Alley-Oops I Think I'm Falling in Love (With the Wrong Guy)

| ARIA |

Roscoe kicked off the doorframe as soon as I stepped outside, unfolding his arms. He gave me a quick once over, his face smug as a house cat that had just dropped a dead mouse on their owner's doormat.

Ignoring the lopsided smile that flickered across his face, I skipped over the janky steps and couldn't help but notice that he didn't stumble over them either—he had the configuration memorized too.

That wasn't very Princely of him, this was peasant shit...

"Finally." Aziz groaned from the passenger side window. I flipped him off, a gesture he promptly returned.

Amari hurriedly rolled down his window and stuck his head out, "If you were trying to get your beauty sleep, DeLang, you better ask for a refund!"

The whole car rocked from side to side as they howled over the jibe. I cracked a grin at such mediocre comedy—I missed them, I missed this.

I rolled my eyes in an exaggerated way as I pulled on the door handle, but it didn't budge. I cleared my throat, urging Amari to flip the switch and scoot over.

When the lock clicked, I tugged on the latch, but Roscoe's enormous hand immediately forced the door shut.

I could feel him at my back now, his arm extended casually over my shoulder, pinning the door to the car. Amari's stunned expression mirrored my own.

I twisted around, but the reprimand about my personal space died on my lips. The proximity once again scrambled my brain and I fell back against the car in an effort to get away.

Roscoe wasn't looking at me though, his attention was on Aziz, whose fingers were drumming idly on the dashboard.

He rapped on the window with his knuckle, "Yo, get out."

Aziz pursed his lips, unsure if the statement were a request or a command. His reluctance was obvious, but Roscoe was King Homeboy—he spoke with the calm assurance of someone that knew he'd be heard.

Aziz cracked the door open, his dark eyes tracking up my body. He paused when he found Roscoe's arm draped over my shoulder, his palm propped like a pillar against the door.

The air between Roscoe's body and mine seemed to catch fire as everyone simultaneously noted the breach in social contract—my contract in particular. No unnecessary touches, no closer than twelve inches—that was the rule. Roscoe wouldn't push up on another dude, so why was he suddenly doing it to me? Why was I allowing this?

Roscoe tugged Aziz's door open for him and stepped aside, tilting his chin towards the backseat, "We don't got all day."

Aziz clambered out of the front seat and shuffled around us, chewing the inside of his cheek as he went.

"This ain't on me, bro." I wanted to say.

Roscoe's hand brushed lightly against the small of my back, prodding me towards the newly vacant seat. Goose bumps scattered across my skin at his touch.

Wait...

Hold up.

Why did Roscoe want me to ride shotgun?

I shot Roscoe a look—I didn't want him to think this changed anything, but I'd be lying if I said it didn't unsettle me just a little. I knew what this meant in guy-speak—your bro's got booted if your lady was in attendance. Except I wasn't his lady and they never moved for me.

Roscoe bumped my door shut and sauntered around the front of the vehicle. Inside, it was deathly quiet, my spine was stiff as a board. All of us were reeling from... whatever that was.