Page 29

Kenyatta sat in his car, hands on the wheel, but he hadn’t started the engine yet. Lunch with Krys had been different. Not because of the food. Not because of the Midtown atmosphere that was a stark contrast from where he usually found himself.

It was different because of her.

She had been direct, no-nonsense, sharp as hell. She asked real questions, pushed him, made him say things out loud that he never really voiced. He didn’t necessarily hate it, but that was the problem: Krys made it too easy for him to forget who he was and start thinking about who he could be.

Kenyatta exhaled sharply, finally turning the key and bringing the engine to life. He needed to get his mind right. Focus.

His phone vibrated in the cup holder. He glanced down at the screen: Nub.

Kenyatta exhaled before answering, putting the phone on speaker. “Aye, what up, Q?”

His brother’s deep chuckle came through the line. “I can’t call it; just checking on your ass. You still alive? Or you too busy playing house to check in?”

Kenyatta chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “Here you go.”

“Nah, real shit though,” Nub continued. “What you got goin’ on this weekend? You know Sunday at The Water ‘bout to be live. People gon’ be out in celebration of that Black shit…you know that June shit. You comin’ out or what?”

Kenyatta rubbed his jaw, already feeling the pressure before Nub even finished his sentence.

Sunday at The Water, a Trinity Bay tradition. The marina would be packed with boats lined up, cars on display, food, music, the whole city showing up to flex. It was a place where old money and street money mingled, where the hustlers pulled up in foreigns, the business moguls docked their yachts, and the people just enjoyed the vibes.

Nub’s voice cut through his thoughts. “Man, everybody been asking about you. Grandmama, aunties, the OGs; hell, even Granddaddy James been asking where the hell you been at.”

Kenyatta let out a short breath, shaking his head. “You know how that shit go.”

“Yeah, I know,” Nub’s voice lowered slightly. “I also know your ass been ducking.”

Kenyatta didn’t say anything because Nub wasn’t lying. Ever since he got out, he’d been avoiding too much interaction with the people who used to rely on him. It wasn’t like he didn’t miss them.

When he was the old him, he was the one pulling up in the cleanest whip, in the freshest fit, with pockets deep enough to make sure everybody ate. Now he was just a man trying to figure his shit out. Being around people who still saw him as the old him was the last thing he needed.

“I ain’t ducking,” Kenyatta finally muttered, gripping the wheel. “I just…don’t know if I feel like all that.”

Nub sighed. “Man, listen. You ain’t gotta come out there stuntin’. Ain’t nobody expecting you to pull up in a Lambo throwing money in the air. Just come see your people, eat some food, chill. You got folks who love you, Yatta. You actin’ like you some kind of ghost.”

Kenyatta leaned his head back against the seat. He knew Nub was right. Maybe this was a chance to start letting people see who he was now instead of the version of him they used to know. An opportunity to let his mama see the difference.

Maybe…even let Krys see.

Kenyatta ran a hand down his face before finally muttering, “A’ight. I’ll come through.”

Nub chuckled. “Good. And bring whoever you been sneaking ‘round with too.”

Kenyatta sucked his teeth. “Man, shut the hell up.”

Nub laughed. “Nah, nah. I’m deadass. I know your ass been laid up with somebody, nigga. Don’t nobody disappear like you been without a reason.”

Kenyatta shook his head, ignoring the comment. “I’ll holla at you later, man.”

Nub snickered. “Uh-huh. Later, lovebird.”

Kenyatta ended the call with Nub, still smirking slightly, but the thought had already settled in his mind. This would be the first time he was inviting Krys somewhere on his own terms.

Not as a pretend date. Not as a boss taking her employee to lunch. This would be because he actually wanted her there. The thought should’ve made him anxious, but it didn’t.

He pulled up Krys’ name in his call log and hit dial. The phone rang twice before she picked up.

“What you want now, Yatta?” she teased, a slight tease in her tone.

Kenyatta grinned back, shaking his head. “So, I can’t call my girl just to hear her voice?”

Krys chuckled. “Try again.”

Kenyatta exhaled, leaning back in his seat. “A’ight, a’ight. Look, I actually wanted to invite you somewhere.”

There was a pause.

