Ad Usum
The dressing room door pushed back against its hinge and thudded once, the sound swallowed by the bass bleeding through the walls. The room was warm in a way that clung. Lights buzzed faintly. The air smelled like hairspray, sweat, and citrus wipes. Mireya stepped inside and let the door fall shut behind her, the noise from the floor flattening into a constant thrum.
Jaslene looked up from her mirror and shook her head before Mireya could say anything. “Tienes que irte a casa, nena.”
Mireya didn’t answer right away. She rolled her shoulders as if that might loosen the tightness sitting there, then yawned, jaw stretching wide and slow. Her eyes watered. She ran both hands over her face, palms dragging down her cheeks, and dropped into the chair at the vanity beside Jaslene’s.
She reached behind her bag and fished out a can, the aluminum cold against her fingers. Monster. She cracked it and took a long pull, throat working fast. The drink rushed too hard. She coughed once, sharp, and wiped her chin with the back of her hand when a little of it escaped. The mirror caught it all without comment.
Jaslene’s mouth opened.
“I’m good,” Mireya said, lifting her hand, two fingers up, a stop sign. “I don’t have class today.”
Jaslene pressed her lips together and went back to her eyeliner, the black line steady despite the vibration in the wall. She finished one eye, leaned closer to the mirror to check it, then capped the pen. She stood, stretching her neck side to side, the bones giving a quiet pop. “Or you could just go home and go to sleep instead of going do whatever Trell wants.”
“I’m fine. Seriously.” Mireya took another swallow, smaller this time, and set the can down by her makeup bag. “It’s not nothing I ain’t never done before.”
Jaslene turned, resting her hip against the counter, her hands braced behind her. “You’ve never worked Mardi Gras. And you didn’t do it working every night then going somewhere else and working more.” She reached for her gloss and pressed it on with two quick pats. “Just come home with me tonight. Por favor.”
Mireya looked up. The mirror framed Jaslene’s face in a ring of white bulbs, her eyes clear, the concern unhidden. It softened something in Mireya’s chest that she hadn’t realized she was holding tight. The noise from the floor surged, a cheer rising and falling like breath.
“I won’t stay out as long tonight,” Mireya said. “And I’ll come over after. Okay?”
Jaslene exhaled through her nose, a long sound, and shook her head. “Eres demasiado jodidamente terco.” She grabbed her robe from the back of the chair and shrugged into it, tying the belt once, neat.
Jaslene leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to Mireya’s temple, the touch grounding, familiar. “Descansa antes de volver a salir,” she said, already turning.
Mireya nodded. Jaslene slipped out, the door opening just enough to let the sound punch back in before it closed again.
Mireya leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. The vibration from the speakers traveled up the legs of the vanity and into her spine. She counted one breath, then another, letting the noise pass through instead of pressing against it. When she opened her eyes, the room looked the same. The lights hummed. Sweat prickled at her hairline.
The door swung open again, faster this time. Sydney came in with C.J., both of them laughing too loud, the kind of laughter that tripped over itself. C.J. had her arm slung around Sydney’s shoulders, her other hand still holding the door as it bounced. They peeled apart immediately, C.J. angling toward her locker, Sydney drifting to the vanity across from Mireya.
Mireya watched them in the mirror without turning her head. She raised an eyebrow. C.J., Maren, Brooke. A separate orbit. Even Khadijah and Jessica didn’t cross it much. C.J. shot Mireya a quick look, still smiling, then turned her back, digging for something in her bag.
Sydney leaned against the counter, one knee bent, and started fixing her makeup, her movements small and precise. The lingerie she wore caught the light, thin straps and sheer fabric clinging where sweat had already touched. Mireya’s gaze dropped, cataloging without effort.
“Dancing tonight?” Mireya asked.
Sydney glanced up. “I’m gonna try.”
