Page 6 of A Little Kissing Between Friends

Real Friend Girl Shit

Amani and Nana Cherry left for the park about half an hour later, but I didn’t say my goodbye until after seven. As soon as I got in the car, I called Mercedes and told her the plan, inviting her to join us. She usually danced on Sundays, so I was prepared for her to decline, but she said she’d meet us at the club since she had an earlier set.

Thirty-five minutes later I was in my condo in Midtown, scarf and bonnet secured and timer set as I slid beneath the cool sheets. Even though I danced during the day, I was no stranger to impromptu naps and found myself asleep in less than ten minutes. When I woke up, there was a strange sort of buzzing in my gut as I rifled through my closet, and I realized that I was excited about going out. Poppa and I hadn’t had many opportunities to hang out over the past few weeks because she’d been busy in the studio. I understood, but I also missed my friend. Daily calls and texts were great, but they weren’t enough.

I was used to us meeting each other for breakfast and video chatting regularly. I was used to sending memes back and forth on several different platforms and seeing a new movie available for streaming and immediately making plans to watch it together that night. When Poppa was in grind-mode, her phone was off and she rarely left the studio. She sequestered herself and whichever artist she was working with inside that room and made magic come alive out of thin air. Now that she’d resurfaced, I wanted to spend as much time with her as possible.

The club we were heading to was more on the upscale side, so I dressed in a black tube-top bodysuit with a sheer, knee-length bodycon dress over it. For a pop of color, I chose golden stiletto sandals with straps that wound around my calves and tied into a bow behind my knee and a matching golden clutch.

After scooting my seat back to make driving easier in my heels, I headed to Poppa’s ranch-style house in Memorial. When she opened the door looking scrumdiddlyumptious, I grinned. She wore a black dress shirt with the top buttons undone, giving a peek at the valley of her hiked-up titties, gray slacks, black suede loafers, and her signature gold jewelry. I followed her into the house as she grabbed her wallet and keys off of the leather couch.

“Oh, you must be tryna catch some pussy tonight,” I mused, “looking all fine and shit like this.”

Just like Cody didn’t want for female attention, neither did Poppa. And neither did Caleb, for that matter, but he tended to date men more than women and was also more the relationship type than his playboy younger siblings.

Poppa’s grin was sly as she ushered me back out of the house.

“You know how I do” was her cryptic answer, but after being around her for three years, I knew exactly how to decipher that. Poppa had been laying low for a minute while she worked her ass off—undoubtedly to produce the next Grammy Award–winning single—and hadn’t been on her usual shenanigans with women. Pussy was definitely the goal for the night. I didn’t judge her for that at all, even though I didn’t move the same way.

Things were a little different for me though. After Samir and I split, I dated a few people who were nice but left me feeling unfulfilled. Either they were great in bed but boring to talk to, or cool to party with but looked down on sex workers. I’d been surprised and disappointed by how many people could meet an exotic dancer while she worked, yet judge her for the job she did. Not wanting to continue wasting time with temporary people who only brought me temporary pleasure, I stopped dating and focused on finding joy in being single. It was the best decision that I’d ever made, after moving to Houston.

I took myself on a date every week and made sure that I learned what made me happy. Rediscovering Juleesa was a journey that I thoroughly enjoyed. I hadn’t had sex in almost a year, and most of the time I didn’t even think about it.

Mostof the time.

The rest of the time...let’s just say that the person I end up with might need to schedule a few sick days so that I can release my pent-up...emotions without rushing.

They might also need to have a recovery massage lined up.

“Here,” Poppa called, tossing me her keys and simultaneously breaking me out of my thoughts.

I climbed in the passenger seat of her car and cranked up the engine while she pulled my car into her garage. From the outside looking in, it might have seemed chivalrous, but the truth was that she regularly talked cash shit about my driving and once said that she’d rather move my car herself than have me scratch up something of hers. There was nothing wrong with the way I drove; Poppa was just particular. Some might—and have—call it controlling, but I didn’t see it that way. I loved the way she took the reins of her life and steered it in the direction she wanted. As someone who had spent my formidable years living according to what my parents decided was right and wrong, I admired the hell out of Poppa for that.

