Wanted For Pleasure

Chapter Thirty-five: every fiber of our being

"The best thing about rock bottom is the rock part. You discover the solid bit of you. The bit that can't be broken down further. The thing that you might sentimentally call a soul. At our lowest we find the solid ground of our foundation. And we can build ourselves anew."

Morgan Ann Bennett

"No, but you're, like, mad pretty!" Jasmine complimented me for the tenth time after a couple of drinks.

I kept it light with fruity coolers but I definitely had, like, two and a half myself.

Her facial features were soft like her kind eyes and full cheeks, she was beautiful with her wide hips and large ass that had me envious, and such a cool girl.
Her makeup was outstanding, I kept asking if she did it herself and she did. Her shoulder-length natural jaded hair was silk pressed and parted down the middle with her baby hair decorating her forehead. Ugh, she was an actual Bratz doll and I loved her already.

"No, that's all you!" I giggled back.

I didn't even realize we had been holding hands the entirety of the compliment battle but it felt nice and far from forced.

"Let's take a picture!" She suggested in a gasp.

"Okay, okay," I rushed excitedly, practicing some poses before she clicked.

"Eeeep!" We squealed together after a full on photoshoot.

"So cute," Jasmine boasted.

"Tag me so I can follow you and repost it!" I exclaimed, my chin on Jasmine's shoulder as I watched her add a cute song to the story.

"Oh lord, they found each other," Jabari groaned, approaching.

Chris eventually exited his side conversation with a distant family member to join the three of us by the bar. Jabari and Jasmine weren't dumb, they could feel the tension, and I'm sure Jabari had already been filled in anyway. They, stepped back and sealed their lips.

I gulped hard, unsure of where to look, too scared to make eye contact at first.

"Can we talk?" Chris asked me, his hand on my elbow. His hand always found it's way there, I'm not complaining but, it was cute; I think touch is his love language, although he'd never admit it.

"That's fine," I agreed at an almost embarrassingly quick rate.

I started walking and then abruptly halted, seeing the drink in his hand.

"Without the alcohol," I enforced.

Chris looked at me like he was going to put up a fight about it at first and then he sat the lowball glass on the Tommy-Lee pedestal coffee table that illuminated purple.

"Sure," Christopher groaned after hesitating. Once it was out of his hands, he gestured for me to lead the way.

I wasn't familiar with the venue but the place was large and most likely a convention center or community hall because there were several spacious rooms and long, dark halls.
Just for privacy, though, we went to his truck. I missed his truck. I named it Lenny for some reason. I don't know, just seemed like a Lenny.