Unrequited Page 3

  "Good. I'm glad we agree." I looked at her pointedly. "What's the game plan?"

  "I'm going to go out there and confront the bastard. He dumped me for Slobbin' Stacy Andrews! She's a fucking whore who's slobbed down most of the Untouchables."

  "Seriously?"

  "Yes! Even your pretty boy-toy, Quentin."

  I winced. "Quentin's not my boy toy."

  "Whatever." Marley rolled her eyes. "Daryl told me I was special. He told me he was going to introduce me to his mother. You can't say things like that and then dump someone! I gave him everything!"

  I pursed my lips. "You gave him anal."

  "And I almost never do that," she snipped. "Fucking asshole."

  I burst out laughing, and her laughter reluctantly followed. "Pun intended, right?"

  "Fatima, I'm really pissed. Stop making me laugh."

  "In all seriousness," I said, my laughter dying down. "I think you're way too good for him. But I got you. If you need me to hold your purse, your earrings, or your ponytail while you beat a bitch down, I'm here. Although, I think Daryl is the bitch, not Slobbin Stacy. She's only doing what all thirsty girls do."

  "Yep. Trying to snag an Untouchable by any means necessary."

  "Exactly."

  "Ugh. But they're so fucking hot," Marley groaned.

  "So hot," I agreed. I pressed play on the disc changer. Kellis's Caught Out There cranked out of the speakers. "Now, for a little courage."

  We sang along with playful rage as Marley navigated the Hummer around the gigantic lake house, revealing a glistening lake with about two dozen cars parked nearby. Quentin's blue Dodge Ram SRT-10 was amongst the many sports cars, SUVs, and trucks. My chest squeezed, knowing he was here and wondering who he was with.

  Marley took a deep breath and killed the engine. "Stay here. Give me ten minutes. I'll call you if I need you."

  "Ten minutes, Marley," I warned. "You know my uncle will ground me for life if I miss curfew again."

  Ten minutes turn into thirty minutes.

  Fatima, 10:36 p.m.

  You good?

  Marley, 10:37 p.m.

  Yeah. Daryl and I are talking things out. Twenty more minutes. I promise to have you home before curfew.

  I started deleting old text messages from my phone, but not before rolling down my window to get a whiff of the marijuana smoke that drifted from where a group huddled near Quentin's truck. I craned my neck from my seat. He was amongst them. His 6'6 height made it hard to miss him.

  Marley, 11:02 p.m.

  Can Novalee pick you up? Daryl and I made up. He just dumped Slobbin Stacy's ass. I'm going to stay and hang out. YOLO. (Fire emoji. Eggplant emoji. Heart emoji. Winkie face emoji. Blowing a kiss emoji.)

  Crap. With my battery charge at 4%, I decided to text Novalee instead of wasting another text on Marley.

  Fatima, 11:02 p.m.

  Novalee, can you com

  Double crap. My phone died.

  ∞∞∞

  I SAT STILL FOR a few minutes, contemplating my next move. I could ask Quentin to take me home, which would totally be cock-blocking. Such a shame. I adjusted my white tube top, making sure the 'girls' were adequately covered and ran my hands down my white gaucho pants. Heading towards Quentin and his crew, my purple converse shoes crunched in the multicolored pebbled gravel.

  "Hey, Fatima." Jessica Tillman waved me over. She stood with her back pressed firmly against Wesley's chest. Jessica was Queen B at Covington High and was always nice to me. No doubt, my friendship with Quentin influenced her cordialness. Wesley, her fuck buddy for the evening, was as pleasant as a porcupine but got away with it due to his good looks and massive bank account. And apparently, his dick moves were on point.

  Upon closer inspection, I noticed Wesley's hand was in the waistband of Jessica's pleated skirt. Her cheeks were flushed red, and her blond head lolled back against Wesley's chest. What in the fuckery? Quentin, Hunter, Jemma, and some chick I didn't know, stood around them and seemed unfazed by their public shenanigans, too distracted by their phones and conversations. I could only imagine what was happening down by the lake.

  I debated on whether or not to interrupt their…moment. My eyes went from Jessica's pleasure induced facial expressions to Wesley's bored expression. Then I turned around to face Quentin, who stood opposite Jessica and Wesley. With his eyes focused on his phone, Quentin's brows furrowed, and his jaw ticked. Standing beside him was a pretty brunette with 'Aaliyah-style' bangs.