Mireya nodded slowly. She studied Sydney’s face again, the skin around her nose, the way the light hit. There, faint but there. White powder, a dusting that didn’t belong. Mireya lifted her own hand and wiped under her nose, an exaggerated motion.
“Hey,” she said.
Sydney’s eyes widened. “Oh shit.” She scrubbed under her nose fast, checking the mirror, then again, slower. Her shoulders dropped a fraction. Mireya shook her head once.
“Be careful with that shit.”
Sydney held Mireya’s gaze for a second longer than necessary, then nodded. “Yeah.”
She gestured at her lingerie, pinching the strap between her fingers. “Hot?”
Mireya let her eyes sweep over it once more. “Gonna look even better on the floor.”
Sydney smiled, the nerves creeping back in at the edges before she smoothed them away. She pushed off the counter, squared her shoulders, and headed for the door. C.J. followed a beat later, tossing something into her bag and catching up, their voices fading into the hall.
The door shut. The room settled back into its hum.
Mireya exhaled and leaned forward, resting her forehead against the cool glass of the mirror. The lights blurred into halos. She slid her arms onto the vanity and turned her head, cheek pressed to the surface, eyes closed. The bass thudded on, steady and unrelenting, as she took the few moments she could get before going back on the floor.
~~~
The nursery sat back off the road, a long gravel drive cutting through low trees before opening into a wide lot packed with pickups and a few sedans dusted pale from the limestone. The air inside the main building was warmer than outside, damp and sweet, soil and fertilizer hanging heavy enough to sit on the tongue. Fans whirred overhead, pushing the smell around without clearing it. Rows of plants stretched in straight lines, tags sticking up like little flags. Somewhere near the back, a hose clicked and hissed, water rattling through pipes.
Caine pushed the flat cart with both hands on the handle, wheels thudding softly over the concrete seams. The metal vibrated up his arms in a steady way he barely noticed anymore. Laney walked half a step ahead of him, shoes scuffing as she cut down an aisle without looking back.
She stopped in front of a long table crowded with white blooms. The petals were tight and clean, green leaves waxy under the lights. She leaned in, fingers hovering without touching.
“You know that’s one of Georgia’s state flowers and it ain’t even native to the United States?” she said.
Caine rolled the cart to a stop beside her and glanced down at the tray. He tilted his head, eyes moving over the flowers. “Can’t say I know all that much about state flowers.”
Laney snorted and rolled her eyes. “They called Cherokee roses. Ain’t got nothin’ to do with the tribe, but they used ’em to show their resistance after the Trail of Tears.” She straightened.
Caine nodded once. “That makes it being y’all state flower even crazier.”
She smiled at that. “They’re my favorite flower. Tommy hates ’em though.” She shrugged one shoulder. “Cain’t have ’em in the house.”
“Probably because it’s your favorite,” Caine said, easy.
Laney didn’t answer. She turned and started walking again, pace steady, shoes tapping a line down the aisle. The fans hummed. The hose shut off somewhere, the click echoing faint. Caine pushed the cart after her, the quiet stretching just long enough to register.
They reached the endcap where bags of potting soil were stacked chest high, plastic scuffed and dusted gray. Laney pointed without slowing. “We need five of those.”
Caine walked around the front of the cart and grabbed the first bag. It was heavier than it looked, weight shifting as he hoisted it. He tossed it onto the flat. The cart rattled. He grabbed another, then another, working in a rhythm. He dropped the fifth on top and wiped his palms on his jeans.
“Ran into Blake in a bar the other night,” he said, casual.
Laney shook her head, hair swaying. “Guess he tradin’ one addiction for another.”
Caine laughed under his breath. “Or he just got more than one.” He stepped back around the cart and nudged it forward with his knee, wheels squeaking. “He told me you got a preference.”
Laney stopped and turned, one eyebrow lifting. “A preference for what?”
Caine snorted, the sound sharp and amused. “Black dudes.”
