Page 36 of Anything Necessary for Her (Crenshaw Kings #9)

Today would surely go down as one of my worst practices for several reasons. I could barely focus because of all the conflict between my brothers and me, and secondly, I hated that I had to do a dance with Nikita.

She was so annoying, and it was difficult to ignore her little snide comments that she made under her breath. Shit would be a little bit easier if she was a trash ballet dancer, but she was top-tier, rivaling me.

“Oh my gosh. Carolyn, I promise, Dante and I can do this one alone.” Nikita huffed when I fucked up for what felt like the hundredth time today.

“Could you?” I hiked a brow, feeling my dance partner Calvin’s chest heaving behind me from panting. “You couldn’t even get the solo.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about!” she shouted, turning to me fully.

“I don’t? We both auditioned and I got it. The only thing close to a solo that you have again includes me. I think I know exactly what I’m talking about. Today may be an off day, but every other time, you need to be taking notes instead of hating.”

Nikita started toward me, so I decided to help her and close the distance as well. Calvin and Dante grabbed us both at the urging of Carolyn.

“Look, Banks, Nikita is right that you are not on your game this afternoon. However, Nikita, Banks is also right that she has the solo in this show, so let’s keep the rude comments to ourselves.

While I understand we all have an off day, you two are my best dancers, and I expect professionalism not only on that stage but behind it as well.

Am I clear?” Carolyn folded her arms, her dark hair pulled back into a taut bun today, light skin flushed and making her look even meaner.

“Yes, Carolyn.” Nikita and I replied in harmony.

“Great. Five-minute break.” She clapped once and very loudly before stepping out of the room and into the hallway.

The exit door that led to the parking lot opened before a white man, covered in perspiration and holding a large bouquet of hot pink roses peeked in. He looked as if he’d been out in the hot ass sun all day, making deliveries, and wasn’t too happy about it.

“Delivery for a Banks St. Thomas?” He read off my name from a device.

Standing from the floor that I’d sat on to gather my thoughts and hydrate, I made my way over, taking the big floral arrangement as Nikita mumbled something that I was sure was her hating like usual.

“This belongs to you as well.” The man handed me a baby pink envelope. “Sign here for me, please.” He smirked nicely, despite how distressed he’d looked upon his arrival.

I did as he’d asked and then set the bouquet down as Dante, Calvin, and Nikita approached me at the table to be nosy.

You’re cordially invited to a late evening boozy brunch, courtesy of Low. This is a private event and therefore no plus ones are allowed.

I smiled brightly as I read it a few more times before putting it away and sniffing the flowers.

“Damn, Banks,” Calvin commented, eyeing the flowers. “Trayvon sent this?”

“Hell no. I been done with him.” I frowned just as Carolyn returned.

“Well, when you’re done with this one, let me know,” Nikita shot, reminding me she knew exactly who Low was.

“Bitch—” I started, but my one curse word had garnered Carolyn’s attention, making me halt.

Though half of our ballet troupe was black, Nikita and I included, I didn’t want to be seen as the angry, combative black girl who fucked herself up out of a spot like becoming a principal dancer. I was a soloist now, and I wasn’t about to allow anyone to knock me off my square.

Pulling out my phone since Carolyn was still engrossed in conversation with Douglas, I dialed Low.

“What’s good? You get the invite?” He picked up, sounding happier than usual since the charity event at the park. I loved that he cared.

While I wanted a man who could stand up to my brothers like Low had, I didn’t want a man who didn’t give a fuck about my relationship with them.

Because at the end of the day, though I would never allow my brothers to dictate who I spent my time with, I loved them and didn’t want a nigga who was okay with me not being in an amicable space with them.

“I did. What other details do I need?”

“Nothing. I’m driving and shit, so all you need to do is wear something pretty . . . if you want to.”

“If I want to?” I couldn’t stop myself from smiling. With all the discord between my maternal side brothers, Low somehow always kept a smile on my face. It felt good having a ride or die outside of Kailey.

This situation also made me have more respect for Free, seeing how he had my man’s back even against six of my angry, sometimes gun happy brothers.

Though Low had explained that Bashar was the most intimidating because Low wasn’t afraid of guns and fists, he was more so horrified by the law and the strings he knew Bashar could pull.

