Part 7
Knock. Knock.
Deon dragged a hand down his face before opening the door.
Sierra stood there like she'd stepped straight out of his memories, only sharper. White crop top hugging her curves, mini skirt showing off way more leg than a married woman had any business showing. Ponytail swinging like she was trying to turn back the clock.
"Hey, stranger," she said, slipping past him without waiting for an invite. A cloud of perfume trailed with her — soft, sweet, and dangerous.
Deon shut the door slow. "You tryna break necks or what? Thought you came here for lunch, not auditions."
She smirked over her shoulder. "Please. I've been deprived. Deon-deprived."
He coughed, trying to play it off. "That's... not a real word."
"Is now." She plopped onto the edge of his bed, legs crossing, eyes scanning the room like she owned it. "So? You ditch me last night for this? Room service and a nap?"
"Something like that," he muttered, walking to the small table where the food had been dropped off. He lifted a lid. "Got sushi, tempura, couple bottles of sake. Don't say I never treat you."
"Mm." She slid closer — not to the food, to him. "You could've treated me last night. But nooo, Deon Changes had better things to do."
He shot her a look. "Nosy, aren't you?"
She tilted her head, grin coy. "Resting with who?"
Deon froze. Half a second too long. Sierra's grin widened.
He set the lid down harder than he meant to. "Don't start."
"What? I'm your bestie. You can tell me anything. That's what besties do."
He leaned on the table, giving her a flat look. "Only problem is... I'm a man. Men don't got besties."
She gasped, hand over her chest like he'd stabbed her. "Excuse me? I've been calling you my bestie since middle school!"
"Yeah, you call me that. Don't mean I approved it. I just never corrected you."
"Wow. Cold." She pouted, eyes glinting. "So what's it gonna take, huh? How do I get promoted from bestie-who-doesn't-exist to... something more?"
The air thinned. Deon swallowed hard. This was why he didn't want her here. Why he didn't want to be alone with her.
"Don't do that," he said quietly.
She leaned in, chin propped on her hand, lips inches from his ear. "Do what?"
His pulse kicked. He pulled back, forcing a laugh and reaching for the sake. "Forget it. Let's eat."
Sierra's smile was slow, knowing. She let him retreat — but not without brushing his collar, leaving that ghost of perfume behind.
They picked at the sushi for a while, sipping sake between bites. For a second, it almost felt normal again. Like the years hadn't stacked between them. Like the rings on her finger didn't exist.
"You remember how much fun we had in Mrs. Crandall's class?" Sierra asked suddenly, eyes lighting up. "God, we tormented that poor woman."
Deon smirked faintly. "Must've skipped that day."
She gasped, laughing, swatting his arm. "You skipped every day! Do you remember that time I skipped with you?"
He leaned back, sipping slow. "You're asking me to find a needle in a thousand haystacks. That whole era's a blur."
Her smile faded into something smaller. "Even the time with me?"
That one hit different. He set the cup down, rubbed his jaw. "...Why you gotta do shit like that, Si?"
Her lips curled. "Mm. I love when you call me that. I'm your yes-woman, remember? Anything you ask, the answer's yes."
He chuckled low. "My bad, Sierra."
But the word didn't stick. Not in his head. Because yeah — he did recall.
Seventh grade. Alone in his room. Just like this. A few months before Keyon ever entered the picture. Probably the day that decided the rest of their damn futures.
⸻
He could still smell the rain that afternoon. Sierra had shown up at school radiant — hair shorter, smile brighter — the only reason he'd even gone that day. When the bell rang, he'd headed straight for the exit. She tried to stop him, then took the "if you can't beat him, join him" approach.
They spent the day in his room "studying." Until she got bored and suggested wrestling — like when they were kids. Except she wasn't a kid anymore. That dress she wore... it was soft, loose, dangerous.
He'd tapped out early, pretending exhaustion. But she didn't take the surrender. She straddled him, dropped her weight — then jumped up with a startled yelp.
"Something hard just hit me!"
The memory hit him just as hard. Her voice. That mix of shock and innocence. The moment that rewired his whole body and rewrote their friendship.
He'd tried to laugh it off, but the shame was instant. His face burning, blood rushing, heart slamming. "You're... imagining things," he'd said too fast.
But Sierra hadn't been mad. She'd looked at him with confusion — and something else, something she didn't understand yet.
"Deon," she'd asked softly, "why are you acting weird?"
He couldn't answer. Every nerve in him was screaming, don't move.
She'd sat beside him anyway, pressed her cheek against his arm. "You're warm," she'd murmured. "And firm. I like that."
He'd almost choked.
And when she whispered, "I don't wanna be anywhere else," it carved itself into him forever.
That was the day she hooked him for life.
⸻
Now she was here again — curled up against him on the bed, perfume wrapping around him in waves that made it hard to breathe. The same posture. The same voice.
"You're warm," she murmured again. "And firm. I like that."
The exact words.
He turned to her, but she was already watching him. Hazel eyes, older now. Certain.
"I don't wanna be anywhere else."
Deon froze.
Then she pushed him flat on the mattress, swinging a leg over his waist. Skirt riding high, hair falling loose, that same reckless glint in her eyes.
Her smile turned wicked. "Something hard is poking me."
Heat flooded his face. Shame and desire tangled, impossible to separate.
"Don't," he rasped.
Sierra's hips moved — slow, deliberate. Every motion burned through him like a live wire.
"I'm not that little girl who doesn't get it anymore," she whispered between breaths. "I can be bad too."
He couldn't even find words. Every rational thought drowned under the rhythm she set. Her body pressed closer, hotter — the ghost of fabric between them doing nothing to save him.
He wanted to resist. Wanted to move. But he couldn't. Whether it was the pleasure, the fear, or something deeper — he was locked in place.
Then came the slip. The sudden heat. The gasp that tore from her throat as she froze, eyes wide, staring down like she couldn't believe what she'd just done.
Deon sucked in a breath, every nerve begging him to pull her close, finish what she'd started. But he didn't move. Didn't push. Didn't pull.
Just waited.
Her hips twitched once. Just once. If nothing stopped her, she wouldn't stop. Neither of them would.
Then his phone blared — a harsh vibration slicing through the silence.
The spell broke.
Sierra scrambled off him like the bed was burning, dress bunched, hair wild. Her chest heaved as she grabbed her things with shaking hands.
"Si—" he started, but she was already halfway to the door.
She didn't look back. Didn't fix her skirt. Just bolted.
And just like that, she was gone.
Deon lay there staring at the ceiling, her warmth still clinging to him. The phone went silent, leaving only the sound of his own uneven breathing.
He dragged a hand over his face and laughed, hollow.
"...fuck."