She laughed, loud enough to bounce off the metal shelving. “I ain’t got a preference for nothin’. I like a good lookin’ man. Plain and simple.” She waved a hand like she was brushing off dust. “Not my fault people started sayin’ that and they got a lot of backward men out here in the country.”
He let the cart roll a foot too far and caught it, smiling. “So, you blaming being a snowbunny on white men not liking that you were a snowbunny?”
Laney stepped in and slapped his arm, the contact quick and familiar. “Don’t be an asshole.” She smiled anyway, mouth crooked, eyes bright.
Caine laughed and leaned back into the handle. “Then you decided to fix all that and marry a good ol’ boy in the Army.”
She paused. It was small, just a hitch in her step, but it sat there. The fans kept turning. A couple passed at the end of the aisle, a cart creaking between them. Laney’s face shifted, something deciding and undeciding at once, then settling.
“Me and Tommy had been hookin’ up for a while,” she said. “It wasn’t great. Bad, if I’m bein’ honest.” She started walking again, voice carrying back to him. “But we partied with Blake and he was there and willin’ when he wasn’t on the base.” She lifted one hand, fingers counting off memory. “Then we got in that wreck. Me, Taela, Nevaeh and Blake. Nevaeh flipped the car into a lake.” She glanced back over her shoulder. “Let’s just say Tommy was right place, right time.”
Caine let out a low breath. “Damn.”
She shrugged, shoulders rolling like it didn’t weigh much at all. “Life, right?” She kept moving, already scanning the next row of plants, the leaves brushing her sleeve as she passed. Then she looked back again, eyes cutting to him, mouth tilting. “And the sex ain’t never got good.”
Caine laughed, the sound breaking free as he pushed the cart after her into the next aisle, wheels squealing once before settling.
~~~
Bourbon Street felt swollen. The night pressed in from every direction, bodies packed tight enough that movement came in waves instead of steps. Music bled out of open doors and collided midair, brass from one end tangling with bass from another, all of it riding on the constant roar of voices. Beads swung from balconies and street signs, clacked together when people jumped or shoved, plastic knocking plastic. The pavement was slick, not from rain, but from everything else that had spilled and been trampled into it over the last five days.
Cass walked ahead of them, just far enough that she didn’t look like she was leading, but far enough that she wasn’t caught in their orbit either. Two women flanked her, laughing loud, arms linked, already unsteady. Cass didn’t link arms. She moved straight, shoulders back, pace set like she knew exactly where she was going and expected the street to part for her.
Behind her, Trell moved easy, hands loose, chin up, eyes scanning. Ant stayed to his right, close but not crowding. Dez drifted a step back, keys clinking faint every time his hand shifted. Boogie and Yola walked together, Boogie tugging at the heavy bead draped around his neck, the bigger ones that didn’t come from plastic buckets. Stevie, Rob, Earnest, and Tiny took up space just behind them, a loose line that bumped into people without apologizing.
A woman stumbled past, shirt already half off, beads clenched in her teeth while someone yelled encouragement from a balcony.
Stevie laughed and shook his head. “Boy, they got some hoes out here.”
Trell didn’t slow. “That’s tourists though. You know you been loving them New Orleans hoes that I been introducing you to.” He tilted his head slightly, watching a pair of women argue over beads in the street. “They ain’t showing no titties for ten cent beads.”
Right on cue, two women peeled off from the crowd and stepped up to Boogie, eyes locking on the thick bead hanging low on his chest. One of them smiled big, already lifting her hands toward him.
“C’mon, baby,” she said. “Let me get that one.”
Boogie shrugged, exaggerated, like it was already decided. The woman didn’t wait for more. She grabbed the hem of her shirt and lifted it, breasts bouncing once in the open air. People around them hooted.
Boogie leaned back and squinted. “Nah,” he said, dismissive. “Them ain’t that nice. They little.”
Yola barked a laugh, sharp and delighted. The woman cursed at Boogie as they walked away, flipping him off over her shoulder.
