Page 11

The Airbnb was decked out, modern, sleek, and expensive. Floor-to-ceiling windows, and an open-concept living room kitchen combo where drinks were already being poured. The vibe was intimate but electric, music humming through the speakers, laughter mixing with the scent of good food and expensive cologne.

Krys walked in like she owned the place.

A crisp, fitted white two-piece set clung to her petite frame; a cropped satin top and high-waisted, wide-leg pants that flowed effortlessly as she moved. Minimalist gold jewelry, flawless acrylics, and soft makeup. The type of effortless beauty that made people stop and look.

Then there was Kenyatta. He cleaned up too damn well. A white button-down, sleeves rolled up just enough to flex his tatted forearms, nicely fitted white slacks, and a thin Cuban link chain peeking from beneath his first undone button. He wasn’t flashy, but his presence alone did the work. Relaxed. Confident. Effortless.

When Krys first saw him, she almost did a double take. She hated that.

Kenyatta clocked her reaction immediately, smirking like he knew exactly what he was doing.

“We matching too well, Bae.” His deep voice was low and teasing. “People might really think you mine.”

Krys arched a brow, keeping her cool. “Just don’t embarrass me.”

Kenyatta chuckled, adjusting his watch. “Ain’t my style, Bae.”

The dining table had been transformed into a charcuterie board competition, each couple bringing their own themed board. Ray and her man, Jared did a Taco Tuesday board, tiny tortillas stacked next to shot glasses of margarita mix. Meisha and her boyfriend Mark had a Seafood Boil board; shrimp, crab legs, cornbread muffins. Tyra and her mama, Aunt Shonda, went full Soul Food Sunday; fried chicken wings, mac and cheese bites, and miniature Kool-Aid pickles.

And Krys and Kenyatta brought nothing. Krys had been too caught up in making sure he didn’t make a fool of her to even think about it.

Ray peeped that immediately. “Y’all ain’t bring a board?” she teased, sipping her drink.

Before Krys could respond, Kenyatta slid an arm lazily around her waist. The touch was light, but intentional.

“We brought the best one here,” he said smoothly.

The group eyed him, intrigued.

“Yeah?” one of the cousins asked. “What board is that?”

Kenyatta smirked, nodding toward Krys. “The Bad Bitch Board. I mean, look at her.”

The room erupted in laughter, playful agreement with a few haters being dismissive rolling through the crowd.

Krys had to bite back a smile. She cut Kenyatta a look, silently telling him to chill, but he just lifted a brow like, What? I got this .

Tyra, perched nearby with her drink, suddenly narrowed her eyes at Kenyatta, recognition flickering across her face.

“Ohhh shit, wait—You was at Tez’s spot the other week, right?”

Krys inwardly groaned.

Tyra’s eyes went wide with excitement as she turned back to Krys. “Oh, so this really your man for real, for real? You just met him and got him locked in like that? Damn, cousin, teach me the game!”

Krys sighed, already exhausted. “Tyra, can you be quiet?”

Kenyatta leaned all the way into it. Smirking, he pulled Krys a little closer, thumb grazing the inside of her wrist like they really had something established.

“She was on me heavy,” he admitted, looking way too pleased with himself. “I ain’t gon’ lie.”

Tyra gasped, placing a dramatic hand over her chest. “Ohhh, say it ain’t so, Krys! You sprung?”

“Girl, shut up,” Krys muttered, cutting her eyes at Tyra, but the laughter from the cousins around them only fueled it.

On top of Tyra’s dramatics, she could feel Zahir watching all of it. She wasn’t surprised to see him in attendance. He was always at family functions, probably riding in off her cousin, Trevor’s invite, hoping to show up and slide back into her space like he meant something. Apparently, he thought it would be business as usual that night. In his mind, he probably figured he’d show up, pull his usual tricks, let the family hype them up as a “cute couple” like they always did, and ease back into her good graces.

