Amani Pt. 02

Jessica perked up, a glint in her eyes I'd only seen from sorority girls during hell week making a shiver race down my spine. "Lez do more shots!"

Chapter 3

"What's wrong?" Leilani asked, principal voice laid on thick. "Is James texting you?"

I glanced over the rim of my orange juice at the ladies sitting across from me, staring at me with ten-years-of-friendship eyes that could see bullshit through a blizzard. Fuck. If there was a Guinness World Record for the longest sip in history, I was pretty sure I beat it just then.

"He tried it," I said, recalling his pathetic middle of the night "U up?" text. "Blocked his ass and dumped the rest of his shit."

"I thought he already cleared his stuff out."

"Motherfucker was trying to be slick thinking he could leave some shit and claim the old, 'Have you seen my whatever?' crap. I sent him a picture of it in the dumpster with a very clear 'eat shit and die' message before I blocked him."

"Seems about right," Leilani nodded, taking a sip of her drink before laser focusing on me. "So then what is it? I'm getting serious man-vibes from you."

"I'm fine. Just hungover," I groaned, leaning into the half truth. Noon brunch was somehow both too early and too late for my hungover state since I'd been up since four in the morning, vomiting out tequila-soaked pretzel bits and catching bouts of sleep on the bathroom floor. It'd been nothing short of ibuprofen, guilt, and a miracle that got me to brunch today. "I went out with Jessica last night and got White girl wasted."

"Fun," Marcella drolled beside Leilani, looking all at once stunning and average. Marcella was that strange peacock mix where ninety percent of the time she was plain, living in athleisure, but the other ten percent she'd showcase all of her plumage to attract someone. Today was the latter, plumage on display in a canary yellow jumper that dipped startlingly low in the front with her thick hair rolling in shiny waves down her back and over her shoulders. I thought the delicate body chain was a bit overkill, but knew for a fact that she'd been sexless for three months and any longer might convince all her lady bits to find another host. "But that's not what we're talking about and you know it."

"Hey, ladies!" Stephanie gushed, arriving on something past CPT and veering into "Why did you even show up?" territory. I silently welcomed her interruption as I snuck another long sip of what was left of my orange juice. When I was this hungover only sugar and gluten could cure me. "Sorry I'm late."

"Surprising since this place is actually the closest for you since you live in the District."

"You know how Metro is," Stephanie said in response, her go-to phrase. Just swap out 'metro' with 'traffic' or any other public transportation delay and she'd use it.

Despite the tardiness of the train, she still looked stunning in a maxi dress that flowed around her like ocean waves of lilac and silver. "Cute dress."

"It's new!" she chirped happily, slinging her coat over the back of the brocade chair and plopping down next to me. She swiped at the bread basket in the middle of the table, dragging the thin slice of baguette through the olive oil marinade next to it before popping the piece in her mouth. "What'd I miss?"

"Just trying to figure out why Mani's stalling last it's the last few seconds in the game," Marcella said, work-lingo coloring the question. How she'd become a sports agent when the woman was practically allergic to any form of physical activity was anyone's guess, which made her overcompensate by patterning her speech with all manner of sports analogies and metaphors.

"Is that how baseball works?" Leilani asked, downing her champagne flute and signaling the waiter for another. It was her fourth but it might as well have been her first with the way she drank. She argued it was her French-Jewish upbringing where wine was a part of every meal, holy or not.​​

Marcella frowned, glancing around our table. "I was talking about basketball."

Stephanie waved it all away and dunked another piece of bread in olive oil. "God, I'm starving!" She'd barely swallowed before the next question was out of her mouth. "Why's 'Mani looking like something the cat dragged in?"

"Jessica."

"Ah. Gotcha." Stephanie nodded. "And you, Lei?"

"Still sloughing through my dissertation and trying to astral project into the past to slap the shit out of myself for pressing submit on my application to this program."

"That's not how astral projection works," I chimed in.

We were interrupted by the waitress coming to take our order. It was a mad scramble to look at the menu and decide what we all wanted. Marcella didn't even spare the paper a glance as she ordered her food. She was one of those people that always read the menu before going anywhere so she'd know what she wanted immediately. Leilani gave the menu a cursory glance before ordering the strangest sounding item, a signature move of her 'life long learner' mentality that my stomach couldn't get behind. Stephanie and I took the longest, lamenting over the choices even though I was pretty limited to things that successfully soaked up booze.