Stevie nodded. “You ain’t wrong though.” He glanced ahead toward Cass, then back to Trell. “That lil’ Mexican chick coming through tonight?”
Trell smirked, just enough. “Yeah. She gonna be at the BnB later.”
Dez, half a step behind, leaned forward just enough to make sure Trell heard him. “Don’t know what you using her for when Cass right there.”
Trell didn’t turn his head. His eyes cut sideways, just the corner of them, catching Dez without giving him the satisfaction of full attention.
Ant shifted immediately. “Nigga, I’ll beat your ass out here, yeah,” he said, voice calm and low. “I ain’t scared to spend a couple nights in OPP.”
Dez shut up.
A pair of women in lingerie stepped out into the street ahead of them, heels wobbling on the uneven ground, flyers in their hands. One of them pointed back over her shoulder at a neon sign. “Y’all trying to see some real dancers tonight?”
Rob lifted both hands, palms out. “I ain’t paying no cover during no parade. I know y’all taxing.”
Yola glanced toward the door. “That shit probably free to get in.”
One of the women smiled wider. “Just gotta buy a drink.”
Tiny clapped his hands together once. “Shit. I’m in there.”
He peeled off toward the door without waiting. The bass from inside swallowed him whole. Rob hesitated half a second, then followed. Earnest shrugged and went after them. Stevie brought up the rear, laughing as he stepped inside.
Trell didn’t stop. He lifted two fingers at Ant, a subtle hook forward.
Ant matched his pace, the crowd parting around them without either of them pushing.
“What’s up?” Ant asked.
“When we leave,” Trell said, voice pitched low enough it barely had to travel, “go get a pack from the trap on the West Bank.” He didn’t look at Ant when he said it. “These niggas need to test the product so they know what they ain’t gonna be getting if they fuck up business.”
Ant nodded once. “Got it.”
They merged back into the thicker part of Bourbon, the noise swelling again. Someone stumbled sideways out of nowhere and slammed into Trell’s shoulder, the impact sloppy and wet. The guy slurred an apology that barely formed words.
Trell sucked his teeth and shoved him away without breaking stride.
The man went down hard, slipping sideways into a shallow puddle that glistened under the streetlights. The smell hit immediately. Piss. Puke. Sewage water that had nowhere else to go. The man splashed and tried to get up, hands sliding uselessly.
Trell didn’t look back.
He and Ant kept walking, shoes sticking slightly with each step, moving down Bourbon behind Cass and the women with her as the parade noise swallowed everything else whole.
~~~
The porch light cast a shallow yellow circle that didn’t quite reach the edges of the boards, leaving the corners soft and dark. The night sat close, damp enough that Laney could feel it against her cheeks when she leaned back in her chair. The yard behind the house was quiet.
Laney held her glass out without looking. Gabrielle tipped the bottle, the red wine sliding smooth and steady until it crested just below the rim.
“That’s not what fuckin’ happened,” Laney said, laughing as she drew the glass back. “He puked on her ’cause he got nervous.”
Gabrielle cracked up immediately, her laugh sharp and unrestrained, shoulders bouncing. “I’m telling you. He told me this on our third date because he thought I was about to throw up.” She wiped at the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. “He said he was hooking up with her, Eliza, and she threw up on him.”
Laney shook her head hard, lifting one finger like she needed a second before correcting the record. She took a big gulp of wine, swallowing fast, then pointed the finger again. “I was at home. Caleb puked on her when she dropped her draws and he got nervous.” She leaned forward slightly, voice warming as the memory took shape. “She come runnin’ out the back, covered. Mama’s sittin’ in the kitchen watchin’ this half naked girl flyin’ out the door and Caleb runnin’ behind her.”
Gabrielle lost it, laughter spilling out loud into the night. “Poor Marianne.”
