Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(61)

And yet, when the text message comes through and I see it’s him, that traitorous heart of mine starts batting its wings like a hummingbird on steroids.

Maverick: You down to watch an episode tonight?



“Who got you smiling like that?” Soledad asks, jerking me back to game night at her house.

She splits her attention between the phone in my hand and the kitchen counter, which holds a platter decorated with a variety of cheeses, brightly colored fruit, and sticky dollops of jams and sauces.

“Who smiling?” I play dumb. I’ve never seen my own face when Maverick texted or called, but it can’t be good.

“You been holding out on us?” Soledad skewers a grape tomato, salami, green olives, and a mozzarella ball, adding it to the growing stack of food on her platter. “Some man finally got your attention?”

“Or some woman?” Yasmen asks, entering from the living room and carrying a bottle of wine. “Don’t forget that bi-awakening she had a few months ago.”

“It was one night.” I roll my eyes. “A very pleasant night actually, where she sucked my soul from between my legs and snatched my edges, but that doesn’t constitute a bi-awakening. I was never asleep. I honestly think most people are gender fluid. Society just locks us into these heteronormative roles before we have a chance to consider everything on the menu.”

“Well, I’m Judah-sexual,” Soledad preens. “I wouldn’t care what package he came in. I’d want him no matter what.”

“Easy to say when he’s pounding you through the mattress every night,” I cackle. “With that big dick.”

“Oh, my gosh. It’s not every night. We don’t live together yet.” Soledad sends a scandalized glance toward the door that leads from the kitchen into the next room. “And keep your voice down. He’ll hear you.”

“I think he knows he fucks you good,” Yasmen joins in.

“Et tu, Yas?” Soledad tries to look outraged and prissy, but the lusty twitch to her lips spoils the effect.

“Has he ever let you put your finger up his ass?” I ask, recalling what Imani said about prostate orgasms.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Josiah says, turning on his heel to leave as soon as he enters the kitchen. “I want no part of this conversation.”

“Boy, get in here.” Yasmen walks over and drags her husband back. “Ain’t nobody coming near your butt. Men. Always scared somebody want to get in that ass.”

“I bet Judah would be open to it,” Soledad chirps.

“Really, Sol?” Judah asks from the door, true exasperation all over his face.

Judah is actually reserved—not like the rest of us who just fake it sometimes. He doesn’t want his business all in the streets. He’s not naturally the most social guy, and it’s taken him some time to get used to how freely my friends and I discuss every single thing that passes through our brains. Filter-free.

“Sorry, honey.” Soledad abandons her tray of hors d’oeuvres to throw her arms around her boyfriend’s neck. “You know how we get.”

He kisses her. It’s just a quick peck, but the look that lingers between them is hot and affectionate. Yasmen still has her arms around Josiah’s waist. The clack of dominoes from the living room reaches us in the kitchen. All their children are here for game night. Yasmen’s kids, Deja and Kassim. Soledad’s daughters, Lupe, Inez, and Lottie. Judah’s twin boys are usually with their mother on the weekends, but she and her husband are out of town, so he has Aaron and Adam tonight. It’s a houseful, and everyone belongs to someone else.

Except me.

“Don’t think I forgot the original question, Hen,” Soledad says, turning and leaning her back against Judah’s chest with his arms crossed over her waist. “I’ve caught you like three times grinning down at that phone. Is there someone we should know about?”

Soledad is a pit bull under her pastels and recipes.

“It’s just a friend,” I evade, slipping the phone into the side pocket of my sundress.

“A he friend?” Yasmen walks over to the counter and hovers a hand over a small jar.

“Yas, touch my fig jam and you drawing back a nub,” Soledad warns, not missing a beat. “Just tell us who, Hen. I mean, I shared with you about Judah’s—”

“Speculation,” Judah cuts in, smiling in spite of the gravity he clearly tries to lend his tone. “That was purely speculation, and I’d prefer you keep it to yourself.”

“It’s Maverick Bell,” I blurt. After keeping our text messages and calls and nightly simul-watches of Top Boy a secret, I’m almost relieved to tell my friends. I need them to tell me it’s okay. That I haven’t crossed any lines. That I’m not in the wrong.

“Oh.” Soledad steps from Judah’s arms and walks back to the counter. She starts straightening things on trays and moving cheese around unnecessarily.

“Spit it out, Sol.” I roll my eyes. “You obviously have something to say based on how suddenly busy you are with your charcuterie.”

“It’s just…” She falters and looks at Yasmen, silently recruiting her help. “Ya know.”

“No, I don’t.” I squirm on my stool at the counter. “Tell me.”