I'll Be Your Somebody by Savannah J. Frierson Page B

her eyes or rolling down her cheeks, but those were his fingers gently wiping away the moisture that had suddenly appeared on her face.
    “ Mi hermosa chica Rosita,” he whispered against her nose before kissing it.
    She couldn’t help but laugh at that, curling her arms around his neck and hugging him close to her heart.  He chuckled as well and returned the embrace just as fiercely.
    “You are,” he said quietly.
    She sniffled.  “I know.”
    He chuckled again.  “You’re not lacking confidence.”
    “Should I?”
    “No,” he replied, kissing her shoulder.  “You certainly keep a brother righteous.”
    Rosita caressed the back of his head, though didn’t answer.  They sat quietly for a while, him still inside her, not as hard as he had been, but definitely not soft.  Her internal muscles massaged him, more calming than arousing, and she took in a breath full of their scent.  For some reason her mind went back to the past, months ago, years ago, back when Bevin had been a Moore.  She remembered a conversation they’d had, the night after Tim had told Bevin he loved her, with Rosita practically confessing to her best friend she’d never made love with a man before.  Sex, yes; fuck, yes; love…that had always been elusive.
    It didn’t feel so elusive anymore.
    “I should pull out,” he said against her temple.
    “You should,” she agreed even as she gripped him tighter.
    He moaned.  “Rosita, chica …”
    “I like you just where you are,” she murmured honestly, letting her lips drift along his temple.
    He kissed her neck and rubbed her back.  “I do as well,” he said and left it like that.
    He never did pull out, slinking back down onto the bed and drawing the sheet over them.  She fell into slumber, he inside her, around her, having one of her best sleeps in months.
    Ooh, boy, she was seriously fucked.

One Morning
     
    The readout was missing a few letters.  They spelled “Not”, as in “Not Pregnant”.
    There was not a sound to be heard, a breath to be breathed, a pulse to be pulsed.  Rosita and Bevin stared at each other, she on the commode and Bevin on the side of the tub.  Her best friend’s golden eyes dropped to Rosita’s midsection.
    “ Lawdhavmercy ,” Bevin rasped.
    Rosita dropped the stick as if it had shot up a thousand degrees in one second and scrambled off the toilet.  She stared wide-eyed at it, her mind telling her she’d suddenly become illiterate, that she did not read what she just read.
    “ No puedo leer en inglés ,” Rosita muttered.
    The shocked expression on Bevin’s midnight-hued face melted into one of amusement.  “Yes, you can read English.  Very well, in fact.  Welcome to the club, Rosita.”
    Rosita glared at Bevin, two seconds away from sticking out her tongue and cussing her out in fluent Spanish, when a knock on the door made them both jump.
    “Damn!  What?” Rosita snapped.
    “Uh, are y’all okay in there?”
    Rosita’s nostrils flared in frustration while Bevin’s flared for an entirely different reason.  Rosita sucked her teeth and rolled her eyes.  “Hussy.”
    Bevin glanced down at the stick, then raised an eyebrow at her friend.  “Pot, kettle, innit?”
    “Bevin?”
    “We’re fine, baby,” Bevin called to her husband, taking a few squares of toilet paper to pick up the stick and throw it in the trash.  “You need to use the bathroom?”
    “Yeah.”
    “Where’s my child?”
    “With his godfather.”
    “Is my child still alive?”
    “Bevin,” came the sigh, and Bevin grinned, washing her hands.
    “All right, my love, we’re on our way out,” she promised, cutting off the water and drying her hands on one of the towels.  Bevin opened the door and giggled as Tim gathered her close and gave her a gentle kiss on the mouth.
    Rosita pretended she didn’t notice any of this as she washed her hands as well, her heart squeezing at the possibility that could be her one day.  Her and…
    “Rosita,” Tim