"I know and I'm glad to hear that, Oshannie."
"I feel so much better with him than I have with anyone and I have one ace left, y'know what I mean?"
I nod my head, understanding her point. "Is it who I think it could be? I think you might have two aces left."
"Bunky."
"Timbs, too. He'd leave his current for you and you damn well know it, girl," I remind her, tapping the center of her forehead with a smirk playing at the corners of my mouth.
Every time my finger touches her forehead, her eyes squeeze shut and her lips remain in a tight straight line to show her annoyance. "Joshua, if you don't stop tapping my forehead…" she warns me, grabbing my wrist and glaring into my eyes. "I promise you that you won't be worried about the next time you get laid, you'll be more concerned about being able to perform without looking like severely bruised fruit that fell a few dozen times," she spits, her threatening smile appearing to deceive everyone else.
I raise my hands in a defensive manner and drop the subject. "So-ha-ha-ry," I retort, trying not to laugh.
Aaliyah leans in and smiles, knowing all too well what I'm up to. She playfully slaps my shoulder. "Stop teasing her," she requests, winking at Jazz moments later. "I got your back, girl."
The two of them smile at each other once her attention is back in the conversation and she had waved someone over to us, breaking into a fit of giggles. Lance joins us and she hugs him loosely with one arm, I can sense how tense things are between them. The four of us chat a few minutes, staff telling us to take our seats due to the beginning is minutes away and I have to talk to Lance anyway, making the minute after we sit perfect timing. "See you at the after party, Oshai?"
"Hmm? Oh, yeah, for a bit."
"You can meet my Portuguese lover," she teases, parting ways to sit in our assigned seats.
I note she's seated between Devin and Brad, making me wonder which one is Portuguese. I turn to Lance and spot the Boys behind their seats, Aaron seated in front of her. She kicks his seat and he whips around, angry or annoyed to her smiling and waving at him. She leans forward and they talk for a little while. "Who was it she was spooning with that day?" I ask.
"Devin," he snarls. "Why does it matter to you?"
"She's seeing someone and have been racking my brain over who it could be. Is he Portuguese?"
"Yes."
"Is there any chance she should fake us out and be dating one of his band mates?"
"Brad possibly, but I highly doubt it."
"Why not the other one?"
"Trust me, it just wouldn't work."
The lights dim and cuts my round of questions short.