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I nod. “I was born here, but I grew up in Harlem.”

Fatima’s eyes light with excitement. “I love Harlem.”

“It’s pretty great,” I admit as nostalgia washes over me.

“You two met out here when you were on vacation, right?” Quentin asks, his golden and green gaze shifting between Hunter and me. I wonder how much he knows. Everything, probably. They are boys.

Hunter rubs my back. “Yasmine was out here on vacation.”

“And you shot your shot,” Fatima fills in with a smirk.

“Look at her,” Hunter says, looking down at me. “How could I not?”

I roll my eyes. “This guy.”

Fatima rests her hand on her heart. “Y’all so cute.”

I give a small smile. She’s not the first person to say that today, and she won’t be the last.

Quentin slides his arm around Fatima’s waist, kissing the side of her head. “My princess is such a softie.”

“Stop lyin’,” Fatima says, wrinkling her nose.

Quentin laughs, and his smile is damn near perfection. I imagine Harper somewhere swooning.

Chapter Thirty

Skylar has a strict two-hour schedule for us to follow, and she executes it flawlessly. The games she chose brought out everyone’s competitive side. And after that, she ushers Hunter and me to the flower wall for pictures. It’s awkward, and I’m the only one smiling in the pictures as Dru gets a few shots of us.

Once I’m sitting down with a plate of food in my lap, exhaustion kicks in. I rest for a little while and enjoy my food until it’s time to cut the cake. But once that’s done, I plop my butt back into my comfy chair and relax my puffy ankles. Novalee and Fatima join me.

“He just had to make an entrance.” Fatima wrinkles her nose as if something stinks.

I follow where she’s looking, and my eyes land on Daryl. It doesn’t take long for our remaining guests to recognize him. Within seconds of him walking through the front door, he’s surrounded.

“I thought maybe he missed his flight,” I say, slicing my cake with my fork.

“He wouldn’t have missed it. He and Hunter are thick as thieves,” Fatima says.

“Why don’t we like him again?” Novalee asks.

“You guys don’t like D?” Despite his bad boy reputation, on and off the field, the times I’ve spoken with him on the phone, he seemed cool.

“He dated my girl Marley,” Fatima says. “And he put her through hell.”

I lick frosting from my fork. “When was this?”

“Back in high school.”

“It’s not like Fatima holds a grudge or anything,” Novalee says, smirking.

“I couldn’t stand his Chad Ochocinco-looking ass.” Fatima takes a bite of her cake.

Novalee cocks her head and taps the space between her upper lip and the septum piercing in her nose. “You think so? I don’t see it.”

All three of us take a moment to check out Daryl, who’s now taking selfies with Esme.

“Yeah, I see the resemblance,” I say, squinting. “Were they all total douchebags back in high school?”