I had faith that my brother wouldn’t do anything of the sort and that he understood I would hate him for probably the rest of our days if he did.

The coldhearted, about his business Bashar in the courtroom was foreign to me, as he was never like that toward me or around me.

In fact, he was the brother I could boss around and squeeze the most out of growing up.

But I had seen a glimpse of the infamous criminal defense attorney that day at the park.

“Yeah. You always look pretty. I’ve never seen nothing like it,” he spoke honestly, no amusement in his tone.

“You don’t need to flatter me, Low. I . . . like you.” I caught myself from saying something deeper.

“I’m not. I’m just making an observation and speaking on the shit. You always look done up and shit, even in yo’ chill clothes. I don’t know what it is you do, but I have never seen you look dressed down.”

“Well, my mama always taught me that jewelry, well done eyebrows, mascara, and perfume will make you look good all the time. I never forgot it.”

“No wonder ’cause Miss Lisara is fine?—”

“Shut up!” I giggled.

“What should I wear?” he questioned, catching me off guard.

“Um, if I’m gonna wear something pretty, most likely pink, then you should wear whatever you’d wear to like a club or whatever you like.” I bobbed my head as if he could see me.

“Aight,” he said after some time, like he was thinking.

“Can’t wait to see you,” I murmured lovingly just before Carolyn clapping and Nikita scoffing pulled me back to reality. “I will see you later.”

“Likewise, Peep. If you only knew.”

“Bye,” I sang, hanging up with a smile on my face.

As I got back into formation, I couldn’t help but to think about how much better the last remaining half an hour of practice had gone after talking to Low.

This was the second time his presence had improved my dancing, so I was starting to think maybe the nigga was good luck.

Later that evening . . .

Just as I sprayed my Bitter Peach perfume on, I heard my doorbell sound off.

Doing one more spin in the mirror, I grabbed up my Lady Dior bag and started toward the stairs and to the door.

Opening the door, the sight of Low’s outfit left me slightly slack jawed, especially in comparison to my skirt, tube top, and stiletto boots.

Socks, slides, Givenchy joggers, and a wife beater adorned his lofty, lean but muscular frame. He wore his typical chain but with a Richard Mille watch and smelled about as expensive as his watch was. For some reason though, I found him and this sexy.

“Is this what you wear when you go to a club or somewhere fancy?” I gestured to his clothing.

“Yep.” He peered down at himself as if to take it in. “I ain’t like Free. That nigga actually goes on shopping sprees and shit.”

“What do you do?” I asked as he helped me down onto my porch before I locked my door.

He kissed me a few times once I was done, then said, “If I’m out and see some shit, I might cop it. But I don’t make a point to hit the mall.”

“Why not?”

“Just not some shit I think about. Got too much other shit on the dome to be worried about being a fucking fashionista.”

I laughed, hearing that word come from his mouth, making him grin as he opened the door to his Maybach for me.

Once he was in the car as well, starting it up, I said, “You too fine to be dressing up anyway.”

“Cool.” He laughed at me just before I leaned over to peck his sexy lips, raking my nails through his beard for a moment. “You was looking like you wanted me to change for a minute.”

“Nope. I kind of like this.” I waved up and down his body.

Truthfully, no matter what Low wore, women would always fall over themselves for him.

I’d seen it when I was harboring a crush on him and even now.

It seemed like every woman we encountered would have hearts in their eyes upon seeing him, and back in the day it used to irk me considering he legit paid me no mind.

Now that he was mine, it only bothered me slightly.

We drove for a while, listening to music of my choice. Low would frown occasionally, depending on the song or shake his head, but I found it funny.

We ended up at some cute and quaint spot in Beverly Hills. I could see that we were here outside of their business hours as Low maneuvered into a parallel park.

“Are they closed?” I wondered, seeing the lights on the closed sign illuminated brightly.

“For everybody else.” He hopped out then stepped onto the curb to help me from the vehicle.

A black woman with long goddess braids beamed at the sight of us before unlocking the door to allow us inside.

“Welcome to Leaf and Vine,” she greeted. “I’m Fallen, and I will be catering to you all today.” She walked us through the establishment filled with pink roses everywhere and paper lanterns hanging above us with hearts and ribbons. Everything was pink, which was my favorite color.

“This is beautiful. I love the pink,” I said, gripping Low’s hand tighter as we trailed Fallen.