Not this time. She threw him for a loop and didn’t show up alone. She didn’t sit next to him like old times. And she damn sure wasn’t making it easy.

She brought Kenyatta, and now Zahir was sitting there, tight. Watching. Stewing. Probably debating whether he was bold enough to make a scene.

Krys hoped he did because she wasn’t holding back if he tried it.

**********

The first game: Couples Trivia.

The rules were simple: Get a question wrong about their partner, they had to take a shot. If they get it right, they earned bragging rights.

Krys wasn’t worried. She was quick-witted, sharp, and smooth under pressure. If there was one thing she could do, it was finesse.

Kenyatta, though, was walking in blind. No prep. No background. No inside knowledge.

First question: “What’s your partner’s favorite food?”

Kenyatta didn’t even blink. “Easy. Pasta.”

Krys’ head snapped toward him.

It was pasta.

She narrowed her eyes, a flicker of suspicion creeping in. “How you know that?”

Kenyatta smirked, leaning back lazily in his chair. “I pay attention, Bae.”

A couple of murmurs rippled through the room.

Krys was thrown. There was no way he guessed that. Coincidence? Maybe. But something about the way he said it made her wonder.

Zahir, sitting nearby with his drink, scoffed loudly. “Nah, that’s cap. Krys don’t even really like pasta like that.”

Krys cut her eyes at him. “Excuse me? Since when?”

Zahir frowned, gripping his drink tighter. “Man, you used to order steak every time we went out.”

Krys frowned. “That’s because you only took me to places that served steak, dumbass.”

The whole table erupted.

Zahir muttered something under his breath, but before he could say more, the next question hit.

“What’s your partner’s dream vacation?”

Krys exhaled. Easy. He’s never getting this one. She waited for him to stumble. To make up something generic like the Bahamas or Paris.

“Cape Town, South Africa,” Kenyatta answered smoothly, tossing a peanut in his mouth like this was too easy.

Krys sat up straight, her stomach flipping again.

That was right.

It wasn’t something she talked about much, but Cape Town had always been at the top of her list.

Ray’s eyes widened. “Okay, wait. Now, how the hell you know that?”

Before Kenyatta could answer, Zahir let out a loud chuckle, shaking his head. “Man, Krys don’t even like long-ass flights. What is you talking about?”

Krys blinked, staring at him. “…Zahir, shut up.”

The room burst into laughter again.

Kenyatta just grinned, unbothered by Zahir’s outbursts, shifting forward slightly. “Ain’t hard to figure out. She got that ‘soft life but still trill’ energy. Ain’t no basic ass vacation gon’ do it for her. She need luxury but also culture. That’s South Africa all day.”

A murmur of impressed nods rolled through the group. Even Krys had to admit that was a good ass answer.

The next couple of questions went by with ease, each one making it harder to believe this was fake.

“What’s your partner’s go-to drink?”

Krys rapidly fired with no hesitation. “Hennessy, no chaser.”

Kenyatta grinned. “Damn right.”

“What’s one thing your partner always has on them?”

Krys barely hesitated. “A hoodie. I ain’t never seen this man without a hoodie. He has one in the car.”

Laughter filled the room.

Kenyatta gave her a knowing look. “You peep that? Thought you wasn’t paying me no mind?”

She rolled her eyes. “I observe things.”

“What’s your partner’s pet peeve?”

Kenyatta exhaled, sitting forward like he had a real answer for this one. “People who don’t say what they really mean.”

Silence fell over the group.

Krys’ heart skipped. Because yeah, that was dead on.

He tilted his head slightly, watching her, like he knew he just said something that struck different.

“Is that true, Krys?” Sydnee, her cousin, asked, curious now.

Krys blinked, trying to shake whatever this was. She took a slow sip of her wine. “He got lucky.”

Kenyatta let out a low chuckle, like he knew she was full of shit.

Zahir scoffed again. “That’s cause it ain’t true. Krys don’t like messy people. That’s her real pet peeve.”