  Jessica moaned, and I momentarily lost my train of thought. A few chuckles escaped from those in the group, while Quentin's expression remained stoic, still ignoring me. Whatever, dude.

  I cleared my throat just as Hunter, son of celebrity chef Lucas Demalio, passed me a joint.

  "No thanks, Hunter. I'm good." I wanted to take a puff so bad, but I didn't know where their lips had been, especially tonight.

  "Hey Conner," I said, after greeting everyone else except for Quentin, because he was being a little shit, and wouldn't make eye contact. Wesley stared at me with a bored and slightly annoyed expression on his face. Like, how dare I have the audacity to address him. Did I mention he was an asshole, on top of being a fuck boy? Not to mention, his resting bitch face was ever-present.

  "Wes," he deadpanned.

  "Oh, yeah. I forgot you go by your middle name, because that's so much cooler than Conner, right?" I heard a few snickers behind me, which granted them death glares from Wesley before he focused his attention back on me with amusement in his creepy green eyes.

  "Damn. That's hilarious," Wesley said dryly. "But my bad. How rude of me." He pulled his hand from Jessica's skirt, causing her to whimper, before extending his glistening hand to me for a handshake.

  "Don't be a dick," Quentin blurted out, his eyes still glued to his phone.

  A smirk twitched across Wesley's lips before he lowered his hand and wiped it on Jessica's midriff.

  "Quentin, I need a ride."

  Quentin pocketed his phone and let out a sigh before ungluing the brunette from his side. Taking a closer look at the fair-skinned brunette, I noticed that she was of mixed race and had my eyes. Like, identical. The same doe shape, honey-colored eyes. Burnette girl looked up at him skeptically, and the others around us remained silent. It was rare for them to see Quentin being moody. I'd seen it plenty of times before, especially when it had to do with another guy and me. In this case, there was no guy, but he didn't know that.

  "You know what? Never mind. Just give me your phone. My phone died. I need to call Novalee." I extended my palm out to him, playing with my choker necklace with my other hand.

  Instead of giving me his phone, he opened the passenger door to his truck. "Get in."

  "Guess that's settled," Jemma, Hunter's girlfriend, piped up.

  I looked at Quentin's date. Without sparing me a glance, she hopped into Quentin's truck. Oh, she was coming too? Ugh. It was about to be a long ride home.

  "Thanks, Q."

  Q? I called him Q? As soon as the nickname escaped from my lips, I wanted to take it back. It was a nickname that I hadn't uttered in years. Not since…well... I'd only uttered his nickname during our rare intimate moments. Two moments to be exact. One. Two. That's all, folks. The first moment was when we kissed under the tree during summer camp. The second and final moment was when he took my virginity during our sophomore year.

  Quentin had offered to take my virginity after I told him that I was thinking about losing it to the Richard Fogg, a cute boy from my English Lit class who I'd been dating for a few weeks. "I can't let you lose your virginity to a guy named Dick Fogg," he said. "Trust me. You'll never forgive yourself."

  Quentin had already lost his virginity to Katrina Miller, a busty senior who'd set her sights on him at the beginning of our sophomore year. The summer before, he hit a growth spurt and gained muscles from rowing on the crew team. Cradle robbing skank.

  Quentin and I only did it that one time, and although it wasn't romantic like in the movi
e Cruel Intentions when Sebastian took Annette's virginity, it was perfect. For the second time, I bled for him. But afterward, it was as if nothing ever happened. Like we hadn't shared this magical moment. Like he hadn't shuttered and groaned on top of me in pure bliss when he came inside of me. I knew pretty quickly that I would never have Quentin's heart, but he would always own mine.

  Maybe Quentin hadn't noticed the slip up with his nickname. I sighed in relief, but it was premature. Quentin blinked at me, his movements pausing for just a fraction. I looked away from his piercing gaze and grabbed on to the truck's overhead latch. Before I could pull myself up, Quentin's large hands gripped me by the waist and effortlessly lifted me into the cab of his truck.

  "Thanks," I muttered.

  "No problem." His lips curved in a lazy smile, one that was so perfect I wouldn't doubt it if he'd practiced it in the mirror every morning. And despite his chilly greeting before, I couldn't help but smile back at him.