Laney scoffed. “Poor her? Poor me.” She shifted in her chair, the wood creaking under her weight. “I ended up havin’ to go behind her to give her some clothes.” She shook her head again, smiling despite herself. “Imagine comin’ over to your boyfriend’s house for your first time and here come his older sister with some sweatpants ’cause you sprintin’ down the street with your lips out.”
Gabrielle slapped the table between them, the sound sharp and echoing off the siding. “I see why he tries to keep people from talking to you. He doesn’t want his embarrassing stories out in the world.”
Laney snorted. “I’m only safe ’cause I’m older.” She lifted her glass and swirled the wine once before taking another drink. “I got my fair share of embarrassing shit locked away in the closet.”
Gabrielle shrugged, settling back into her chair. “I guess that makes sense growing up in the country and all.”
“Wasn’t much to do but get drunk, fuck and do stupid shit,” Laney said, easy, like it was a fact more than a confession.
Gabrielle leaned back farther, chair legs scraping softly. “Delaney Hadden,” she said, drawing the name out, mock-scolding. “That language. What do you mean fuck? I thought Rylee was the wild sister.”
Laney laughed, the sound caught halfway between a snort and a groan. She opened her mouth to respond, already lifting her hand, when footsteps crunched across the yard.
Caleb came up onto the porch, the boards announcing him before he spoke. He gestured loosely at the bottle on the table, eyebrows lifting. “I wasn’t aware the two of you were friends. Back here cackling like some old hens.”
Gabrielle smiled up at him, unbothered. “Oh, we’re just having us a good ol’ time. Aren’t we, Laney?”
Laney tipped her glass back and took a measured sip. “Until you came over here.”
Caleb looked at her for a moment, expression unreadable, then turned back to Gabrielle. He lifted his hands slightly, palms out. “Don’t let me get in your way. I just wanted to let you know that I was about to whip something together real quick and wanted to know if you were hungry.”
“I’m good, babe,” Gabrielle said, shaking her head.
Caleb nodded once, already stepping back off the porch. He didn’t look at Laney again as he crossed the yard toward their house, the door closing softly behind him.
Laney kept her eyes on her glass. She didn’t let her face change. The jealousy flared and passed through her just as quickly, something she acknowledged without giving space. The simple fact of him asking, the ease of it, the way it never happened for her with Tommy. She let it sit where it was and didn’t touch it.
Gabrielle turned back toward her, refilling her own glass this time. “Let me tell you about the time I thought I was going to drown skinny dipping in Lake Chapman with some frat boys from UGA.”
~~~
The woods opened into a patch of field that looked like it had been worn down by tires and bodies for a long time. Pines held the edges and swallowed the light past the ring of headlights. Music came from somewhere near a tailgate, bass pushing through trunks and branches. The air carried damp dirt, smoke, and spilled liquor, the cold cut thin enough to keep skin awake.
Caine stood with Dwight, Donnie, Dillon, Terrell, Keanon, and Matt in a claimed pocket of grass that people drifted around. A few bottles sat at their feet, glass sweating in the night. Someone had a cooler behind them, lid popping open and closing as hands kept reaching in. Their area had the familiar looseness of boys who knew they were not going to be moved unless they chose to move.
The girls found them anyway. They came in a cluster, voices bright, cups in hand, shoulders pressed together for warmth and attention. When they clocked Caine, the cluster tightened. A couple peeled toward Dwight and Donnie’s noise. Another pair angled toward Dillon and Terrell. Keanon got one to his side with a laugh and a shoulder touch.
Ciera settled into Caine’s space and didn’t leave it. Her arm wrapped around his waist, her body leaned in as if she belonged there. She kept her cup near her chest, eyes following the other girls as they paired off. Caine kept one hand around his drink and let her hold on.
Dwight and Donnie turned their usual clowning into a contest, pushing the shots toward each other with exaggerated confidence. Dwight poured both cups heavy, liquor sloshing high enough to shine in the headlights. He knocked his back clean, throat working once, face barely changing.