Krys turned slowly, glaring. “Zahir. Shut up.”

Ray groaned, throwing a napkin at him. “Damn, you tryna play the game for them? Sit this one out!”

Zahir exhaled hard, clearly pissed.

The last question came: “Who said ‘I love you’ first?”

The room buzzed, people leaning in, waiting to see how they’d answer.

Krys smirked, ready to shut it down. “Neither. We ain’t there yet.”

But Kenyatta tilted his head, eyes locked on hers. “I said it first.”

The group collectively gasped.

Krys’ mouth parted slightly. “Excuse me?”

Kenyatta leaned in, voice dropping just low enough for her to feel it in her chest. “You don’t remember? That night at the gas station…the way I looked at you? That was love at first sight, Bae.”

Laughter and dramatic reactions erupted around them, but Krys barely heard it. Kenyatta was looking at her like he meant that shit. Like he was having a little too much fun blurring the lines. And honestly, she wasn’t so sure if she hated it.

Zahir was fuming, however. He shoved his chair back, mumbling under his breath.

Tyra rolled her eyes, waving him off. “Boy, if you don’t go find some business and stay the fuck out theirs.”

Jared shook his head. “Let these two have their moment, damn. You actin’ real jealous, bruh.”

Zahir clenched his jaw, but he ain’t say another word.

For now.

**********

The night had been smooth. Too smooth.

The drinks were flowing, the laughter bounced off the walls, and the vibe was just right. But Zahir wasn’t feeling it.

Krys had caught the way his eyes lingered too long whenever Kenyatta spoke. The way he sized him up like he was looking for something, some kind of weakness to poke at. Kenyatta peeped it early. The tight jaw, the fake ass smile, the way his eyes kept cutting over to Krys like he was trying to solve a problem that had already been solved.

The nigga was bothered. And sure enough, after a few more sips of his drink, he finally tried it.

“You don’t say much, huh?” Zahir directed at Kenyatta, swirling his drink like this was some kind of mob sit-down.

Kenyatta exhaled slow, turning his head just enough to look at him. “You talk enough for the both of us, though, huh?”

“Damn.” Ray’s man, Jared, muttered under his breath.

A few others at the table chuckled under their breath, watching the exchange unfold like it was a pay-per-view fight.

Zahir smirked, but Krys saw the way his jaw flexed. He didn’t like that. Not one bit.

“So, Yatta , right?” Zahir leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “What you do for a living?”

“None of yo’ business!” Tyra exclaimed. She was over Zahir. “Damn!”

Kenyatta sat back, completely unfazed, eyes steady. “Maintenance.”

Zahir took a slow sip of his drink, then chuckled.

“Damn.” He shook his head. “Krys went from a man building businesses to a man fixing sinks?”

The room fell silent. Krys’ stomach clenched. She could feel the heat in her chest, feel the wave of irritation creeping up her spine.

Before she could even open her mouth, Kenyatta was already on it.

Kenyatta leaned back slightly, the corners of his mouth lifting just enough to show he wasn’t pressed, just entertained. His voice stayed easy, smooth, but there was an unmistakable edge beneath it.

“Nah, for real. You good? ‘Cause sitting here where she at, with her people, mad about her life choices? That’s wild, bruh.” He let out a slow chuckle, shaking his head. “You acting like a man that lost something he thought was his; but let’s be real, you probably ain’t built to keep it. Is that what it is?”

A few heads turned. Someone in the back stifled a laugh.

Zahir’s smirk faltered, just slightly; but Kenyatta caught it and that’s when he knew he had him.

Krys’ fingers lightly brushed against Kenyatta’s forearm, a silent signal.

He looked at her. She shook her head once: Not tonight . Kenyatta let the moment stretch before he sat back, letting it go.

But Zahir wasn’t done. He forced another smirk, but it was tight. “Nah, just surprised, that’s all. Thought Krys would be with somebody a little more…on her level.”

Tyra’s brow furrowed. “Not you nigga.”