  Someone cleared their throat from behind Quentin, causing us to break from our staring contest. Quentin closed my door, and I offered his date a polite smile, which she acknowledged with a flip of her hair and a critical perusal of her eyes. Yep. A long ride home.

  Chapter 4

  FATIMA

  "AMBER, FATIMA. FATIMA, AMBER." Quentin's halfhearted introduction faded over the blaring sounds from his stereo. My Worst Enemy by Lit displayed on the digital radio dashboard.

  "Hey." Amber's shimmering cinnamon painted lips stretched into a fake smile.

  "Hey," I responded, matching her lack of enthusiasm.

  "Where to? Home or your aunt's place?" Quentin knew that my dad, who worked as a Mathematician for the NSA, was often out of town on business. Since the start of my senior year, my dad had given me more freedom, allowing me to live alone when he was away on his long business trips.

  "My aunt's."

  "Cool."

  I didn't miss the subtle arch of Amber's dark brow.

  "Are you two like…close?" For the first time, Amber gave me her undivided attention.

  "Friends," I offered.

  "From school?"

  "Yeah. But we met at summer camp before high school." We have history, Amber. Something you two will never have. Quentin didn't keep his hookups around long. Usually, two months tops.

  Amber's head snapped to Quentin's in surprise. "That's…sweet."

  "Hardly," I muttered. "He was a douchebag."

  A chuckle bubbled from Amber's chest. "Oh?"

  "Don't believe a word she says." Quentin rolled down his window and pulled out two cigarettes and a zippo from his center console. He handed Amber one and lit it for her. The gesture made me burn with envy.

  "You pushed me into the lake on the fourth day of camp. Only a douchebag would do something like that." I held up four fingers, emphasizing my point.

  "You pushed her into a lake?" Amber's high pitched squeal caused Quentin to wince.

  "I didn't know she couldn't swim. What fourteen-year-old doesn't know how to swim?"

  "I almost drowned. And even worse, my hair got wet."

  "How is that worse?" Quentin asked, laughing through an exhale of smoke.

  "Quentin, you didn't," Amber chided. Black girls could always sympathize with one another when it came to getting our hair wet unexpectedly.

  "It was a joke. I jumped in with her. She was fine." And then he stressed to me, "You were fine." Amber continued to watch our exchange.

  I still remembered that day like it was yesterday. Me wrapping my arms and legs around Quentin's torso as he waded through the water, leading me to safety. Him laughing uncontrollably. Me screaming at him. The camp counselor yelling at us both. Me untangling myself from his slippery body and immediately feeling intense heat, even as I shivered from the sting of the cold water. Him wrapping a towel around my shoulders and untucking my dreads from it.

  Realizing that Quentin and I were monopolizing the conversation, I asked Amber, "Where did you two meet?"

  "At a stoplight."

  I arched a brow. Quentin flirting with a girl at a stoplight? That hardly seemed like his style. I had yet to see Quentin James actively pursue a girl. They all usually went after him. "We were at a stoplight, and I just so happened to look over and see Quentin in his truck. And I was like, 'Oh, my God, he's hot!' So I scribbled my number down on a receipt, balled it up, and threw it in his car through his window." Amber giggled, rehashing a story that I would have been mortified to admit to. Desperate much?

  "Awww. How romantic," I cooed. Quentin arched a brow at me.

  "I know, right?" she gushed. "And I don't even like white boys. Okay, girl. But look at him. What's not to like."

  "Meh," I shrugged casually. "He's alright, I guess."

  Amber looked at me like I had an arm growing out of my forehead. Quentin chuckled under his breath at my dig. No one loved Quentin's face more than he did.

  "So…" Amber pointed her cigarette towards Quentin and me before taking a drag. "You two ever hook up?"

  I looked at Quentin, who ignored her question. His focus remained on the road. I waited a moment, giving Quentin a chance to speak. This was something that our friends asked us constantly. And we denied it every time, which stung a little, even though it was my idea to keep it between us. What we had was different—special. And even though we were years removed from the scandal that rocked our families, it wasn't something that I wanted to be rehashed by anyone who knew.

  "We're not fucking," he finally said.