Locking my door with the key fob, Poppa jumped behind the wheel and we headed south to Xeno and Trisha’s house. They were already in the car and waited for us to circle the cul-de-sac before exiting the neighborhood. We made it to VR Club and Lounge and followed Xeno’s bodyguard through the building and up to VIP. Once we were situated, the DJ shouted out Poppa and Xeno before playing Xeno’s latest single. The volume in the building grew as folks cheered and began rapping along to the lyrics.

It was like a mini concert, with the energy getting even the most introverted person hype enough to start spitting lyrics at strangers. The VIP was just as lit as the dance floor. Status didn’t matter when it came to appreciating good music, and what Xeno was doing for the rap game—let alone Houston—was too impressive to ignore.

Several rap songs cycled on before the RB came out. That’s when things became a little weird. We went from rapping to dancing, all of us up on our feet vibing out to the spectacular mix of tracks the DJ was spinning. It was nothing for me to bend at the waist and back it up on Poppa. I’d done it a million times before, and she usually just laughed and slapped my ass once or twice. Sometimes she caught it and danced with me for a few beats before waving me off with a laugh.

To my surprise, she didn’t do either of those things that night. Gripping my hips, she ground against me, rolling her body sensually. And because I wasn’t new to this, but tried and true to this, I rolled with her. We danced as if we’d had a brief interview on a black leather couch beforehand. My body was heated, primed, and ready to go. I forgot where I was until the side of her arm brushed my chest and the fear of Poppa feeling my erect nipples through my mesh dress and thin bodysuit snapped me out of my fog. Thankfully, the song came to an end, giving me an excuse to pull out of her grasp, and she didn’t protest.

Why the hell was I so juiced up from a damn dance?I did this shit on a regular and by this point, a dance was nothing. Turning around, I pasted a grin on my face, prepared to laugh it off, but the expression on her face stopped me.

I had to be seeing things. That was the only explanation, because there was no way Poppa would be giving me the Dirty Dancing hungry eyes. Hell, there was no way Poppa—my Poppa—would’ve been giving me a proper daggering as if we were at a Caribbean fête either, and yet, here we were. My mind was racing, scrambling trying to come up with a logical reason for my body’s reaction and now this look on Poppa’s face. Her lips parted and my chest tightened, but Xeno clapped a hand down onto Poppa’s shoulder, breaking the seconds-long stare-off we were locked into. Grateful for the distraction, I immediately excused myself to go to the bathroom, pulling Mercedes along with me. The dance floor wasn’t too crowded, and there wasn’t a line to nab one of the eight stalls. The bathrooms were single, unconnected rooms with frosted-glass doors along a dimly lit hallway. Mercedes primped in the mirror while I peed, and then we switched places.

“You gonna tell me when you and Cyn Tha Starr started fuckin’ or are we still pretending y’all are just besties?”

Usually I was ready for Mercedes’s random vulgarity, but I was caught off guard this time around and it was purely because I was distracted. My mind was back in VIP with Poppa’s hands on my hips.

Frowning, I glared at Mercedes in the mirror.

“We are just besties!”

Smirking, Mercedes quirked an eyebrow. “The kind that bump coochies?”

Flipping her the bird, I didn’t even bother answering her. After she washed her hands and refreshed her lipstick, we exited the bathroom.

“Girl, you are wearing the hell out of that dress!”

A gorgeous, caramel-skinned baddie stood in the middle of the hallway, a hand on her hip as she grinned at us. Instinctively, I knew the woman was talking about me. Hell, it was almost verbatim what I’d said to myself before I left the house for the night. That wasn’t to say that Mercedes didn’t look good, because my girl was bad, but it was an inexplicable feeling that came, along with the feeling that she wasn’t being completely honest. I wasn’t unused to random compliments from strangers, but something about this woman’s declaration rang false.

Slim, with tig ole biddies, she wore a silver, sleeveless minidress with a heart-shaped keyhole at the base of her neck, which put said biddies on display. The dress stopped mere inches below her pussy and showcased the miles of oiled-up legs she possessed. Her rust-brown hair was styled in two massive afro puffs, and there were exaggerated swoops gelled at her temples. With glossy, two-toned lips and silver rectangular hoops in her ears, baby girl was capital-F fine. I might’ve been on a self-imposed sex sabbatical, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t look.

After giving her what was surely an obviously thorough once-over, I dipped my chin. “Thank you, gorgeous. I must say the same about you.”

Her face brightened and smile widened. “Thank you!”