In another moment the server was off and we were back to our conversation with Marcella chiming in, "I'm thinking about buying an investment property in Woodbridge, but it's from the '50s. I'm not sure about all of the renos that'd need to be done."

Leilani threw her two cents in as Stephanie asked a variety of questions that had nothing to do with investment and everything to do with aesthetics. I offered off-the-top market values and estimations that required no real brain power to contribute.

"But we haven't solved the mystery of why Amani's hung over yet," Stephanie interjected, focusing her stare on me once again. "You don't drink to excess unless you're trying to get out of your head."

Three sets of eyes turned on me expectantly and I visibly swallowed. "It's nothing."

"Is what someone with something would say," Leilani tacked on, gesturing to the waiter for another glass of champagne.

"I'm fine," I grunted, reaching for my second glass of orange juice.

Our food arrived in the next instant, giving me a slight reprieve as we all dug into our respective dishes. Slight being the key word.

"Doubling down," Marcella murmured, side-eyeing the shit out of me as she cut her eggs benedict into meticulous bite-sized pieces. "Must be dick."

Ugh, I loved these women. They were the best of times and the worst of times, ride or die to the end. That was also the problem.

I reached over and plopped my shiny new purse on the table. I'd been saving this diversion for a rainy day when I really needed to fly under the radar of their sharp gazes. Usually it was some new bullshit with my cheating asshole of a father and other times it was shame I felt at kowtowing to some White men bullshit I was too tired to fight.

Their eyes widened, hands reaching out instinctively before stopping short. "Is that the new Tefler Clemens?" Stephanie whispered, like the bag might spook.

"Maybe," I demurred.

"Wow," Leilani whispered, awestruck. "It must be huge if you're bringing out the designer bags. I'm guessing it's all the feels. She did the same move when she was gonna tell us James moved in. Remember that tennis bracelet with D'Angelo?"

"Oh my God!" Stephanie gushed. "Or those Louis Vuitton boots with Kevin?"

"And when she finally fucked Darren she bought that big ass flat screen."

"I get it. I get it," I grumbled.

Marcella pointed the empty wooden skewer that'd once held the olives to her bloody mary. "All I'm saying is that 'Mani's bank account is directly linked to her feels."

"Feels?" Stephanie gasped dramatically. "'Mani doesn't know the meaning of the word. Can't be the f-word."

"Could be the other f-word," Stephanie cut in smoothly. "Maybe she's not getting f-ed enough."

"Her dress would be shorter and tighter. I mean look at her," Leilani gestured toward my navy jumper, "she's mourning."

"Jesus, would y'all stop?"

"And the accent comes out," Marcella muttered under her breath with a small smile. "Must be a big'un."

"All you gotta do is tell us what's wrong," Leilani said smoothly. "Simple as that."

"Nothing's wrong." If looks could kill. "It's honestly nothing major. Just a fling I'm getting over."

"A fling with your vibrator? I didn't know those things had feelings."

"Oh, ha fucking ha." I rolled my eyes. "I hooked up with a couple guys."

"Now I might just be a humble high school principal but I do know my way around English grammar," Leilani demurred in a fake Southern accent, batting her lashes at me, "And a fling and couple guys don't go together unless that single fling contained multiple partners."

Stephanie gasped dramatically. "Did our Amani, Patron Saint of Vibrators and Dildos, engage in an illicit orgy?"

"Um, how are you ladies doing?" the waitress asked awkwardly beside our table. "Can I get you anything else?"

My face heated as my ex-best friends smiled congenially at the waitress and said varying forms of no.

"So, which is it?" Stephanie asked once the woman was gone. "Bad grammar or multiple partners?"

"I had a three-way," I said as evenly as possible, "But it doesn't really matter."

"What happened?" I could practically feel the shift at the table from good-natured ribbing to the realness of a decade old friendship. "Be honest."

And I had to be. These weren't just any women; they were my sisters. We'd been through Leilani's divorcee, Stephanie's abusive ex, Marcella coming out as bisexual. We'd gone through two years of graduate school, the tumultuous paths of women of color trying to make it in White, cisgendered, male dominated industries. I couldn't be anything but honest with them.

