Page 22

The house was still. Quiet. The only sounds were the faint hum of the central air and the rhythmic crash of waves outside, filling the space with a calm that should’ve settled her. It didn’t.

Krys was curled up in bed, silk robe draped over her skin, phone in hand; but she wasn’t reading. She wasn’t processing. The notifications, the messages, the endless scroll of texts from the group chat…none of it was sinking in. Her thoughts were too loud, and they were all about him.

Him and Kaliyah, tucked away in two of her guest rooms. Him, in her house, down the hall. Him, under her roof.

She had been the one to insist. It had been too late, Kaliyah was out cold, and it made sense for them to stay. She told herself it was just practicality. Just being considerate. But that wasn’t the whole truth.

Truth was…she wasn’t ready for the night to be over.

Krys exhaled sharply, pressing a palm to her forehead. She needed to get a grip. This was pretend. A game. A business arrangement. That’s all.

Then why was she losing her grip on what was real and what wasn’t?

Then her mind wandered to earlier, when the sun had started to set, the music had gotten smoother, and the atmosphere had turned loose and warm with alcohol and laughter. It started innocent enough.

Somewhere in the mix, she found herself in his arms. It wasn’t intentional. But it felt organically right.

His hand resting low on her back, his breath against her temple as they swayed. It should’ve been just another move for the crowd, another piece of the performance. But the second his fingers started tracing slow, absentminded circles against the small of her back?

The second his grip tightened, not possessive, but secure, she felt safe. And before all this, that had been something unfathomable.

“I gotta admit,” Kenyatta murmured, voice deep and smooth in her ear. “We selling this shit a little too good.”

Krys chuckled softly, leaning slightly into his chest. “Or maybe we’re just that good.”

Kenyatta hummed. “Yeah…maybe.”

Silence had stretched between them. In that silence something had settled in. Something real. Something neither of them spoke on. But it was there, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

Krys rubbed her hands over her face, frustrated.

This was not part of the plan.

She wasn’t supposed to still feel the heat of his palm against her spine, the way his fingers had splayed firm and unrushed, like he had all the time in the world to hold her there.

She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about the way he smelled, how his cologne mixed with the scent of the night; clean, masculine, addictive.

And she definitely wasn’t supposed to keep picturing a world where Kaliyah’s tiny shoes sat by the door, or where Kenyatta walked through her kitchen like he belonged there.

She shook her head. Get it together, Krys.

But as much as she tried to shove it down, another thought snuck in, creeping through the cracks of her denial:

What was he thinking? Was he laying in bed, staring at the ceiling like she was? Did he feel it too? Or was he completely unbothered, completely in control, not the least bit affected the way she was?

She chewed the inside of her cheek. She needed to stop this now. She needed distance. Boundaries. Space.

Yet…

She glanced at the door. Just down the hall, Kenyatta was there. Sleeping in her house. No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, that fact made her feel a way she wasn’t ready to name.

A noise jerked her from her thoughts.

Krys stilled, listening. The second the faint clang of glass against the counter echoed through the quiet house, Musa lifted his massive head from the foot of her bed, his ears twitching toward the noise. He inhaled sharply, then exhaled, the weight of his presence shifting as he pushed up onto all fours.

Krys knew better than to stop him. This was his house just as much as it was hers.

Silently, Musa padded out of the bedroom, his heavy paws barely making a sound as he moved down the hall, his head low, posture relaxed but alert. If there was a problem, he’d handle it.

Krys followed a few steps behind, barefoot, the silk of her robe clinging to her body as she moved through the dimly lit corridor.

By the time she turned the corner, Musa was already in the kitchen doorway, his hulking form blocking her view. His deep, rumbling breath filled the space as he took in the sight before him.

Then as usual, a low, unimpressed huff.

Kenyatta, standing at the counter, shirtless, with a glass of water in his hand, looked up and froze at the sight of the beast in front of him.

Musa’s sharp amber eyes locked onto him, calculating, reading. Deciding.

Kenyatta let out a breath, raising his free hand in surrender. “It’s just me, big homie. We cool, remember?”

Musa’s ears twitched. He exhaled through his nose, then shifted his weight slightly; not fully approving, but not disapproving either.

Acknowledged.

He took two slow steps forward, deliberately closing the space between them, his eyes still locked onto Kenyatta’s like he had a final thought on the matter.

Kenyatta didn’t flinch.

Musa gave him one last hard stare, then a low, bored grunt.

Krys rolled her eyes. “Really, Musa?”

At the sound of her voice, Musa exhaled again and finally stepped aside, allowing her into the kitchen.

Kenyatta chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of his water. “Yeah, nah. I’m good with keeping him on my side.”

Krys walked past Musa and grabbing a wineglass from the cupboard. “Smart thinking.”

