She falls back onto the cushions, one arm slung over her forehead. Heaving a dramatic sigh, she stares up at the ceiling. A whimsical, lovelorn smile winds its way onto her face. She sits up and pats the cushion beside her, taking my hands again when I plop down. “There’s a man in Eight’s apartment,” she says. “And … and he’s beautiful. Well, what I saw of him was beautiful.” A man, not a woman. I blow out a sigh of relief. “What man? And what did you see?” Giggling, Madi tucks her legs underneath her, bouncing a little on the cushion. “He was asleep on Eight’s expensive-ass couch. Shirtless and wearing a pair of sleep pants that had worked their way down over the waistband of his underwear.” Madi sighs, staring at the blank screen of the television. “You should’ve seen him: the muscles on his defined back rippling with each breath he took, the roundness of his firm ass.”