Sydnee tapped Tyra and motioned for her to hush with a slight giggle.

Krys let Kenyatta handle himself, watching him work, seeing how he wasn’t pressed, wasn’t rattled. He could sit in this energy all night.

But Zahir wanted to keep poking. He was a prick; one of those arrogant, educated Black men who measured a man’s worth by his tax bracket and social circles. The kind who looked down on blue-collared workers, convinced that status and access to the affluent made him superior.

“I mean, Krys got businesses, investments. She’s building something real. She got vision. That’s why she used to be with a man that was doing the same.”

Krys let out a short laugh. Not the deep, amused kind but the disrespectful kind. She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbow on the table, her voice smooth and sharp at the same time. “Last time I checked, Z, you wasn’t building shit.”

The smirk on Zahir’s face froze.

Krys tilted her head. “Your uncles are building. They put their names on those law firm doors, not you. You just show up and play fetch for them.”

A few gasps. Jared damn near knocked his drink over.

Zahir’s face darkened. He opened his mouth to fire back, but Krys cut him off before he could even gather himself.

“So, if we being real? You ain’t no better than Kenyatta. Difference is he ain’t gotta ride his family’s coattails to get where he going. Furthermore, keep my man’s name out’cho mouth from this moment moving forward.”

Silence.

Zahir’s jaw clenched so tight Krys thought his teeth might crack. He had nothing to fire back with, because she wasn’t lying. He was just a do-boy at his family’s firm. Taking orders. Filing motions. Carrying other men’s legacies. Krys had built her own. She owned her name.

Zahir stared at her, lips pressed tight, but Krys had already checked out of the conversation.

Kenyatta sat there, watching, taking it all in, amused as hell.

Krys’ hand brushed his forearm again, but this time, it wasn’t a warning; it was acknowledgment.

She handled that.

Kenyatta chuckled low, shaking his head as he reached for his drink. “Damn.” He took a sip. “That was harsh.”

**********

The Airbnb’s living room had thinned out, a few cousins, some lingering, some packing up, the leftover charcuterie boards raided for snacks, wrapping up conversations, laughing over leftover drinks. Tyra, Jared, and few others were locked in a heated argument over spades, Meisha and Ray were already planning the next link-up with Sydnee and one of the younger aunties, Tamika.

Zahir had been still throwing glances all night, his jaw locked, always a drink in hand, but barely sipping. His whole vibe was off. He was upset and had to accept that he was no longer her main that when she needed something, when she wanted something, he was the one she called.

Showing up with someone else had really thrown him off his square. She didn’t owe him an explanation. Didn’t owe him shit. But it was obvious Zahir clearly thought otherwise.

He had convinced himself he was irreplaceable. That no matter how much time passed, she’d still be back. That he was the standard. The blueprint. The one she needed.

He wasn’t. He never was.

Krys wasn’t apologetic about bringing Kenyatta. Wasn’t thinking twice about it. If Zahir had a problem, that was his problem.

Krys had been actively ignoring him all night. Not because she cared, but because she didn’t. Which was why when she caught him throwing side glances all night, jaw clenched, barely sipping his drink, she almost laughed.

Meisha, ever the instigator, leaned in with a knowing look. “Girl, why he been over there still tight about earlier?”

Krys didn’t even glance in his direction. “Who?”

Meisha twisted up her lips. “Oh, we being petty tonight?”

Krys took a slow sip of her drink. “What’s petty about peace?”

Meisha shook her head, still grinning. “I mean, it is kinda funny seeing him in his feelings over you, considering he the one who didn’t step up. What did he think was going to happen?”

Krys gave a disinterested shrug. “Well, that’s his business.”

Tyra snorted. “I ain’t never liked his corny ass for you anyway.”

It wasn’t lost on Krys that a few people were whispering, stealing glances between her and Kenyatta. The speculation was thick in the air, and she knew people were trying to figure out what this was. Her and Kenyatta. If it was real, if it was serious. Krys was eating it up and amazed that Kenyatta had pulled it off. More than pulled it off; he thrived.