“C’mon, light weight ass nigga. Don’t be a bitch in front the hoes.”
One of the girls snapped her head around, offended and smiling at the same time. “We’re not hoes!”
Keanon didn’t miss a beat, standing close enough that her hair brushed his sleeve. “Term of endearment, shorty.”
Donnie threw his shot back and it hit wrong. He coughed hard, body pitching back a step, face tightening like he was about to lose it right there in front of everybody. For a second his mouth hung open, breath searching for a place to go. The girls’ laughter spiked and then stuttered, waiting to see if he was going to actually throw up.
Caine cut his eyes at him. “Don’t embarrass me, bro. It’s fucking Lundi Gras back home. Don’t be a pussy.”
Donnie wiped his mouth on the sleeve of his hoodie, smearing wet across fabric, then held his cup out with forced steadiness. “Pour it again, nigga.”
Dwight obliged, filling both cups again, like he’d been waiting for permission. Donnie took the cup and braced himself for round two, shoulders squaring, jaw locked.
They didn’t get far before the mood shifted.
Three guys staggered into their pocket of space, all of them clearly drunk, faces flushed, steps loose. They were loud without needing to be. One of them, Paul, went straight to Ciera. He grabbed her arm and yanked her away from Caine with a sharp pull that didn’t bother pretending to be gentle.
“What the fuck are you doing, bro? You told me you were studying!”
Ciera’s cup tipped with the motion. Her drink spilled across the front of Caine’s hoodie, cold liquor soaking into the fabric and running down his chest. Caine stepped back on instinct, brushing at the wet with his palm, more irritated than startled.
Ciera twisted her arm free, eyes flashing. “Stop being a dick, Paul. I’m just hanging out with my littles.”
Paul’s gaze cut past her to the group, taking in the bodies around her, the girls leaning close. “Your littles and eight fucking Black dudes about fuck.”
Dillon lifted his hand, palm out, stepping in just enough to put his body between the worst of it and the rest. “Hey, chill, man. We’re all cool here.”
One of Paul’s friends leaned in at his shoulder, feeding him the line he wanted. “Fuck that, Paul. Don’t let them punk you.”
Matt shook his head, eyes flat with annoyance. “You fucking up the mood, my guy.”
Terrell nodded once, slow, eyes on Paul’s hands and how they moved.
Paul looked from his friends to Ciera, then to Caine, then back to Caine like he’d settled on where his pride needed to land. He lifted his hand and smacked Caine’s drink out of his hand.
The cup flew, liquor arcing into the grass before it hit and rolled. Cold splashed over Caine’s knuckles. His hand stayed open a beat, empty, wet, the insult sitting there.
Dwight shifted forward immediately, voice low but sharp. “Yo, chill the fuck out.”
Donnie stepped up too, shoulders set, cup still in his hand. “You might want to walk off now, bro.”
Paul stared at them, mouth open as if he was about to keep going. His friends hovered close behind him, drunk and eager, but not moving first. The girls had gone quiet enough that the music felt louder.
Caine moved before Paul found the next word.
He backhanded Paul hard, knuckles cracking across his face. “Fuck’s wrong with you, bitch. Ain’t nobody want your fucking bitch.”
The group erupted with laughter as Paul flailed and dropped into the grass. His friends grabbed for him, hauling him up by his arms. Paul shoved them away and stumbled off, disappearing back into the bodies and headlights without looking back.
Ciera shook her head, eyes moving from Caine to her friends to the direction Paul went. She hesitated a beat, then followed behind him, stepping fast enough that her cup sloshed.
Caine shook his head once, the night settling back into its earlier rhythm. Another girl slipped into Ciera’s spot immediately, pressed close, and handed him a drink like nothing had happened.
Donnie laughed, loud and pleased, riding the adrenaline. “Smacked fire out that boy! That’s how us Louisiana niggas do!”
