“Do they have actual food here?” I ask no one and everyone. “Or is it all libation?”
“See he always had a way with words,” Ma brags, touching Qwest’s hand. “You know he started with poetry. Won a poetry contest in the sixth grade and has been writing ever since.”
“Ma, don’t,” I groan. I know she’s going to embarrass me. That’s a given. It’s just a matter of how much.
“I actually think I have a picture here.” She digs around in her purse and pulls out a falling-apart wallet. “Here we go.”
“I wanna see!” Qwest laughs and settles down beside my mother. “So do I.” Kai shoots me a wicked grin. She knows I hate this stuff. “Are there any naked baby pictures in there?”
“Food?” I repeat. “Is there any?”
“Why don’t we go back to the house?” Ma doesn’t look up from the stack of pictures ranging from toddlerhood to adolescence she must carry in her purse. “I could make chicken and waffles.”
“I vote for that,” Amir says, smacking his lips. “I haven’t had chicken and waffles in a long time.”
“Boy, you came by the house last week and had chicken and waffles,” Ma says.
“I know.” Amir rubs his stomach. “A week is a long time in waffle years.”
“Did that actually just come out of your mouth?” I raise both brows. “For real, bruh? Waffle years?”
He doubles up, flipping me off with both middle fingers.
“Okay.” I stand up. “I’m gonna go grab my stuff from the dressing room before we head out.”
Amir stands with me, but I wave him back to his seat.
“Please don’t try to ‘guard’ me,” I say. “I hate it when you do that.”
“It is my job.”
“Well, right now you’re getting paid to sit your ass back down and leave me alone for a few minutes.”
“Give a man a little money.” Amir grumbles, grins, and takes his seat. “And he gets all new on you.”
I’m still smiling about that when I enter the dressing room to collect my bag and the clothes I wore to the venue. I almost run right over Bristol leaving as I enter.
“Sorry.” I grab her to keep her standing upright. I intend to let her go, but my palms linger on the warm, silky skin of her shoulders.
“No problem.” She steps back, looking up the few inches to my face, her eyes guarded. “I was just, um, leaving. Straightening up and then leaving.”
I notice her hands behind her back, and the shifty look on her face.
“What you got there?” I reach behind her, but she steps back, deeper into the room and out of my reach.
“Nothing.” She shakes her head, a self-conscious smile tugging at the fullness of her lips. “It’s just . . . nothing.”
“If it’s nothing, why are you hiding it?”
I slide my hands down her arms until I encounter her death grip on the handles of the bag. I don’t bother actually reaching for the bag, but give myself a few seconds with her pressed against my chest. She swipes her tongue over her bottom lip. I’m riveted by
the motion of her tongue and how her breasts lift against my chest as her breath shallows. Her lashes flutter closed, and her sigh lands heavily in the quiet dressing room. She steps out of my hold and offers the bag to me, breaking the moment fusing our bodies together.
“For me?” I glance from the brightly wrapped box in the bag to find her gnawing on her lip, a tiny frown sketched above her eyes.
“Just a little something for, you know.” She gestures vaguely in the air. “Congrats or whatever.”
“Oh, you shouldn’t have,” I murmur, setting the bag on a side table so I can open the box.