He had improvised the perfect performance, witty when needed, smooth in every response, standing his ground when Zahir tested him.

She didn’t have to say a word. The body language, the casual touches, the familiarity spoke for itself. Let them assume.

And that’s what threw Krys off the most. He wasn’t supposed to play it this well. He wasn’t supposed to make it feel so real. Or was that her projecting?

She shook the thought off as she headed to the kitchen for another drink, but Kenyatta followed her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You stalking me and keeping tabs on me now?”

Kenyatta smirked, leaning against the counter. “Gotta make sure my girl’s good.”

Krys rolled her eyes but grabbed a bottle of wine, pouring herself another glass. She didn’t bother offering to top his glass with any.

Kenyatta watched her, arms crossed. “Your lil buddy in his feelings, ain’t it?”

“I don’t care about Zahir,” Krys said quickly. Too quickly.

Kenyatta chuckled. “Right. But dude in there looking like he wanna get some mo’ shit off his chest, but ain’t got the heart.”

Krys rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Kenyatta chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, these niggas be wildin’.”

Krys turned to face him, arching a brow. “What? You ain’t got a girl or two somewhere mad about you?”

Kenyatta gave her a slow, amused once-over. “If they mad, they just gon’ have to stay mad.”

Krys let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “See, you say that now—”

“Nah,” he interrupted smoothly. “I know that now.”

The way he said it; his voice dipped just a little, making it sound like there was more weight to those words than she expected. It sent something sharp and unfamiliar through her chest.

She turned away, trying to ignore it, but Kenyatta was still watching her, still grinning.

Kenyatta stepped a little closer. “I mean…it make sense now.”

“What does?”

He shrugged, low-key smug. “Why you was touching on me like that during the game. Tryna make sure he saw.”

Krys huffed, not about to give him that satisfaction. “Boy, shut up.”

Kenyatta just laughed, shaking his head. “Let me find out you only wanted me here to make lil buddy mad.”

“I wanted you here because we have a deal.”

Kenyatta studied her. “Mmm. Just a deal? You sure about that?”

Her breath caught. He was too close now.

“Why you get so quiet?” he teased.

Krys sucked her teeth, shaking it off. “Boy, shut up.”

Kenyatta chuckled, taking a slow sip of his drink. “You love telling me to shut up.”

She countered. “And yet you won’t.”

His brow raised, a tease twinkling in his eyes. “I know what will.”

She swallowed. “Don’t get carried away.”

Kenyatta just grinned, stepping back. His voice was smooth, teasing.

“Too late.”

Even though Krys was still annoyed as hell at Zahir, she couldn’t ignore the way her heart had picked up pace any time Kenyatta came near with his nonsense. Or the fact that this fake relationship felt less fake by the second.

She turned toward him, narrowing her eyes. “You did too much in there.”

“You told me to improvise,” he said smoothly, watching her over the rim of his glass.

“Not like that,” she snapped.

Kenyatta took a slow sip, unfazed. “Seemed like you liked it.”

Krys scoffed. “You wish.”

Kenyatta set his drink down, stepping just a fraction closer. Close enough that she could smell his cologne, clean and a little dangerous.

He tilted his head slightly. “You sure?”

Krys’ grip on her glass tightened. No, she wasn’t sure. She had spent the night watching him more than she should have; noticing the way he read the room, how he could be charming and disarming at the same time.

How he had handled Zahir effortlessly, making it clear he wasn’t one of those men who needed to bark to prove he could bite.

It was all too much.

She turned back toward the counter, pretending to be focused on her wine. “Well, thanks for playing your part,” she muttered.

Kenyatta chuckled under his breath. “What if I wasn’t playing?”

Krys froze for half a second before shaking her head. “You full of shit.”

Kenyatta smirked, stepping back, like he’d had his fun and was done with the game for now.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Bae.”