Sudden chattering sounded from her right and our left as a group of women came down the hallway in search of the bathrooms. Baby girl was all in everybody’s way, but instead of continuing on into one of the stalls, she took a step closer to me and Mercedes. Confused why the moment wasn’t over and the woman didn’t just continue on into one of the stalls, I turned to meet Mercedes’s eyes. She had an eyebrow quirked but otherwise didn’t look nearly as lost as I felt.

“Oh, hey! You two were in VIP with Xeno, right?”

Mercedes instantly started cracking up and I rolled my eyes, giving her an exasperated look before swinging my gaze back to the woman.

Damn.

I’d thought we’d just experienced a beautiful moment of club bathroom appreciation, but it was all a ploy.

Baby girl was a groupie.

Don’t get me wrong—I had nothing against groupies, I swear. Hell, I had a few myself despite only working during primetime one weekend a month. Sanity was one of the most popular strip clubs in Houston, which was saying a lot, so I was used to kicking it with celebrities from all mediums, and groupies were a part of the fame that couldn’t be avoided. I wasn’t judging baby girl for having stars in her eyes; it just stung a little to realize that my intuition had been right and her praise likely wasn’t genuine, but instead only a means to an end.

Pasting a smile onto my face, I reached over and grabbed Mercedes’s arm, nodding toward the end of the hallway as I took a step in that direction before I turned to face the woman. I didn’t want to be rude, but the moment had dragged on long enough and now it was time to go.

“Yeah. We were.”

Hiking the short strap of the silver bag she carried higher onto her shoulder, she nodded and took a couple of steps closer to us.

What the hell?

“Oh, okay. I thought so.” Her eyes bounced from me to Mercedes and then back to me. “So, are y’all on a double date or something?”

My eyebrows shot up while Mercedes continued giggling next to me. That was a really personal question for someone you’d just met in the bathroom. Groupies didn’t care about shit like privacy, evident in her accosting us right outside the bathroom of all places and then attempting to follow us.

Tilting my head to the side, I eyed her. “Since it’s clear you only complimented my dress to start a conversation, just tell me what you want to know so I can get out of this hallway.”

The woman giggled but didn’t even have the decency to look remorseful for her recon mission.

“Is the stud with the waves your girlfriend? Y’all were dancing kinda close and I don’t want to step on any toes.”

Mercedes shrieked, and this time I joined in, laughing heartily at the question. Whatever brand of audacity that men consumed on a regular, baby girl must’ve taken a shot of it before following us down the hallway. “Girl, if you truly thought she was my girlfriend, you wouldn’t even be asking me this. But to answer your question, no. That’s my bestie. And just in case you want to ask another question that isn’t really any of your business, I don’t fuck my friends.” I might’ve had a bit of an attitude, but it was warranted. It wasn’t like I’d planned to give her a chance anyway, but the way she went about trying to holla was all wrong and now I was just annoyed.

“She’s telling the truth,” Mercedes insisted. Clucking her tongue, she finally started moving, pulling me with her away from the stall since I still had my hand on her arm. “I tried to throw some pussy her way when we first met, but she said she don’t fuck single moms.” She tossed the last part over her shoulder, making the other women in the hallway who were waiting on a free stall break out into laughter.

I hollered, slapping her arm once we were clear of the entrance. “If you don’t shut your lyin’ ass up! Now you gon’ have that girl telling lies about me on social media.”

My friend rolled her eyes. “Trust me, talking about you online is probably the very last thing that’s on that woman’s mind.”

I shot her a side-eye. “How you figure?”

Pursing her lips, Mercedes gave me a dumb look. “Girl, duh. She pressed you for information about Cyn ’cause that’s who she’s after. Lil mama is on the hunt and you were just the chum she used to reel in her catch.”

Frowning, I released Mercedes’s arm and grasped her hand, holding tight as we trudged through the now incredibly crowded dance floor to reach the stairs for VIP. Calling me chum was rude as hell but, more importantly, how had I read the situation so wrong? I’d instantly assumed baby girl was coming for me, but thinking the conversation over, she hadn’t even flirted that hard. I shook my head in disappointment, hoping that my long-term singledom hadn’t destroyed my ability to recognize real interest.

There was a twinge in my brain that whispered how I’d seen very real and clear interest in Poppa’s eyes not even twenty minutes ago, but I blinked it away. That was...well, I couldn’t blame it on the alcohol, since Poppa didn’t drink. None of the Thomases drank, not since Carissa started on a path to sobriety ten years ago.