  "Oh," Amber said, much more pleasant now. "Wow. I'm surprised by that. You two seem close." She rested her hand on his thigh and squeezed it. "Not that I'm complaining."

  I quickly looked away, staring out of my window. "You two make a cute couple," I halfheartedly complimented.

  They answered at the same time with two very different responses. "Thank you." "We're not a couple."

  "I mean, he's not my man or anything. We're just kickin' it."

  "Cool." I shrugged nonchalantly.

  "Quentin," she whined in her annoying nasally voice. "I'm not ready to go home yet. I can't get enough of you. Let's go park somewhere."

  "Sounds good," he responded dryly.

  He was going to bang her in his truck. Barf. I made a mental note to demand that he sanitize the seat before I rode anywhere with him again. After their little boning planning session, I pretended to sleep for the remainder of the ride to my aunt's house.

  Once we were off the highway, I opened my eyes and focused my gaze on the familiar tree-lined streets, brightly lit golf course, and manufactured lakes. "Don't park directly in front. Pull over right there." I pointed to the house next door. It was four minutes past curfew, and I didn't want to take any chances.

  Quentin pulled up to the curb. "Sneaking in, Fatima? Or is that you don’t want to be seen with me?" I thought I heard annoyance in his tone, but I'm sure I imagined it.

  Both. "I missed curfew again."

  He dimmed his headlights but didn't respond. I looked over at Quentin and Amber. Her hand was resting on his crotch. He didn't bother to move it. "Thanks for the ride, Quentin."

  "Bye, girl," Amber smirked.

  "Same." I hopped out of the car, swinging the door shut and not looking back.

  ∞∞∞

  I CREPT UP THE circular driveway past my Mustang Cobra convertible. The light from Novalee's bedroom flashed twice before she opened her window and poked her head out. After putting a finger to her lips in a shhh gesture, she pointed toward the left side of the house. I waved to Quentin, giving him the okay to drive off, then scurried around to the back.

  "I covered for you. Again," Novalee deadpanned, after opening the back door. "Lucky for you, they're upstairs getting it on." She stuck her finger in her mouth like she was about to throw up.

  We tiptoed up the stairs together. "Gross. You can hear them?"

  "No. Thank God. But Janet Jackson's Any Time, Any Place has been on repeat for the past twenty minutes."

  "Kil
l me now," I joked as we walked the hall to my bedroom door.

  Novalee followed me inside. "Who was the guy that dropped you off?" She plopped down on my bed.

  "Just a friend."

  "Hot friend."

  "He's okay, I guess," I lied. "I can't find my red pajamas—the satin shorts set." I rummaged through my dresser drawer for my favorite pajama set.

  "Okay, don't get mad," Novalee warned. I narrowed my eyes at her.

  "Hey, Fatima." Amy opened my door and boldly walked in, wearing said pajamas. "I forgot my pajamas, and Novalee only sleeps in cotton t-shirts and sweatpants like a teenage boy. She said you wouldn't mind."

  I shot Novalee a look that screamed Oh, really bitch? Novalee glared at Amy before mouthing 'sorry' to me.

  "Was that Quentin's truck outside? The Quentin James?" Amy sashayed further into my room and leaned against my dresser.

  "You know him?" Novalee asked Amy.

  "Yeah. We go way back. He's really nice."

  "Which means he's not your type," Novalee teased. Amy stuck her tongue out at Novalee.

  "Amy, why is it that you always forget your pajamas?" I clipped.

  She shrugged, examining her cuticles.

  Novalee interjected, "I specifically told her to pick your black silk pajama set. I know you never wear that one."

  "That's not the point." I pulled out another set of pajamas, purposely bumping Amy with my dresser drawer since she wouldn't move her ass.

  "If you two have such a problem with me wearing Fatima's shit, then I'll just take it off and sleep naked."

  "No," Novalee and I both said in unison as she grabbed the hem of the silk tank.

  "Fine," she smirked. "Back to Quentin. Are you two fucking? He's a pretty big deal, you know."

  "This conversation is over. Goodnight, cousin." I opened my door.

  "Sorry, cousin. Night." Novalee walked out with Amy following behind her.

  "Amy," I muttered dryly.

  "Fatima," Amy deadpanned.

  I closed my door behind them and plugged my phone into my charger. Immediately, my phone began to vibrate with missed calls and text messages from Marley.