Instinct made me fight against him. He kissed
me long enough to prove that I wouldn’t win, then let me go. As I
straightened my jacket and scowled around the tiny bathroom,
looking everywhere but at De’Andre, he ran a hand down my arm and
said softly, “Don’t front wit me, Nicky.”
“Nick,” I said. I buried my hands in my
jackets so I wouldn’t be tempted to touch him. Only one argument
came to mind. “Tyrone doesn’t know—”
“Tyrone’s dumb as f**k,” De’Andre replied. I
laughed in spite of myself, my blood roiling just beneath my skin.
De’Andre eased his hand into my pocket, covering my fist, his touch
surprisingly gentle. Working his fingers through mine, he kept his
voice low and intimate, and despite the party raging on the other
side of the closed door, I heard every word he said
