Zero Obstacles (Lesbian/WLW)

Chapter Seventeen: On Another Level

AZIYA

The instant I step into her "crib," Naaliq's H-Town accent slides over me like molasses.

"Look at yo' cute ass, wearing my shit proudly, knowing damn well you stole it." Her juicy lips twist into her signature smirk—playful yet a little dangerous like a lion cub testing its claws.

We've been spending more time together, but this is the first I've been introduced into her personal space. Her Miami mansion exudes a quiet confidence, draped in dark, earthy tones. Charcoal walls serve as a backdrop for vivid art, illuminated by soft, moody lighting. Sleek, modern furniture completes the space. It's everything you'd expect of a basketball superstar's sanctuary: elegant, contemporary, and effortlessly sexy, yet softened by a warmth that's unmistakably Naaliq.

As I take in her home, Naaliq steps close, her fingers slipping around the strings of my hoodie. With one tug, she tightens the fabric around my head, partially blocking my view. I huff, swatting her hand with a half-giggle, half-grumble. "Kite m viv ak kè poze," I mutter. ("Let me live in peace.") Naaliq watches as I fumble with my hood, amused by my flusteredness.

I cross my arms like I mean business. "Your hoodie's mine now. Deal with it."

The eyebrow above her hazel and olive green eye raises. "You stealing my style like you're my girl or something," she murmurs, her lips twitching childishly. She slips a hand around the strap of my duffle bag and takes it from me. "You're sleeping with me tonight, or do you want your own room?"

I love snuggling up with my friends, but I haven't had the chance to do so with Naaliq. Kyla has claimed the role as my loyal cuddle buddy on long plane rides and in away hotels. Every time Naaliq finds out about one of our cuddle sessions, her brown eye twitches. I can't tell if she's jealous because she wants to cuddle with me or because her best friend is turning into one of mine. Either way, it's adorable—and a little hot—how she faithfully tries to pull my attention back to her.

"Whether I sleep with you depends on if you keep irritating me," I say, glancing toward the kitchen. On the black marble countertops, I notice silver tins. "Where's the food?" I ask, even though I bet I'm staring right at it.

"Over there, getting cold, waiting on yo' ass," she says, slick as ever. I bump her with my shoulder, but she just chuckles. My annoyance is entertainment for her tonight, apparently. "I'm gon' put your stuff upstairs. Go wash your hands."

The plan was to have dinner at her place, but I don't feel comfortable driving home in the middle of the night, especially with drunk drivers on the road, celebrating the Kelpies' first win.

After washing my hands, I behold the spread of Southern comfort food. Is Naaliq a mind reader because this is exactly what I need after a physically and emotionally exhausting game? Yams. Mac and cheese. Crispy fried chicken. Ribs. Cornbread. The only thing my trainer might approve of is the collard greens, though even those are laced with ham.

I search for plates, and to my surprise, finding them doesn't take long. Naaliq's cabinets are organized much like mine; everything is exactly where I expect it. I grab a plate from the upper cabinet, on the left side of the oven. A husky voice comes from above. I almost drop the damn plate.

"Uh-uhn, sit down." The heat of Naaliq's towering presence hits me like Houston humidity on a summer afternoon. Her tattooed hand grabs the plates. "I got it, playgirl. Just sit."

I frown and turn to face her. Craning my neck, I squint my eyes at hers. "What do you mean? I need to fix my plate."

"I'm gonna fix it for you."

"You don't even know what I want," I point out, cocking my head slightly.

"You want a little bit of everything, but you're definitely craving extra mac and cheese and ribs." She speaks low and slow, each twisted syllable meant for me to absorb. "And I won't forget to stack up the collard greens because you're a good girl who eats all her veggies."