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If he’s a Ken doll, Fatima is a black barbie—the glamour edition.
“I like the blond and preppy type,” Harper says, plucking a flute of champagne from a server’s tray. I grab a lemonade with my free hand.
Effie purses her lips. “Since when?”
“Since right the fuck now.” Harper narrows her gaze at Quentin as she takes a sip of her champagne.
“You know who that is, don’t you?” Effie asks Harper.
Harper shakes her head. “Not a clue.”
“That’s Quentin James. Of the James family.”
“Mmm?” Harper squints one eye. “Nope. Still nothing.”
“His family has a long line of politicians and US Presidents,” I interject. “But Quentin’s a big shot lawyer.”
Harper bites her lip. “That’s hot.”
Effie chuckles. “Girl, watch the news sometimes. Or read a history book.”
“Hunter went to high school with Quentin and his wife, Fatima,” I add, eating a bacon-wrapped scallop.
“Her locs are giving me life,” Effie says, commenting on Fatima’s waist-length locs.
“Yas, for real, sis. See if Hunter has any more friends who look like Quentin or the other one,” Harper says.
“Which other one?” I ask before taking a sip of my lemonade.
“She means Conner Brathwaite. Mr. Hotel Mogul himself.”
“Who knew all these fine white boys loved them some chocolate? I’m like, okay Zaddies.” Harper bites into her bottom lip.
Effie rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Stop staring. Quentin has a whole wife.”
“Not a half one. A whole one.” I chuckle before eating my last hors d’oeuvre.
“I can look as long as I don’t touch.”
“Be careful,” Effie says. “His wife might cut you. I know I would if I had a man like that.”
“You guys have to admit he’s seriously fine,” Harper says.
I give Quentin an honest once-over. He’s very attractive, no doubt, but he doesn’t do it for me. “He’s not my type.”
“You’re only saying that because you get to sleep with that every night,” Harper says.
“Harper has a point,” Effie agrees.
“I’m going to go say hello,” I say, letting them think what they want of Hunter and me.
* * *
I grab a hamburger slider from a passing server and walk through the crowd toward Hunter and his friends. Along the way, I talk with our late-arrival guests. After spending a few minutes with Priscilla and three of her friends, I continue my path, glancing up in Hunter’s direction. As if he can feel my gaze, he looks over at me, and with a broad smile, he holds out his hand for me to come to him. I can’t help the smile on my face as I go to him.
Dru blocks my path, raising his camera and snapping a quick shot. Although he’s been nearby taking pictures, we haven’t had the chance for a one-on-one since my car accident. “You’re going to have to let me take some pictures of you in front of the flower wall.”
“Sure. Give me a few minutes?”
