Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58947 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 295(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“You’re pregnant!” I blurt, staring at her rounded belly.
“Looks that way.” Lotus laughs, rubbing her stomach through the sheer, brightly patterned caftan that falls to her knees over wide-legged flowing pants and silk slippers. Small she may be, but there is something regal and commanding about her that draws the eye and refuses to let go.
“I’m sorry.” I shake my head, feeling like an idiot. “Congratulations. I just didn’t know.”
“My husband Kenan is…” She rolls her eyes, tosses a swathe of platinum braids over her shoulder, and smiles. “Paranoid. We didn’t tell anyone for a long time, and since I’m not the biggest chick to begin with, it was a while before I started showing. Anyway, yeah. Six months.”
“And flyer than ever,” Catalina purrs, side-hugging Lotus. “Lo, this is Takira, the makeup artist I told you about from Dessi Blue.”
“I’m so excited for that movie,” Lotus says, her eyes widening. “Please tell me it’ll be out soon.”
“Depends on what you mean by soon.” I laugh. “We just wrapped, so I think they’re editing and finalizing.”
“I’ve heard Canon Holt is a genius.” Lotus’s eyes and nimble fingers stray back to the dress worn by the patiently waiting model. “And this new actress, Neevah. Heard great things about her, too.”
“She’s spectacular.” I beam, unable to check my pride in my best friend.
“Takira may be slightly biased,” Catalina chuckles, “since they’re roommates.”
“Former roommates,” I correct.
“I did hear she and Canon are dating now,” Lotus says, her eyes flicking from the collar of the dress she’s pinning back to my face, speculation in her gaze. “What a gorgeous couple.”
“Speaking of gorgeous couples,” Catalina says. “Wanna show Takira all the handsome boys she gets to power today?”
“Oh, this is gonna be fun.” Lotus nods at the model and sends her to a nearby makeup station. “Yours are all grumps whose arms I had to twist twice around to get them to do this show. Follow me.”
Lotus walks ahead, her confident stride leading us through the maze of stations and bags.
“Some of these guys are former teammates of Kenan’s,” she tosses over her shoulder. “Some, just players from around the League. All of them have hearts of gold and really want to help raise money for Harbor House.”
We walk quickly through the space, but I absorb as many details as I can. One particularly glamorous updo of bright pink hair turns my head, so I don’t notice the overstuffed bag in my path. My feet slip from under me and there’s no time to catch myself. Grappling with my own heavy bag, I yelp, halfway bracing for the inevitable fall…but it doesn’t come. Instead I tumble into something hard, a wall of muscle and heat. Big arms enfold me, and I find myself pressed to a mountain of good-smelling man.
“I’m so sorry,” I sputter, dragging my eyes from the wide expanse of white T-shirt stretched across a broad chest. “I…”
The rest of my apology slithers back down my throat, swallowed by a gasp of shock. I haven’t seen the face above me in a long time—at least, not in person. The dark skin and carved bone structure is leaner and more pronounced now than it was before. Same square chin and bold nose and heavy brows. The guarded eyes are paradoxically framed by a feathering of long, curling lashes. He’s still as arresting as he was the day I met him when I was eighteen years old, but I never thought I’d come face-to-face with him again.
“Takira,” he says, the same surprise coloring his voice that I’m sure is scrawled all over my face.
I take a deep steadying breath that doesn’t seem to be steadying anything before answering, “Naz.”
Chapter Three
Naz
As soon as I agreed to do this fashion show, I regretted it. I even called Kenan, trying to get out of it.
“Sure,” he had said. “You can pull out, but you have to tell Lo yourself. Oh, and tell Iris you don’t actually care as much about survivors of domestic abuse as we originally assumed.”
“Motherfucker,” I’d muttered and hung up on his smart ass.
Needless to say, I’m here waiting to be powdered and brushed and groomed or some shit for charity, when something…someone soft and scented literally falls into my arms.
“What the hell?” I stumble a little but right myself before either of us fall and bust ass on the floor. I glance down to see who I’ve caught, and any words I would say cling to the roof of my mouth. I manage to pull one word down, despite my shock. Her name.
“Takira.”
It’s the first time I’ve seen her in twelve years. At least, in person. I may have lurked on her Instagram account and tracked her progress since senior year. On occasion.
“Naz.” A sooty fan of lashes surrounds doe-brown eyes. Her chin bears the same tiny dent as her brother’s. She’s always been a smaller, softer, prettier version of Cliff Fletcher. Over the years, they’ve both haunted me for completely different reasons.