Kenyatta leaned against the counter, his eyes dragging over her slowly. Her bare legs. The silk robe. The way the dim light hit her skin.

He exhaled, shaking his head again. “You always walk around like that?”

Krys smirked, stepping further inside. “It’s my house, Yatta.”

Kenyatta chuckled, shaking his head as he took a slow sip of his water. “That answer ain’t helping me right now.”

Krys raised a brow, reaching into the wine cabinet. “And why is that?”

Kenyatta set the bottle down, watching her. “You know why.”

She felt the heat in his stare everywhere.

Musa huffed dramatically from his spot near the doorway, flopping down onto the cool marble floor with a heavy thud.

Kenyatta glanced at him and smirked. “Yeah, yeah. I know. Chill out.”

Krys shook her head, amused. “You really talking to him like he understands you?”

Kenyatta shrugged. “He do, though. Right?”

Musa blinked once, lazily, before resting his massive head on his paws, fully aware of the tension in the room but clearly uninterested in it.

After pouring herself a glass of cabernet, Krys leaned against the counter, eyes everywhere but on Kenyatta.

Curiously, he asked, “Why you always drinking wine?”

Krys took a slow sip before finally meeting his gaze. “Because it don’t rush me.”

Kenyatta raised a brow. “What that mean?”

She set the glass down on the counter, running her fingers along the stem.

“Wine don’t hit me all at once. It take its time. It don’t demand shit from me. It don’t make me reckless, don’t make me loud. It just...lets me be.” She exhaled, eyes unreadable. “And I like that.”

Kenyatta studied her for a moment, nodding slowly. He understood. “So, you like to stay in control.”

Krys picked up her glass, smirking over the rim. “I don’t like when things control me.”

Kenyatta’s lips curled slightly, but there was something knowing in his gaze. “Is that why you don’t drink liquor? ‘Cause you don’t like losing control?”

She didn’t answer right away. Just took another sip.

“Something like that.”

“You ever let go?” His voice dipped lower, more curiosity than pressure, but still challenging.

Musa let out another one of his signature unbothered yawns, massive jaws stretching before he exhaled loudly, like the entire conversation had bored him to sleep.

Krys let out a short laugh, tilting her head as she looked at him. “Let go? Nigga, you know who you talking to?”

Kenyatta smirked. “Exactly.”

Krys rolled her eyes, reaching for her glass again, but before she could bring it to her lips, Kenyatta’s hand covered hers, stopping her.

“You ever just let somebody else take the wheel? Just for a second?” His thumb brushed over her knuckles, deliberate, slow.

Krys swallowed, her fingers still wrapped around the stem of the glass. “Not my style.”

“Maybe it should be.”

Krys pulled her hand back smoothly, acting like the moment hadn’t just shifted the air between them. She took a long sip, her tongue flicking against her lips as she set the glass down.

“If I ever do,” she murmured, gaze flicking up to meet his, “it won’t be on accident.”

Kenyatta chuckled low, shaking his head, his gaze still locked onto her. “So, you gotta plan it out first? Even losing control?”

Krys swirled the wine in her glass. “Something like that.”

Kenyatta leaned forward slightly. “That don’t sound like losing control, Krys. That sound like you tryna cheat the game.”

She met his gaze, unbothered. “Or maybe I just know how to play it better than most.”

Kenyatta licked his lips, watching her for a second, drumming his fingers against the counter. “That’s cute.”

The air shifted.

Krys exhaled. “You should go back to bed.”

Kenyatta smirked, voice low. “You first.”

Musa let out a deep huff; bored but still watching.

Krys ignored the warmth building in her chest, the way Kenyatta’s gaze never left her, the way he read her too damn well.

“You think too much,” he murmured.

She fired back, sipping her wine. “And you assume too much.”

He studied her, his smirk deepening. “Nah…you always thinking too much.”

Krys rolled her eyes, but the way he was looking at her, like he could see through every damn defense made her stomach flip.

Kenyatta stepped closer. Too close. His gaze darkened, slow, heavy. He licked his lips, his voice dropping into something thick and deliberate.

“What we doing, Krys?”

Her pulse jumped. “What?”

“You heard me.”

The space between them thickened.

Krys swallowed, voice careful. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Kenyatta chuckled under his breath. “Yeah, you do.”

She hated the way he was looking at her. Like he knew she wasn’t in control anymore. Like he knew that if he took one more step…

“Krys.”

Her body went still, her breath caught, her grip on reality slipping further.

Damn it!

Kenyatta took that one step that closed the space between them, making the air thicker, hotter, heavier.

Krys swallowed, forcing herself to hold his gaze. “You need to go back to bed.”

Kenyatta tilted his head. “Is that what you really want?”

Her pulse pounded. She didn’t answer. Didn’t trust herself to because the truth was, no, that wasn’t what she wanted.