“A real invite?” Krys asked, amusement clear. “Not some pretend date?”

“Nah, it’s real,” Kenyatta confirmed. “Sunday at The Water. Big Juneteenth celebration down at the marina. My people gon’ be there.”

Another pause.

This wasn’t them playing roles or her putting on a show to flex in front of family. This was him letting her in, and a moment bigger than it probably should’ve been.

Finally, Krys spoke. “I’ll think about it.”

Kenyatta smirked. “That’s a yes.”

Krys laughed softly. “Boy, I said I’ll think about it.”

“Mmhmm.”

Silence stretched between them for a second before Krys sighed. “Only thing is… I don’t know if I should bring Musa.”

Kenyatta chuckled. “Why not? I fucks with my boy.”

Krys shook her head. “Because Yatta, if some shit pops off down there, Musa is gonna act accordingly. And I ain’t tryna explain why a hundred pound Cane Corso done damn near mauled somebody at the marina.”

Kenyatta laughed. “And that’s exactly why I want him there. You acting like I don’t know how this city move. That’s my boy too now.”

Krys sucked her teeth. “Man, Musa ain’t your boy. You just met him.”

“Yeah, and he fuck with me. I could tell.”

“Musa fucks with very few people, Kenyatta.”

“A’ight then, so that mean I’m special.”

Krys groaned. “Please shut up.”

Kenyatta laughed, fully enjoying messing with her now.

“Look, Bae. Just think about it. Bring my boy. Let him come see the city vibe a little bit. He probably tired of being in that big ass house, anyway.”

Krys rolled her eyes. “You and this damn dog.”

“That’s our dog now.”

“Boy, bye.”

Kenyatta chuckled, then softened a little. “But for real. Come through, Krys. Let’s just…kick it. Good times and good vibes.”

Krys was quiet for a moment, like she was getting lost in the moment.

“A’ight.”

A smile formed on his lips. Kenyatta realized this wasn’t just another weekend or just a celebration; this was about to be something different.

**********

Krys stood in the center of her closet, hands on her hips, staring at the endless racks of designer pieces like she was solving an equation rather than picking out an outfit.

This was a barbecue, not a gala. Not a Midtown networking event. Not a luxury brunch.

She needed casual, effortless, but still stunning. Something that said she wasn’t trying too hard but was still the baddest in the building.

She sighed, pressing her lips together. Maybe denim shorts, a fitted tank, and sneakers. Cute, simple, effortless, and laidback. Or perhaps a sundress and sandals, the type of fit that had men fumbling their words and women giving side-eyes.

What about just being comfortable? A beige ribbed, bodycon, collared dress, chill, but showing off the body in all the right places paired with a set of low Nike Dunks that matched in color.

Musa, sprawled out across the floor near her vanity, let out a deep sigh, watching her pace. His big, blocky head tilted slightly as his tawny eyes followed her every movement.

Krys cut her eyes at him. “What?”

Musa let out a low, exaggerated huff, his massive paws stretching out in front of him.

Krys chuckled, shaking her head. “I know. I’m always doing the most. You should be used to it by now.”

She grabbed her phone, snapping three mirror selfies in each outfit and dropping them in the group chat with Ray, Sydnee, and Meisha.

[Krys]11:53AM— Which one?

Meisha was the first to respond.

[Meisha]11:54AM— Btch…is this a barbecue or a soft launch?!

Krys rolled her eyes, waiting for Ray to respond.

[Sydnee]11:54AM— Option 3. Casual, but fine as hell. Like you not pressed, but you’re a problem.

[Ray]11:56AM— Facts. And let’s be real, you already a topic at this barbecue. You might as well kill ‘em effortless.

Krys smiled to herself. She couldn’t argue with them; they were right.

She turned toward Musa, tilting her head. “What you think, big boy?”

Musa blinked slowly, then yawned; long and drawn out, his sharp teeth flashing before he smacked his lips and rested his chin on his paws.

Krys scoffed. “See, this why I don’t ask you nothing.”

She settled on the dress and sneaker combo, knowing it was the perfect balance.

Now, the next dilemma was what the hell was she bringing? She wasn’t about to show up empty-handed. But she also wasn’t about to be in nobody’s kitchen cooking all day.

