Page 31

AVERI

I knew I shouldn’t have worn heels. My feet were already killing me, and the damn game hadn’t even started yet. But Egypt insisted we be dressed to the nines while we were on Facetime earlier today.

“It’s the season opener,” she’d said, applying her lip gloss like she was prepping for a red carpet. “We’re sitting in the luxury box. You can’t show up in sneakers like some freshman in community college.”

And for what?

To be surrounded by all my friends—who had the audacity to be happy —while I was trying to figure out why the hell Royal Teegan decided to bring the baddest IG baddie I’d ever seen to a game where he knew I’d be present.

It was like watching your ex bring a Victoria’s Secret model to your family reunion. He knew what the hell he was doing.

From the second I walked into the luxury suite at Crypto Arena, I felt his presence.

He was in the back, posted up by the bar in a black fitted tee and dark jeans, black and gold Jordan 1s, arms crossed, gold chain glinting under the lights.

His hair was freshly cut, beard lined up against his plump pink lips, disrespectfully perfect, looking every bit of ‘that nigga’.

The girl on his arm—no, correction, the girl clinging to his arm—was Tiffany Love or TiffLuvv on social media, a whole internet-certified, FashionNova-sponsored, lace-front-snatched baddie with 1.

3 million followers and a highlight reel of “take me back” vacations to Tulum.

Her outfit was wild, a tight and short blue spaghetti strap bodycon dress that hugged her hips and showed off her little BBL.

And to think, Royal brought her . To this .

To a damn family function. The audacity.

Her attitude was smug. Her smile stretched a little too wide when our eyes locked, like she knew. Hell, of course she knew who I was; the whole world knew I was dealing with Royal once upon a time and thanks to Tea And Honey they knew too that we had recently ended things as well.

“Girl… stop lookin’ over there before you sprain your neck,” Egypt muttered under her breath, sipping a cranberry margarita.

“I’m not looking.”

She gave me a knowing look. “You are. And it’s fine. I would, too.”

“I cannot believe he brought her ,” I hissed.

“I know.”

“You knew he was bringing her?”

“Hell no, I didn’t even know he was invited,” she said quickly. “But this is Royal we’re talkin’ about. Petty is practically his middle name.”

“Don’t I know it.” I rolled my eyes remembering the first version of Royal I had met, way back when I was sending him tracks and he was purposely trashing my shit.

“Want me to ‘accidentally’ spill this entire cranberry margarita on her?”

“Tempting,” I murmured. “But I don’t need no mugshot tonight.”

Just then, Zay walked up, a little too casual for someone who just let his boy embarrass the entire balance of my emotional stability.

“What’s up Ave, Egypt…”

“Oh, it’s you,” I said, folding my arms after Egypt said her hellos and then quickly sauntered off.

Zay blinked. “Now, what the fuck I do?”

“You really let him bring that ?” I motioned toward Royal and Tiffany, who was now doing that flirty-over-the-shoulder laugh. “To this?”

Zay scratched his beard, grinning like he was two seconds from being messy. “Man, I told him it was a bad idea.”

“And you let him anyway?”

“I ain’t his daddy, Ave.”

“I know you not. Because if you were , you woulda raised him better.”

Zay laughed, hands up. “Look, you know how Royal is. That nigga, petty as hell. You hurt his lil’ ego and now he on demon time.”

I narrowed my eyes. “That’s real mature of him.”

“C’mon, Ave. He still got it bad for yo mean ass, you know that.”

I rolled my eyes, but I felt the ache in my chest like a dull throb. “He got a funny way of showing it.”

“Shit, at this point ya’ll both still want each other. Why else you so pressed about who that nigga posted up wit?”

I flipped him off and stalked toward the back of the suite, needing air. Or a drink. Or something stronger. That’s when I noticed Egypt and Nas in the corner, deep in conversation. Which, by itself, was suspicious as hell.

They never talked. Not without throwing jabs.

But there they were—heads tilted toward one another, voices low, faces serious like in an almost intimate way.

I narrowed my eyes and walked over clearing my throat as I approached to get their attention.

Immediately, Egypt straightened up and looked in my direction.

“Damn, you breathing that heavy cause your pants too tight, or is it cause Zay ain’t let you swing on Royal yet?” she teased.

Nas scoffed. “Or maybe it’s that cheap ass perfume Tiffany got on. Smells like Bath she had done enough for me to know she was talkin shit about me.

I know most people when dealing with petty situations followed Michelle Obama’s example when she said ‘when they go low, we go high’… but instead I followed in the footsteps of the late, great Eric Mays who said when they go low, we go lower.

I took a deep breath, then smiled wide and loud enough for the whole suite to hear:

“ Niggas be downgrading and don’t even be ashamed. Couldn’t be me.”

The silence that followed was chef’s kiss . Tiffany’s giggle died mid-laugh and she looked over at me with a tight little smirk. When Royal’s eyes flashed to me, I sipped my drink, gave him my middle finger and winked.

Checkmate, bitch.

By the time Serenity and the kids returned from their little tradition of seeing Creed before the start of the game, Creed was already putting on a show.

Fast breaks. Slam dunks. Fadeaways with no effort.

It was beautiful to watch, and even more beautiful seeing how proud his wife and kids looked up close.

We were all on our feet at one point, clapping and shouting, caught up in the game and by half time he left the court with 20 points and 5 rebounds already.

We all knew tonight was going to be a good night for him.

During the halftime show, Royal walked up to the group and dropped his latest bomb. “Yo’, before I forget—I’m having the official listening party for Concrete Roses in a couple of weeks,” he said casually. “At the LA Records compound. Y’all better pull up.” Everyone lit up.

“Say less,” Nasseem nodded. “I’m there.”

“Can’t wait to hear the final version of Post Up ,” Egypt added, eyes bright. “The rough was fire.”

Brodie gave him a dap, and Arielle leaned over to whisper something to Serenity that made her laugh. Me? I stayed quiet. Because the truth was… I was probably required to be there.

I helped write half the album. Produced most of it. Logan already hinted that I’d need to be there for press and photo ops. But that didn’t mean I had to look happy about it.

After halftime, I was in the middle of watching Creed drop another bucket when I noticed something strange.

The girl was gone, nowhere to be found. I didn’t even notice that she’d left sometime between half time and now.

Not that I cared anyway. But then, that’s when he appeared—right next to me.

Smooth as ever. Like I wasn’t just dragging him in my head for the past hour.

“Yo,” he said.

I gave him a once-over, then looked around. “You lost?”

He smirked. “Egypt and Nas comin’ to the crib after the game. Having a little kickback, nothin’ major. You should come.”

I raised an eyebrow. “You invite everybody else?”

“Creed and Serenity gotta get the kids home. Arielle and Brodie, too.”

“And Tiffany?”

He chuckled, low and unapologetic. “She caught a Lyft.”

I looked back at the court, lips tight. “Right.”

“So… you coming or what?”

I wanted to say hell no, But Egypt’s big mouth ass chimed in before I could reply. “Girl, we goin’. C’mon. You said you didn’t have nothin’ to do tomorrow.”

I gave her a death glare and called her everything but a child of God with just my eyes. She obviously didn’t care with the way she shrugged her shoulders and walked off.

Thirty minutes later after the game had ended, after we’d said our goodbyes to Serenity, Ari, Brodie and the kids, I was in the driver’s seat of my Lexus on my way home so I could change out of these uncomfortable ass clothes and go put on something else before I went to Satan’s lair.