So I spilled everything with all the feels laced into every word. They heard everything I said, felt everything I meant and easily understood me. "... So I'm getting over it," I finished quietly, rubbing the condensation off my water glass, "because I have to."

"But you don't want to," Leilani said quietly, eyes staring down at her half eaten food. "You can't always do what society expects you to do and you can't live your life worried about how society will punish you for not living up to its expectations."

"I know."

"So what do you want to do?" Marcella asked, reaching over and clasping my trembling hands. "Really."

"It was the best sex of my life," I whispered like it was taboo to even admit that. "I want more of it—more of them. I want to fucking own them. I want them to own me. I want it all."

"Even with the very problematic stalking?" Marcella piped up from behind he half-finished drink. "Because we need to reiterate how not okay that was."

I nodded. "Agreed."

Stephanie crooked a brow. "But...?"

"No buts. They fucked up bad and that's not something you can easily come back from. Could we work through it?" I shrugged. "Maybe, but that means going against everything I've worked for."

"Well, are they worth it?"

"They could be." And wasn't that the scarier part?

"That's... a lot," Stephanie said slowly. "But I support you, girl."

"It's settled then," Marcella declared, flagging down the waitress and giving the sign for the check.

Oh no. "What are you talking about?"

"Already got the address," Leilani supplied, "And just booked the ride. It's five minutes away."

"What the hell's happening?" I asked harshly as Marcella handed over her credit card without even looking at the bill. Stepahnie and Leilani gathered their things, leaving half finished food littering the table. "What's going on?"

"We're going there," Marcella declared, buttoning up her peacoat and tugging on her leather gloves. "Now."

"Where?"

"The nonprofit Dominic and Alex run," Leilani tossed out as she took a few bills out of her wallet and laid them on the table as tip. "Someone's bound to have their contact information."

"You've all lost ya minds!"

Stepahnie held her hands up, a smile tugging at her straight lips. "Hey, I'm just in it for the adventure."

They are ridiculous! "You realize this doesn't make any sense. It's a Saturday, they're probably closed."

Marcella scoffed as she signed the check and pocketed her card. "They're a non-profit out to help get LGBT kids off the streets. They'll be open."

"And," I continued like she hadn't just interrupted me, "there's no way they're going to just give out that information to anybody who comes in demanding it." Good ol' fashion reason and common sense were on my side. "We're not doing this."

"Yes, we are," Leilani stated, staring me down. "Now get your shit. The car's gonna be here soon."

Chapter 3

"Y'all have lost your damn minds," I sighed for what felt like the millionth time, and they ignored me all the same as we all climbed out of the rideshare and onto the street.

"Cool design," Stephanie offered instead, staring up at the brightly painted mural that wrapped around the entire building in swirls of flowers and faces lit up with bright hues of color.

We walked down a few steps toward a half enclosed courtyard with flowers and seating framing both sides of the building. The sign above the double doors read "Queer Future Youth Center," the glass doors seeming both inviting and terrifying.

"This is insane."

"So you've said," Lelani drawled, reaching toward the unfortunately unlocked door and holding it wide. "After you."

Sweat rolled down my back as I stumbled in, acutely aware of the bags under my eyes, the sallow condition of my skin, and the patterned headwrap I'd honestly been too lazy to take off this morning half-covering my dreads. It was by sheer miracle I'd dressed myself in something other than a ratty sweatshirt and sweatpants. At least I didn't look entirely horrific in a black jumper and ballet flats. But the coat had certainly seen better days. God, this is not how I thought I'd look if I ever saw Dominic and Alex again.

"Let's just get this over with," I rushed, trying to speed track my trepidation with the same bravado I'd used as a first time swimmer jumping into the deep end of the pool. "There's no way they're going to be here anyway," I assured myself under my breath, remembering the multiple youth center locations across the U.S. and the fact that philanthropists weren't usually at the places they donated money to, but out spending their money guilt free because they'd done a good deed. Hell, Dominic and Alex probably didn't even remember me, even if they were here. Amani's a common enough name, right?

"Oh now someone's grown a backbone," Marcella whistled, keeping step beside me as I approached the reception desk where a person waited with naked curiosity.

"Something I can help you all with?" they said, not exactly unfriendly but not welcoming either.