She grabbed her keys and headed to the store, picking up two bottles of premium liquor, because duh; a dessert platter, because it looked fancy and she wasn’t about to be in the kitchen baking; and a case of bottled water, because somebody had to be responsible.

By the time she got back home, she threw everything in a nice bag, grabbed her sunglasses, and gave herself one last look in the mirror.

She looked good if she had to say so herself; yet she still felt that tiny flicker of nerves. She was stepping into Kenyatta’s world now and it made everything seem real now. No pretending. No games. No deals.

Musa let out another huff, sensing her thoughts.

Krys glanced down at him, smile tilted and teasing. “You think I’m doing too much?”

Musa simply blinked.

Krys shook her head. “Yeah, yeah. Mind your business and bring your tail on.”

She grabbed her bag and her keys, took the lead, and took a deep breath.

She was ready.

Or at least, that’s what she told herself.

**********

The air was thick with Deuce-Ace energy, a constant, unfiltered mix of tension and movement. The air smelled like burnt rubber, stale liquor, and the faint bite of gunpowder that never really faded from these streets.

Outside Tez’s house, Kenyatta stood, arms crossed, head slightly down, his thumb idly scrolling through his phone. He had just checked the time when he heard the low purr of an engine creeping down the block.

Smooth. Controlled. Not the loud, reckless growl of an old-school trap car.

Kenyatta already knew who it was. When he glanced up, his lips automatically curved into a smirk. That white Porsche Macan rolled up slow, gleaming under the Trinity Bay sun like it had just come off the lot.

Even before Krys fully stopped, he could tell she was showing out without even trying.

Heads turned and stared because cars like this were rarely seen in a hood like this unless they belonged to somebody important. And right now, that somebody important was Krysta Davis.

Before he could even fully appreciate the sight of her stepping out, the back window rolled down.

Musa.

That big ass dog sat comfortably in the backseat like a damn VIP passenger, his massive head poking out just enough to take in the scene.

His eyes locked onto Kenyatta immediately, assessing.

Kenyatta huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Man, I already told you, we cool.”

Musa blinked, unimpressed. Then, like he was just checking for formality, he let out a deep, low huff before rolling his head back inside.

Yeah, whatever.

That was when Kenyatta finally looked back at Krys and instantly regretted it.

Goddamn .

That body-hugging dress was doing entirely too much. Mid-thigh, split high, hugging her curves just right. The buttons were fighting for their lives to contain the blossoming of her cleavage.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to drag his eyes up before he got in trouble. But then the whole picture came together: the fresh Nikes; clean beige and white to match the dress. Effortless. The delicate jewelry; not too much, not too little. And when she pushed her oversized designer shades up into her hair and flashed him that slanted smile…yep, this ride was about to be long as hell.

“A’ight, you cute. You tryna be somebody’s problem today?”

Krys rolled her eyes in feigned indifference. “Please, I just threw this on.”

Kenyatta chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, a’ight.”

From the backseat, Musa let out a heavy sigh, shifting against the leather like he was over the entire interaction.

“Even your boy tired of your shit,” Kenyatta teased, nodding toward Musa.

Krys laughed, shooting a glance over her shoulder. “He just mad he ain’t in the front seat.”

Musa huffed again.

Instead of hopping back in the driver’s seat, Krys casually tossed Kenyatta the keys.

Kenyatta caught them mid-air, frowning slightly as he looked at her. It threw him off for a second. She was letting him drive?

“Oh, we doing this?”

Krys shrugged. “It’s your world today, Yatta. I’m just in it.”

Kenyatta eyed her, skeptical. “You sure? This yo’ baby. I think you love this more than the Benz.”

“I trust you.”

Oh shit! Why did that do something to him?

He took the keys, sliding into the driver’s seat. The leather melted around him, the interior smelled like soft vanilla and expensive shit.

Musa let out a small grunt as Kenyatta adjusted the seat, as if he was making sure the new driver didn’t fuck anything up.

Kenyatta cut his eyes at him through the rearview mirror. “Man, I got it. You gon’ backseat drive now?”

Musa blinked. Silent judgment.

Krys laughed as she slid into the passenger seat, crossing her toned, glossed-up legs.

