Page 3 of Ex- Factor

The TV was muted. This was supposed to be a Super Bowl party, but nobody was watching it. Angel was half-standing at the spades table, slamming down cards with unnecessary force. She got real competitive when she was drunk.

“We win, motherfuckers,” she yelled.

Cassius was wasted enough that everything made him wheeze-laugh. He passed a blunt to West, who had his girl tucked under his arm, feeding her cold fries. Everybody was fucked up.

I was flat on my back on Eshe’s brand-new carpet, one arm behind my head, her bare foot propped on my stomach like it was furniture. I wasn’t sure how it got there, but I knew I was probably the reason. I couldn’t stop touching her.

I really liked this woman—after just a few hours, I could tell. Especially after her response about Ekon and Angel.

I was enjoying myself, taken by everything she did: Eshe rolling her eyes at my jokes, Eshe smiling at me, Eshe letting me rub her soft-ass thigh.

I could tell she was humoring me for the most part.

I’m attractive; she liked the attention I was giving her but wasn’t as interested as I wanted her to be. Still, I was staking my claim.

Her eyes were low, her grin a little goofy. She was so gorgeous with her pretty, round face. She didn’t have to do much to pull my attention—just sit there and breathe. She looked so soft.

She shifted, and the heel of her foot dug into my ribs, but I didn’t move it. I could’ve. But I didn’t want to. I massaged her calf instead.

“You don’t take me seriously, do you?” I mumbled, my thumb tracing the arch of her foot.

She peered down at me, her braids slipping over one shoulder. “’Cause you’re…”—a hiccup—“…a clown.”

I poked my lips out, hoping it gained me some sympathy. “Clowns are scary. I’m not scary.”

She nodded. “You’re not. But that’s only part of why I don’t take you seriously.” She poked my cheek with her big toe.

If she hadn’t moved her foot so fast, I would’ve put her toe in my mouth. She had pretty feet.

“Is it because I’m white?”

She busted out laughing, loud, not mean—somewhere between mocking and surprised. “I mean… I do have a habit of dating Black men,” she said. “You cute, though. I just don’t see white men as sexual beings.”

My whole face screwed up. “I’m a sexual being,” I yelled—louder than I meant to. Loud enough for the whole room to hear.

The table went quiet. Everybody was tuned in now. But I didn’t break eye contact with her.

I caught her ankle. Held it. Her skin was warm. “Try me.”

“Try you?” she frowned.

“Yes. Try me. Kiss me,” I said. “And see how fucking sexual I can be. I dare you.”

She raised a brow. “Nah. You’ll get your feelings hurt if I don’t like it. And you’re a nice guy—I don’t want that for you.” She smirked.

That sounded like a challenge.

I pushed myself up onto my knees, leaned in, grabbed her wrist, and pulled her toward me. She came willingly. No hesitation.

I missed her mouth on the first try because she was giggling—hit her chin. She didn’t pull away. Fuck, she’s actually gonna let me do this. Second try was a success. Her mouth tasted like the strawberry moonshine she’d been drinking.

I didn’t go in soft. I couldn’t—not with her testing me. I kissed her like I’d been starved for her, and I felt like I had been since that night at the club.

My hand slid up her jaw, holding her still so she couldn’t look away, couldn’t run. Her lips were full, warm. I’d kissed plenty of women. None of them ever tasted like this.

She gasped, soft and quick.

Determined to show her what the fuck I meant by “sexual being,” I slipped my tongue past her teeth.

She kissed me back, slow at first. Then deeper. Hungrier. Sucking my tongue. My heart was racing, and my dick was hard, pressed against her soft belly.

There was so much heat between us.

So we just… kept kissing. Despite the fact that we were being watched.

I knew I had her when her hand fisted in my shirt. I finally pulled away—not because I wanted to, but because I needed air. She looked up at me, eyes hazy, lips swollen, chest rising and falling like I’d snatched the breath from her lungs.

Then she blinked, straightened, pulled herself together, smoothing her hand down her braids.

“Damn,” one of the girls said behind me. I still didn’t look at them.

“Okay,” Eshe said. “You win that one.”

I grinned, proud and smug. I stood, pulling her up, and did a little victory dance, making her move her arms.

She snatched away. “Calm down. You kiss well. But still. I’m fresh out of a relationship—a toxic one at that. We can be friends. Friends only.”

I shrugged and stepped forward, crowding her space. Her body heat radiated into me. “That’s how Angel and Cassius started out,” I said. Then I sat down and dragged her into my lap.

She didn’t fight it.

Angel threw a napkin at us. “You’re being way too easygoing with him,” she told Eshe. “Don’t encourage him ’cause he’s cute and kisses well. He’s treating you different, which is scary ’cause I ain’t never seen or heard about him being this clingy.”

I looked over my shoulder and grinned. “Shut up, Angel.”

Eshe tilted her head back and frowned. “You tell her to shut up often?” she asked.

I smoothed my hand over her hip. “Not in a bad way. Only when she’s right. And I need her to be quiet right now. I can tell you’re a runner. I don’t need her scaring you off.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Roll your eyes, pretty. But I noticed you didn’t deny it,” I said, brushing my hand down her thigh like I had the right to touch her.

And in that moment, I kind of felt like I did.