And he knew it.

Kenyatta lifted his hand, slow, careful, deliberate.

She should have moved. Should have stopped this, but instead she let him. Let him trail his fingertips along her jaw, slow, soft, dangerous. Let him tilt her chin slightly, his touch featherlight but commanding. Let him bend down just enough that his breath brushed against her lips.

“ Krys …”

Her hands curled into the counter. Her body leaned forward before she could stop it. Kenyatta took that as permission. His lips barely brushed hers, and it was like something exploded inside her.

Krys let out a sharp breath, her hands lifting to his chest, but not to push him away. However, she quickly discovered that touching him was the biggest mistake of all. Because the second she touched him, she was gone.

Kenyatta kissed her like he’d been waiting for this. Like he knew this was the moment they couldn’t come back from. His grip tightened at her waist, pulling her against him, and she let him.

She let this happen. Because she wanted it too damn bad. Krys felt the moment slip away from her grasp. Her mind screamed at her to stop this. To pull back, to remind herself that this was not supposed to happen. That this was not part of the deal. But her body betrayed her.

She felt the warmth of Kenyatta’s hands against her waist, firm, claiming, deliberate. The slow, unhurried way he deepened the kiss, like he had all the time in the world, like he knew she wasn’t going anywhere.

She wasn’t. She didn’t want to.

Her hands had flattened against his chest, fingers digging slightly into his skin like she needed something to hold onto before she lost herself completely. Because this felt like she was losing herself. She was losing the battle; giving in to something too big, too dangerous, too real.

Kenyatta pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against hers, his breathing ragged, uneven.

Neither of them spoke.

Neither of them moved.

Where the hell did they go from here?

Krys exhaled sharply, forcing her hands to drop from his chest, taking a step back. Distance. She needed distance. Her mind was racing, her pulse thrumming wildly against her skin.

Kenyatta watched her, his expression unreadable but his eyes held heat. Curiosity. And something else she wasn’t ready to unpack.

Krys swallowed, running a hand through her hair. “That…shouldn’t have happened.”

Kenyatta licked his lips, his smirk slow and knowing. “Nah. It definitely should’ve.”

She hated that he said that because now it was real. This wasn’t just an impulse. A fleeting moment of reckless temptation. It was something they both wanted.

Krys shook her head, trying to pull herself together. “We agreed—”

Kenyatta cut her off smoothly. “I don’t remember agreeing to not wanting you.”

Her stomach flipped. She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to look him in the eye. “Kenyatta…we can’t.”

“We can.”

“No, we can’t.” She was firm and final.

He exhaled, rolling his tongue over his teeth, like he was trying to decide whether to push this further or let it go.

For a moment, it was silent.

Then, he nodded slowly, stepping back, running a hand over his jaw. “A’ight.”

Krys released a breath she didn’t know she was holding. It wasn’t relief, though. It was disappointment. Because as much as she knew this was wrong, she had never wanted something to be right so damn bad.

Musa expressed his disapproval. A loud snort echoed from the floor, followed by the deep, dramatic sigh of a dog who had seen too much.

Krys and Kenyatta both slowly turned to him.

Musa blinked at them. Then, with another sigh, he turned over and shut his eyes, clearly over the tension.

Kenyatta chuckled. “Yeah…that nigga tired of our asses.”

Krys exhaled sharply, stepping back. She needed more distance. Her mind screamed at her to reel it in, to act like this didn’t just happen.

Kenyatta studied her for a second. His head tilted, eyes dancing with a curious wonderment. His voice smooth, controlled, like he was reading every thought running through her head. “You felt that though, didn’t you?”

“Felt what?” she asked, knowing damn well what he meant.

“Between us.” Kenyatta reached for his bottle of water, never breaking eye contact. “That shit you tryna pretend ain’t there.”

Krys rolled her shoulders like she was shaking something off, reaching for her glass again. “Boy, please.”

Kenyatta watched as she took another sip, licking the wine off her lips slowly, trying to regain her edge. But she wasn’t fooling him.

“You drinking that like it’s gon’ save you,” he murmured.

Krys arched a brow. “Save me from what?”

He leaned in slightly, voice low and teasing. “From accepting a decision you’ve already made. You just need to let go and let it happen.”

Krys exhaled slowly, setting her glass down, this time further away, like she was daring herself not to reach for it again. “You really think you got me figured out, huh?”

Kenyatta smirked. “I think you been running from something you been wanting to face. You want the shit. And I think…I ain’t gotta rush you. You’ll get there.”

She studied him, her tongue running over her bottom lip in thought.

“And if I do?” she asked, voice quieter this time.

Kenyatta let his gaze flick over her slowly, deliberately, before he looked her dead in the eye.

“Then I’ll be ready for you. Just slip up one mo’ time like you just did…I’ll be ready.”