"We're looking for Dominic and Alex," Marcella announced before I could say anything, like she knew them and this was just something they did. "We're supposed to meet them here. Lost a bet," she whispered as if that meant anything. "Just tell 'em Amani's here and she brought friends."

The receptionist blinked back in surprise. "Uh, sure."

What?! My eyes bugged at that. There was no way someone could just walk into a place, make up some story, and have executive directors summoned.

"Chill, 'Mani," Marcella said out of the corner of her mouth. "Everything's cool."

"Mr. Alvarez," the receptionist said into the corded phone, "I have Amani and friends here to see you and Mr. Alvarez." They waited, listening while I held my breath. "Sure. Uh-huh. See you both soon."

Alright. Okay. So this is happening. There wasn't a lot of time to get settled with this new reality of all my fears and insecurities manifesting, but I managed. Not because I felt sure about any of it, but because I'd be damned if I looked anything but composed.

I tried not to wonder if the smell of vomit and tequila clung to my skin, and resisted the desire to fiddle with my headscarf or reach into my purse and smack some tinted lip balm on. Instead, I focused on taking deep calming breaths and attempting the very real struggle of not cursing out my well meaning friends.

"If this goes poorly, I'll expect compensation."

"I'll sing karaoke and you can post it on Social," Marcella said, having the audacity to look a tiny bit contrite.

I glanced at Leilani. "Three bottles of your choice. Out of my good wine fridge."

Then to Stephanie who held her hands up in surrender. "Again, just in it for the ride."

The steady pound of feet slapping the floor hit my ears, and I took a precious second to convince myself that everything was going to be alright—has to be—before turning to the sound and men taking up nearly all of the hallway.

"Insta didn't do them justice. Jaysus," Stephanie groaned, stealing the word right from my mouth.

It couldn't just be that they were hot, they had to be sweaty too. Looking all kinds of sinful in loose basketball shorts and mesh tank tops of yellow and blue. They looked like a good night and a bad dream all rolled into one.

Alex's eyes were bright as he jogged to me, snatching me up and away from my friends, dragging me close and burying his face in my neck. "God, I missed you, baby."

I did not just whimper and clutch his shoulders. Didn't happen.

Dominic's hand was around the back of my neck in the next moment, tilting my face up for his kiss. It wasn't polite, not an attempt to ask for forgiveness or give any. It was both a slap in the face and a reminder. I couldn't help but feel pissed, because fuck him.

I bit his lip sharply. He growled, forcing my mouth wider, sucking my tongue viciously.

"Holy shit, Amani."

That drew me back to my three friends, the receptionist, and the very public location. I pulled away from Dominic, pushing against Alex's chest. "Let go."

Alex's face was mutinous. "No."

"Alex."

"Amani." If Dominic growled, Alex rumbled. One an animal and the other a storm.

I don't know how it happened, but one second we were having a battle of wills staring contest and the next Alex's tongue was down my throat and I couldn't think. Not about our audience or the multitude of reasons it was not okay to make out in the lobby of a youth center or even my reputation if we were caught.

"Lemme just," a voice said next to my ear as wiggling hands forced their way past the tight press of my body against Alex's and separated us. "Gotta leave a little room for Jesus," Stephanie mumbled, the words mixed with laughter.

The second he wasn't touching me I felt all at once like myself and like someone else entirely. My skin itched with the desire to plaster myself back against him, drag Dominic into the fold, consume these men the same way they consumed me. A shiver raced down my spine and I jerked my gaze away, creeped out by my own thoughts.

"You're Amani's friends I take it?" Dominic asked.

"Friends," Marcella agreed with a small shrug, "Bodyguards—"

"Keepers of her chastity," Leilani threw in.

"Really just depends on the situation," Stephanie finished.

Oh Lord!

"It's great to know our girl has such good friends," Alex said sweetly, Southern Gentlemen laid on the thickest I'd ever heard it. So smooth they hardly even noticed his hand snaking around my waist and dragging me to his side. "We'll have to have you over when we get settled."

Leilani's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "What do you mean?"

The fuckers gave my girls smiles.

"He doesn't know what he means," I said, turning my head to glare at Alex as I tried unsuccessfully to remove his arm from around my waist. Dominic's arm around my shoulders just made the whole thing worse. "And I don't know what I'm even doing here."