Caine took a sip from the drink the girl handed him as things went back to how they were.
~~~
The bathroom light buzzed faintly, too bright for how heavy her eyes felt. The mirror caught everything. The faint smudge under one eye. The way her shoulders sloped forward instead of sitting back where they belonged. Mireya leaned over the sink and splashed water up onto her face, cold enough to shock her breath short for a second. Droplets slid down her cheeks and neck, catching against the thin straps of her lingerie.
She stayed there, palms flat against porcelain, head down. The room smelled like cheap soap and damp towels. Somewhere beyond the walls, voices rose and fell. A laugh cut sharp through the air, then dissolved into music. She counted her breaths until they evened out.
The towel came off the ring rough and thin. She dragged it across her face, not gentle, pressing until the sting grounded her. She wiped along her jaw, down her throat, across her chest where sweat had started to collect. When she dropped the towel back into place, her skin felt tight and awake enough to keep going.
She stepped into the hallway and nearly collided with Trell.
He had been waiting right there, leaning near the door. His eyes tracked her automatically, slow and deliberate. He took in the lingerie, the bare legs, the damp skin at her collarbone. Then he reached out and caught her chin, fingers firm, forcing her to lift her face.
He turned her head slightly to the side, then the other, eyes searching hers. Close enough that she could smell his cologne under the smoke.
“You good?” he asked.
“Just tired,” she said.
His thumb pressed lightly beneath her jaw. “You can push through. You know you my MVP.”
“Yeah,” she said. “I got it.”
He didn’t move his hand. “Say it. You my MVP.”
A soft smile curved her mouth, practiced and gentle, fatigue hovering just behind it. “I’m your MVP.”
That pleased him. He released her face and immediately reached back, smacking her ass with a sharp, possessive crack that echoed in the narrow hall.
“Go show them niggas a good time,” he said. “They already love you. Been talking about you all fucking night.”
She nodded once and walked past him without looking back.
The living room was thick with noise and bodies. Music hummed low under overlapping conversations. Cass was already looking at her. The stare was direct and unblinking, assessing and cold. Mireya met it head-on, held it, didn’t give an inch. Cass looked away first.
Trell followed her in and crossed to an armchair set against the wall, lowering himself into it with his back protected, legs open, posture relaxed but alert. Ant stayed close to him, standing where he could see everything. Dez took his place in a metal chair against the wall, gaze flicking toward the door and back again.
Yola, Tiny, and Earnest were clustered with the two women Cass had brought, talking over each other, laughter spilling easy and careless. The women leaned in, hair falling forward, hands moving when they talked.
Mireya crossed the room and dropped onto the couch between Stevie and Rob. The cushion dipped under her weight.
“Hola, papis,” she said, voice warm and playful. “Heard y’all missed me.”
“Fuck yeah, I did,” Stevie said immediately, his hand sliding onto her thigh, fingers spreading then gripping.
Rob leaned forward over the coffee table, already focused. He tipped a vial and tapped a clean line of white powder onto the glass, then bent and snorted it in one sharp inhale. He leaned back, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
Stevie looked at her and pointed down. “You want some?”
She shook her head once. “Not my thing, baby. Y’all enjoy, though.”
He shrugged, took the vial from Rob, then let his gaze drop to her stomach. “You mind if I use you then?”
She shifted without hesitation, sliding down the couch until she was reclined, back pressed into the cushions, stomach exposed. Conversation continued around her. Someone laughed loud near the wall.
She turned her head and glanced back over her shoulder.
Trell and Cass were leaned toward each other, voices low, faces tight. Cass’s mouth moved sharply. Trell listened, expression unreadable. Mireya felt her lip curl before she caught it. She smoothed her face, schooled it back into something neutral, something usable.
She turned her attention forward again just as Stevie leaned down, tapping the powder across her stomach before lowering his head and snorting it up from her skin.
)