Page 28 of Forbidden Fruit
I fake a jab, then go for a harder right hook. “I don’t know, man, it’s this girl…”
He grunts at the hit but shakes it off, the look on his face telling me he’s intrigued.
“She’s got me all twisted up in my head. I can’t stop thinking about her, and I don’t like that shit. At all.” I barely finish the sentence when he lands a punch square in my torso, the force of it making me cough.
“Are we talking about your fiancée here?” he asks, his breathing steady as we both bob and weave, dodging each other’s swings. We’re not aiming for faces, too much business at stake, but the hits to the body still sting.
I pause for a beat. “Nah, man. Her little sister.”
The second I say it, I see the surprise flash across his face. He falters just enough for me to seize the opening. With aferocious cross, I catch him off guard, and he stumbles backward, crashing to the mat with a thud. “Cheating fucker.” He coughs due to the blow.
Justin stays down for a beat, flat on his back, staring up at the ceiling. Probably processing my confession more than the punch that put him there. I sink to the mat beside him, grab my water bottle, the cool liquid barely soothing the burn in my throat. “She’s too young. Too pretty. Too mouthy. Too unavailable.” I drag the words out. “Just… too much. And somehow, all of that makes me want her more.”
He huffs a short, incredulous laugh and finally props himself up on his elbows. “Well… fuck.”
“Yeah, no shit. But here’s what’s tripping me up about this whole thing…” I drag a hand over my jaw, trying to line the words up right. “I’ve never been with a white woman before. Never even been attracted to one. And that’s not…” I pause, searching for the right tone. “That’s not to say I have a problem with white women. I think they’re beautiful. I’ve just always been drawn to Black women… women who look like me, women around my age, maybe a couple years younger or older. So none of this makes sense. The way I want her. The way she gets in my head. I think I’m losing it.”
Justin doesn’t say anything for a few seconds, and when I glance up, he’s giving me that knowing look, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“What?”
He cocks a brow. “You do realize you’re engaged to a white woman, right?”
I think about what I just said and let out a low curse. “Yeah, well, that’s different. That’s… love. This is pure lust.”
I hear how weak that sounds, but I keep talking because I can’t tell him the truth, that I picked Abigail to marry because I thought she was safe. Because I figured there was zerochance I’d want her that way. I thought I knew myself well enough at thirty to trust that. To believe I could keep things strictly professional, help us both get what we wanted, and walk away clean when it was over.
“Right,” Justin says slowly, that smug little smile still sitting on his face. He lets a beat pass before adding, “Well… why not get it out of your system? You said this is just lust, right? Just attraction. So why not, just once, if she’s willing? Get it out of your system.”
Because Abigail specifically asked me not to touch her sister. And I’m terrified that if I do, I’ll want her again. I’ve tried to be logical, but what I’m dealing with isn’t logical. It’s Blair. She’s a wildfire I keep wanting to walk into, knowing damn well I’ll get burned.
“And if things… grow into something more, then you deal with that honestly. Just don’t pretend it doesn’t exist.”
His words make me scowl. I don’t want a relationship with Blair, far from it. I barely know her. This isn’t some love-at-first-sight bullshit. But I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want her. That’s what’s twisting me up. It’s not the idea of having her once, it’s the fear that once I do, I won’t be able to stop.
So I do what I always do when the walls start closing in: I deflect. I lean back, a smirk tugging at my lips, pretending it’s all a joke.
“I’m not you and Kingsley. I don’t do love. I just want to fuck her. That’s it. That’s all this is.”
“Oh, fuck you,” Justin says, flipping me off but laughing. “I’ll have you know we’re very happy.”
It’s true. They’re happy, as far as I can tell. Seeing them with their partners sometimes makes me wonder if that’s ever going to be me, if I’ll ever have something like what my parents had. And I can admit it, even if I don’t say it out loud:I want that kind of love. Not just a fling, not just lust. I want the kind of love that makes you feel instantly at ease the second you see that one person. The kind that’s steady, comforting, grounding.
I’ve grown up seeing it, the way my parents moved through the world together, the way they knew each other without having to explain. I’m not a robot; I can’t pretend I don’t want that. But right now… right now, it feels impossible. My focus is my work, my projects, my life built brick by brick, floor by floor. Love like that… maybe it’s something I’ll get one day. Maybe not. But I can’t stop myself from thinking about it. Even if it’s just a thought, a fleeting glimpse of a life I want but don’t yet have.
We get back up, stretching, gearing up for round two.
We finish the round in silence, the sound of gloves hitting skin filling the air. But even as I throw my last punch, all I can think about is Blair. This obsession is going to ruin me. But damn if I’m not already too far gone to stop it.
In a desperate attempt to distract myself, I grab Abigail’s credit card and start making some very necessary appointments. She practically shoved it in my face, insisting I use it, so who am I to deny her generosity?
I start with the essentials: haircut, nails, a facial that practically erased my stress, and yes, I even managed to squeeze in a much-needed bikini wax. By the end of the afternoon, I feel smoother, shinier, and more put-together than I have in months.
There’s this new energy in me, a quiet kind of confidence that adds a little extra sway to my hips as I walk back to the car.
Yeah. I look good.
Just as I slide into the driver’s seat, my phone buzzes.