Thinking about the support of loved ones brought Poppa right back to the forefront of my mind. Lil Miss Afro Puffs was just her type, and I hoped I hadn’t just set Poppa up for some bullshit by giving that girl more information than she deserved. Despite how attractive the unknown woman was, she could’ve been a crazed fan with ulterior motives. You could never tell these days. I felt another twinge as we trekked back across the dance floor, this time in my gut instead of my brain. The last thing I wanted to do was send yet another good-for-nothing woman in Poppa’s direction.

When we arrived back up to Xeno’s section, Poppa was missing and Trisha announced that we were going to do a round of shots. I talked her out of ordering tequila, which made Juleesa a Very Horny Girl, and convinced her that whiskey was the better option. The shots arrived quickly, but Poppa still hadn’t returned. After tossing the shots back and placing the glasses on the tray, I went to Xeno, who was hugged up with Trisha, kissing on her neck. I hated to interrupt their super sweet moment, but I needed to know where Poppa was.

Just to be safe.

“Where’d Cyn go?” I asked, leaning toward them to help project my voice over the music.

Trisha met my eye and tapped Xeno’s arm.

“Bae, she’s looking for Cyn.”

Blinking out of lovey-dovey bliss, Xeno looked over at me for a minute, as if she was processing the question.

“Oh,” she said after a moment. “She went to speak to the DJ.” With her finger, she pointed toward the dance floor.

Turning, I looked in the direction she indicated, squinting to see in the dim lights, sweeping my eyes over the crowd right in front of the DJ booth. I felt a thud in my gut when I spotted her. Trying to get a closer look, I walked over to the railing, both hands on top as I willed my sight to zoom in like those goggles in the spy movies. I didn’t need to zoom in though, because the club wasn’t so massive that I couldn’t make out the image down on the dance floor.

Poppa was standing near the stairs to the DJ booth, a glass in one hand, while the other was on the back of a woman who stood in front of her, speaking into her ear. The woman in question?

Lil Miss Afro Puffs.

“Well, well, well,” cooed Mercedes into my ear as she came to stand right next to me at the railing. “What do we have here?”

Rolling my eyes, I shot her a quick glare before returning my gaze to the dance floor. That proved to be a mistake, and I watched as Poppa threw her head back and laughed at something that girl said to her. Jaw clenched, I spun around, putting the image to my back as I leaned against the rail. Mercedes smirked at me.

“What are you talking about?” I snapped, annoyance all up and down my tone.

“I’m talking about this—” she gestured at my face “—attitude you recently acquired.” My frown deepened, and her grin immediately spread in response. “Could it have something to do with lil mama from the bathroom pushing up on your...bestie?”

“Ugh!” I hated the high-pitched tone she used when she said bestie. “Why do you have to say it like that?”

“How am I saying it, friend?”

“Like you don’t even believe the words coming out of your mouth. Like calling us besties is bullshit. Like me and Poppa are cosplaying as friends but be scissoring in secret!”

Mercedes tilted her head to the side, the corners of her mouth drooping as her shoulders lifted slightly.

“I mean...”

I scoffed. “There’s something about that girl that I don’t like. I can’t fully explain it, but it has nothing to do with her and Poppa being hugged up and everything to do with her lil recon mission earlier.”

Lips curved in amusement, Mercedes dipped her chin. “Oh, okay. You not ready. It’s cool.”

My brows started straining and reaching for each other as Mercedes took a sip from the glass in her hand and cut her eyes to the left as she turned away from me. That’s how hard I was frowning. ’Cause why would she try and play me like that? Why couldn’t she just hear me and believe me? And more importantly, why didn’t she believe me?

As that last question flitted across my mind, I turned back to the dance floor and heaved a long breath as my eyes immediately found Poppa and Lil Miss Afro Puffs. Poppa had her phone out, likely typing in that girl’s number. I felt my lip start to curl because I even realized that I was frowning.

“Oop! There it is.”

Mercedes was right back at my ear, giggling like she’d figured it all out. And...I don’t know, man, maybe there was some merit to what she’d been saying. Heavy on the some.

Because the way my stomach twisted when Poppa kissed that girl’s cheek after she slid her phone into her front pocket felt a little like betrayal, and I wasn’t quite sure if it was entirely friendly.