Page 11

ROYAL

A veri was lying her ass off. I knew it the second I read that text.

Ave: Not feeling well. Can’t make it."

Bullshit. I had seen her drag her sick ass into the studio last week, voice barely there, talking ‘bout "nothing keeps me from my money." And now she was flaking on me?

Nah. Something was off.

I finished laying my verse, but my mind wasn’t on the track. It was on her—and that alone pissed me off because getting shit done, getting this album finished had been the only thing I should have been worried about. Still that beautiful chocolate debutante was on my mind.

After wrapping up, I dipped out early and made a quick stop at Ms. Kay’s, ordering two smothered chicken specials—one for me and one for Averi because I knew she liked it. I had watched her damn near inhale her plate the last few times we’d been there.

And since I was already going over there, I grabbed a bottle of tequila from the liquor store up the block. Because why the fuck not?

When I made it back to my apartment building, I parked my car in my parking garage space then hit the elevator. Instead of pressing 17 to get to my floor, I hit 15 to go to hers.

The elevator ride was long and thank God it was empty, I didn’t feel like dealing with no fans asking for pictures which even in this building, I still got on a regular basis.

When the elevator made it to her floor, I exited and walked the short distance away to apartment 1502.

I knew her apartment number because I had lowkey stalked her, getting the info from concierge the day after we discovered we were neighbors.

I knocked on her door balancing the bottle tequila as well as the food. It took her a minute, but eventually, she opened it, standing there in a pair of small-ass shorts and a tank top, looking confused as hell.

“Royal?” Her brows pulled together. “Why are you here?”

I walked past her, inviting myself in.

“Damn,” I muttered, glancing around. “Your place looks just like mine.”

She folded her arms, watching as I made my way to the kitchen, setting the food down. “Nigga, you didn’t answer my question. Why are you not at the studio?”

I leaned against the counter, eyeing her. “You tell me. Why are you not at the studio?” Her lips parted slightly, but I caught the flicker of hesitation in her eyes. Bingo. I smirked. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

She huffed. “I wasn’t feeling well.”

I raised a brow. “You a bad liar Shawty.” She looked at me offended, and I pulled out a fork, handing it to her. “Eat,” I said, ignoring her attitude.

She stared at me for a second before sighing, grabbing her plate and moving to the opposite side of the counter from me. “You’re annoying.”

We ate in silence at first, the tension still thick in the air. Finally, I set my fork down and leaned forward. “So, what’s the real reason, Ave?”

She glanced up. “Real reason for what?”

“Why didn’t you come to the studio?” I pressed. “Did I do something?”

She looked at me for a moment, and for the first time since I met her, she looked… tired. Not irritated, not annoyed; just… tired.

She set her fork down, exhaling deeply. “My mama,” she muttered.

I frowned. “What about her?”

Averi rubbed her temple. “She called me for lunch. I had been avoiding her, I knew it was going to be some bullshit before I even went. As soon as I sat down, she started grilling me about you.”

I stiffened slightly. “Me? Fuck I do?”

She nodded. “You know the internet—and a few of her friends—think we’re together.”

I smirked. “You tryna tell me we ain’t?”

She rolled her eyes. “Royal, please.” I chuckled but let her continue. “She said I was ruining my reputation, associating with someone like you.” She hesitated before adding, “She called you a thug.”

I clenched my jaw. I knew I should’ve let it roll off my back, knew I shouldn’t give a fuck. But something about that shit made my chest burn.

I bit back the urge to call her mama a bougie-ass bitch. Instead, I exhaled slowly. “My bad. Didn’t mean to fuck up your family dynamics and shit.”

She waved a hand, dismissing it. “Please. If it wasn’t you, she’d find something else to complain about.”

I studied her. “Shit been like that with y’all?”

She nodded. “Yeah. My whole life.”

I tilted my head. “Why?”

She hesitated but then sighed, leaning against the counter.

“My mama always wanted me to be her perfect little clone.” She chuckled shaking her head as if it was ridiculous.

“She wanted me to be polished, obedient, traditional. I was supposed to go to law school, marry a rich man, and pop out a couple kids. Instead, I got into music and acting and decided I didn’t need a man to validate me. That didn’t sit well with her.”

I nodded, actually listening for once. It was weird. I never cared to hear people talk about their personal shit. But with her? I wanted to know. I wanted to understand.