Kenyatta’s grip tightened on the steering wheel. He exhaled. “You tryna start some shit today, huh?”

Krys smiled, looking away and rolling down the window as the warm air spilled in.

“Just drive, Yatta,” she ordered as she reached into the bag at her feet, pulling out two cold bottles of water. She twisted the cap off one and handed it to him.

“Hydrate before you go drinking all day,” she muttered, taking a sip of her own.

From the backseat, Musa lifted his head slightly, eyes locked on the bottles.

Kenyatta glanced at him through the mirror, then laughed. “Oh, that got your attention?”

Krys chuckled, twisting in her seat. “You thirsty too, baby?”

Musa wagged his tail once—only once—then put his head back down.

Kenyatta shook his head, popping the cap off the bottle. “You tryna take care of me or somethin’?”

Krys didn’t even blink. “Somebody gotta make sure you ain’t out here passed out in the sun.”

Musa exhaled like he had heard enough.

Kenyatta took a slow sip, glanced at Krys, and smirked.

Yeah…this was going to be a long ass ride.

**********

The Porsche rolled smoothly over the pavement, the ride so quiet that the tension had no choice but to fill the space.

Kenyatta kept his left hand on the wheel, his right resting against his thigh. The air between them was thick; not awkward but thrilling.

She smelled good. That soft, clean, floral scent drifting over to him every time she shifted in her seat. And she kept shifting. Crossing and uncrossing those shiny, glossed-up legs like she was testing his patience.

He exhaled through his nose, keeping his eyes locked on the road.

She was doing the shit on purpose.

For a while, neither of them said anything, just the sound of the city slipping past them as they moved toward the lake.

Then, finally, Krys broke the silence. “Where’s Kaliyah?”

Kenyatta glanced at her briefly before refocusing on the road. “Already there. My mama and her niece set up a sleepover with one of my cousin’s daughters. They was hyped about it.”

Krys nodded, tapping her manicured fingers lightly against her thigh. “That’s cute. She getting more comfortable?”

Kenyatta let a small, pleased smile pull at his lips. “Yeah. I mean, it’s different now. She don’t look at me like she waiting to be disappointed no more.”

Krys studied him, tilting her head slightly. “That’s gotta feel good.”

It did. Hell, if she knew how bad that little girl’s eyes used to cut through him, she’d understand why he wasn’t letting nothing fuck this up again.

“Yeah,” he admitted, voice low. “It does.”

Krys nodded like she understood, then let the silence settle again before asking, “What about Brooke?”

Kenyatta scoffed, shifting in his seat. “What about her?”

Krys arched a brow, amused. “Damn, I can’t ask about her or something?”

“Nah,” he muttered, jaw tightening. “I just don’t feel like talking about her. Not on the way to this cookout shit. Not while I’m tryna have a good day.”

Krys lifted her hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. Noted.”

Another pause.

Then, a shift in energy.

Krys turned slightly toward him, her voice lighter, more pointed. “What about your love life?”

Kenyatta flicked his eyes to her briefly. “What about that?”

“Any special friends?” she asked, crossing her legs again.

Kenyatta smirked, knowing exactly what she was doing. He let the question hang in the air for a second before responding. “I got friends.”

Krys made a face, unimpressed. “That’s a safe answer.”

He chuckled. “It’s a true answer.”

Krys rolled her eyes. “Uh-huh. So, none of these ‘friends’ are special?”

Kenyatta exhaled dramatically, shaking his head. “Ain’t none of ‘em sitting in the passenger seat of this Porsche, so you tell me.”

That shut her up for a second.

A small smile played on her lips before she turned her gaze toward the passing scenery. “Cute deflection.”

He grinned, flicking his signal light on as he merged. “What about you?”

Krys hummed. “What about me?”

“Any special friends?”

Krys smirked, arching a perfectly shaped brow. “I got friends.”

Kenyatta let out a deep laugh. “See? Look at you.”

Krys shook her head, still smirking. “What? I answered just like you did.”

Kenyatta clicked his tongue, shaking his head. “Nah, see, now you tryna play my game.”

Krys turned her head fully toward him now, voice smooth. “And?”

He glanced at her, letting the weight of her stare sit between them.

Then he grinned, looking back at the road. “I think I like it.”