Zero Obstacles (Lesbian/WLW)

Chapter Eight: Teammate Support

NAALIQ

Gotdamn, she smells good. Sweet and rich like cinnamon with a dash of vanilla, the SUV's air conditioner swirls her scent around, arresting my senses. I'm tempted to lean over, bury my face into her neck, and have a taste of her.

Her outfit isn't trendsetting, but it isn't mid, either. She's sporting a tube top with a graphic design of a pair of smoldering eyes. Her delicate clavicle, arousing cleavage, and toned tummy look like a desirous land of smooth, pure honey. I told myself I'd leave lightskins alone after Perrie's bright, trifling ass played me. But I might fuck around and find out with Zy.

Wait, what am I saying? My hormones are trying to get me in trouble. I gotta chill.

"Sorry that my brother tried to put you on blast." Aziya buckles her seat belt and tosses her blonde braids over her shoulder. "It's bad enough people think we're messing with each other."

Wait...

"Huh?!" I ask. The word comes out more forcefully and louder than I intended.

Her eyes expand as she jumps back, momentarily caught off guard. She stammers, "Um... that's just what p-people are saying on social media." Shaking her head, she regains confidence in her speech. "They think I was looking at you too dreamily, and you were licking your lips at me. It's foolish."

"Folks on social media think the fucking sky's green," I say. "Let 'em have their fantasies." I slump in my seat and stretch my legs. "What you wanna listen to? Maybe I should put on your brother?"

"Respectfully, no," Aziya says, followed by a faint titter. "Listen to him on your own time. He has great music, but I've been hearing him talk for the past few hours. I don't wanna hear him say or sing anything else until tomorrow."

I chuckle, my head bobbing. "Younger siblings can be irritating as hell. Even when we're apart, Dre finds a way to annoy me."

I choose a laidback R&B playlist. "Kiss It Better" by Rihanna plays. And I swear instantly, Aziya's eyes roll to the back of her head.

"Ahhhhh, this is my shit!" she shouts, body rolling in the seat as she snaps her fingers.

I lick my lips and suck in my bottom lip. When I heard her full-blown Jamaican accent earlier, I wondered if she could dutty whine. The universe has given me an answer. Even while restricted in a seatbelt, her body moves fluidly, her stomach making waves and her hips rocking to the slow jam.

"Damn, this yo' song for real, huh?" I ask.

"Mhm. I love me some Riri. Bad gyals wi tink alike." Noticing my trance, she ceases her air-grinding. Her touch guides my chin upwards, compelling me to lock eyes with her. "Yuh 'av a starin' problem, yuh know?" Her voice has a stimulating rasp to it, especially when she speaks in Patois.

It feels like an ice cube has been pressed to my neck, its coldness creeping down my spine. I clear my throat, noticing I'm seconds away from getting a chubby. "Shit, my bad," I mutter. I move my hand over my crotch, just in case something pops up.

She releases my chin and giggles innocently. "It's okay. I'm incomparably sexy, so it's unfair to expect people like you not to look at me."

I smack my lips. "People like me?!"

"Fans," she says, smirking.

I shoo her. "Mane, gon' somewhere with that bullshit, Zy. You always have some silly shit to say."

"You like it?" She delivers the question with a musical lilt.

I ignore the question. "You sing too?"