business brain off. With so many people in the building—including prominent celebrities—now was the perfect time for “The Rest of You” to drop publicly. It had done very well at Sanity, with Jucee tagging me in every comment on her social media that asked when the song was gonna be available. Since then, I’d put it up on all streaming apps and uploaded all of the details onto Shazam. It was go time and I felt confident that this song was going to catapult Ray right into the spotlight. Tapping Xeno on the arm, I leaned into her ear.

“I’mma go holla at High-Fee right quick.” The DJ who’d been spinning when we arrived had wrapped up his set, and High-Fee was now in the booth.

Xeno nodded. “You finna slide her that track?”

I grinned. “You already know, my boy.”

We both stood and slapped hands.

Xeno tapped my shoulder with the side of her fist.

“I can’t wait to watch their faces from up here when the beat first drops.”

“Already!”

I descended the short flight of steps from VIP and pushed through the crowd until I reached the elevated booth. There was a seven-foot swole dude guarding the entrance to the stairs, but he stepped to the side before I reached him. There wasn’t even a need to flash my VIP wristband; he knew who I was already. I dapped him up and proceeded up the stairs. The DJ booth at VR was futuristic and functional as hell. LED lights ran underneath the rim of the countertop that ran the length of the eight-by-eight-foot space. There were multiple mounted, thirty-two-inch screens that could be connected to devices for larger viewing, which was an especially nice feature for dark clubs. The booth had a nearly 270-degree view of the dance floor and VIP sections, with a plexiglass shield across the front that rose five feet in the air. Fred Pierce had really put some thought into this design, and I applauded him for that.

“Aw, shit!”

The exaggerated exclamation pulled a wide grin out of me. She’d turned from her station to face me, bowing dramatically at the waist.

“I ain’t know greatness was in the building! Let me show my respects!”

I couldn’t help but laugh at her antics. DJ High-Fee, also known as Nacora, was about eight years younger than me, but instead of generation wars, we’d clicked from the moment we met and she’d been the homie ever since.