“She’s just like my daddy,” she muttered. “Except he was never around enough to judge me.”

I leaned in slightly. “Never around?”

She let out a dry laugh. “Oh, he was there—but he was never there if that makes sense. Always working, always too busy. Always following my mama’s lead, never speaking up.”

I nodded slowly. I understood that more than I wanted to admit.

“I get that. My pops in prison,” I said, surprising even myself. I didn’t really open up to people like that. I mean the world knew about my struggles some of them anyway, through my music, but I never fully opened up about shit like this.

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I sat back, rubbing my jaw. “Been in since I was a kid. Caught a murder case over some dumb shit.”

She frowned. “Y’all close?”

I shrugged. “I talk to him. I keep him updated on shit. But I ain’t gonna act like that shit ain’t fuck me up growing up. I mean the shit was so stupid Ave, I honestly never forgave that nigga for getting locked up, to this day I can’t stand that shit.”

Averi studied me for a second, something unreadable in her expression. Her dark brown orbs gazed in my direction though, pulling me into them. And then she said, “I get that.”

And I knew she did. Maybe too well.

After we finished eating, we made our way into her living room; her tv was on but a track was playing from her speakers which meant she wasn’t really watching it.

I spotted her notebook on the table, tempted to pick it up to see what she was writing, but I knew from experience not to touch that notebook unless she invited me to.

Averi sat across from me on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, fingers slowly rolling the blunt like she had all the time in the world.

The tequila was hitting just right, warm in my chest, making everything just a little fuzzier, a little slower. But not her. She was clear as hell.

Messy curls, long legs, lips pouty and full, her brown skin glowing under the dim lights of her apartment. She looked fuckin’ edible and that was a problem.

She licked the edge of the blunt to seal it, her tongue quick, slick, and my eyes followed the motion a little too long.

I exhaled through my nose, looking away.

A nigga was strugglin’. She lit the blunt, took a slow pull, and exhaled, her lips barely parting as the smoke left her mouth in a smooth stream.

I watched her and she noticed. I knew she did because her lips twitched, her eyes glinting with mischief. “The hell you staring at?” she asked, voice soft, teasing.

I smirked. “You.”

She raised a brow, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “Why?”

“‘Cause you fine as hell, and I like the way you smoke.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Boy please. Do that line work on all the hoes you be fuckin’ with?”

I grinned, reaching for the bottle of tequila, taking a long pull, then handing it to her. She took the bottle, her fingers brushing mine, her touch barely there but enough to feel it. She took a sip, eyes on me the whole time.

I licked my lips. “You know what I think?” I asked, leaning back against the couch.

She raised a brow, passing me the blunt. “What do you think Royal?” I watched her lips as they formed my name, shit was sexy, came out almost like a purr.

I took a pull from the blunt, letting the smoke settle before responding. “I think you been tryna fight this shit between us since the day we met,” I said lazily.

Her expression didn’t change, but I saw the way her fingers tightened around the bottle. She scoffed. “Nigga, what? I couldn’t stand yo ass when we first met.”

I leaned in slightly, tilting my head. “You heard me.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Ain’t no this… between us.”

I exhaled. “Lyin’ ass.”

She gave me a look, crossing her arms under her chest, making me notice things I was already tryna ignore; the fullness of her chest, the way her erect nipples damn near bulged from her thin ass tank top.

Averi St. Claire was short, but thick as hell in all the right places; especially in her hips and thighs; her small ass shorts doing nothing to hide her thickness.

“You got an ego the size of the damn city,” she muttered.

I smirked, taking another long pull before passing the blunt back to her.

“And you got a mouth made for trouble,” I countered.

Her lips curled slightly, like she liked the way that sounded.

“Maybe.” Her voice was low, teasing—and fuck if that didn’t go straight to my head.

I watched her pull from the blunt, her lips wrapping around it slow, her eyes holding mine the whole time.

When she exhaled, she leaned in closer, her breath warm, laced with tequila and smoke.

“If there was something between us,” she murmured, tilting her head, “what would you even do about it?”

My entire body reacted to that. That tone, that blatant challenge, that look in her eyes. I licked my lips, chest rising and falling a little harder than before.

“I’d tell you to come here,” I said, voice gravelly, weighted.

She stared at me. Paused. Then, her lips curved into a smirk as she rolled her eyes. “Nah,” she whispered.

I grinned, shaking my head. “Scared, Ave?”