Page 61 of Books and Hookups

Lucie stared at Leo as he sprinkled powdered sugar on slices of lemon ricotta cake. “I’ll take a water, please.”

As I poured her some from the pitcher in the fridge, I tried not to listen to Leo and Lizbeth’s whispered argument. Still, I caught Lizbeth’s angry, “Tell him,” and Leo’s muttered, “Don’t want to?—”

I thunked the pitcher on the counter. “You don’t want towhat,Leo?”

He looked up from the slice of cake with the candle in it, his eyes round with guilt. “I don’t wanna have this argument here.” He tipped his chin toward the table, where Lucie didn’t bother to pretend she wasn’t listening. “Not on your birthday.”

“I’ll go.” Lucie stood. “You guys need to talk.”

“Don’t go,” I said.

“You haven’t even had cake,” Leo said.

But Lucie was already jamming her feet into her boots at the door. “Thanks for dinner, Leo. It was delicious.”

“I’ll walk you up.” I grabbed a plate of cake, slipped on my shoes, and followed her out.

We climbed the stairs in silence. When we reached the third floor, she said, “I hope I didn’t spoil your birthday.”

“Nah, it’s fine.” Though it wasn’t, not really. Finding out my brother was having second thoughts about something we’d promised each other for years wasn’t great. Especially not on my thirtieth birthday, when my life was supposed to be settling into place. And definitely not in front of my baby mama who I was trying to woo.

She put her key into the lock, and something clenched in my chest.

“Can I come in?” I asked. “Leo’s cake is the best. We can share it.”

She pushed open the door, then looked up at me. Her brown eyes shimmered with kindness, and I almost stumbled back in surprise. Lucie was driven and sexy and upstanding. I’d never seen such a soft expression on her face. “You and your brother need to talk.” She put a hand on mine. “You can’t hide from him up here.”

I growled, “I’m not hiding. I’d much rather spend time with you on my birthday.” I bent and hovered my lips over hers for a second, then I brushed her lips, a question.

She curled her fingers around the back of my neck and buried them in my hair, pulling me to her, answering. With the hand that wasn’t holding the cake, I clutched the back of her dress, then I licked inside her mouth, tasting spice and garlic andher.She slipped her tongue against mine, a caress softer than any she’d given me before. This was way better than last weekend’s kiss in front of the church.

A hungry sound escaped me. I imagined waking up to her touch with a glide of her smooth hand down my chest or a gentle kiss on my shoulder. Silky bedsheets and a pillow that smelled like coconut. Sliding my hand down to the delectable curve of her ass, I tugged her closer so she could feel my arousal against her belly.

When she pulled away, her pupils had swallowed her irises. She looked a second away from pulling me through the door. “Happy birthday,” she murmured.

“I’ll show you how happy I am,” I rumbled.

She shook her head slowly, and the lust faded from her gaze. “You need to talk things over with your brother.”

I had a brother? “Now?”

“Tell me how it goes. Goodnight.” After taking the plate of cake from my hand, she closed the door gently—in my face.

I stood there for a moment. She was probably right. I needed to talk to Leo about our plan, our dream. Or maybe it was only my dream. But I didn’t want to have that conversation on my fucking thirtieth birthday, so I did something I never did.

I jogged down the two flights of stairs to the bar to get drunk.

22

Not That Kind of Friend

My legacy is that I fostered a culture of innovation and inclusivity, where students could thrive regardless of background. The breakthroughs sparked in our labs, the voices that found confidence on our stage, and the engaged citizens who walked out our doors are a testament to the potential unlocked by a vibrant university community. That’s the lasting impact I strive for: an institution that ignites potential and shapes a more equitable future.

Dr. LaToya Watts, president, NorCal University

LUCIE

Carly had found the perfect dress style for me at six months pregnant. It had something she called an empire waist, and it hugged my oh-my-god-when-are-they-going-to-stop-expanding boobs at the top but swung out over my belly in a flare that made it almost look like I still had a waist.

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