Chapter 7
Chapter Seven
It had been a month since LA. A month since she opened the door and let Rolani Pracher in, and every day since has been spent trying to close it.
She'd done a good job. Ignored his calls.
Left his texts on read. Buried herself in work.
Because if she stayed busy enough, she wouldn't have to think about him whispering her name against her neck.
Or the way he looked at her when he left her room.
Then Spirit called.
“I got an opportunity for you,” Spirit said. “You know DaVinci Bryns?”
“The NBA superstar?”
“Yes, him. His wife, Halo, reached out to me about his documentary. Of course, she saw the work you did for the guys. Or are you still on break?”
“Spirit, what the hell? Tell me what you need to tell me.”
“Well, they’re looking for a producer for a special they’re filming in Colorado. Beyond the Game. Halo thinks you would be perfect for it, and I do too. It’s right up your alley, Ken. I already told her about TKL, and it’s fine, this is just a freelance job.”
Kennedi sat with it for a moment.
“When do they need someone?”
“Next week.”
“Next week?”
“I know it’s fast, but this is big. Network money, creative freedom, and Halo is good people. Just talk to her.”
Kennedi talked to her. And three days later, she had the job and a ticket back to Silverrun, Colorado.
Until today, she hadn’t told anyone except her parents and Shadow.
She was still convincing herself that the decision was about career growth and not self-preservation.
Colorado was an opportunity. The fact that it happened to be two thousand miles from Rolani Pracher’s cologne, his phone calls, and that damn thumb dragging across his bottom lip was coincidental.
She was a professional making a professional decision.
She was also a liar. But she’d deal with that later; for the night, she was just a girl about to act bad with her friends.
“So you’re really leaving,” Shadow said from the driver’s seat, cutting her eyes at Kennedi through the rearview mirror. “Again?”
“It’s a job, Shadow. A really good one, so don’t do that.”
“Mhmm. And it has nothing to do with a certain pistol-toting, six-foot-three nigga with locs?”
“Not a thing.”
“Girl, you are so full of shit your eyes are turning brown.” Isha laughed from the passenger seat.
Carmen gave her that look. The one who saw through everything. Kennedi loved and hated that look in equal measure.
“Can we just have a good time tonight? Please? I leave on Tuesday. This is supposed to be fun, not a lecture and disappointment.”
“Oh, it’ll be fun,” Shadow said, flipping her hair. “And... word is my future husband gon be there tonight.”
“You and this obsession with Roderick,” Kennedi muttered.
“Bitch, okay, but you’ve seen him. That’s my husband. I can feel it.”
“Where are we even going?” Kennedi asked, already knowing she’d lost the argument about staying home an hour ago.
“Club Velvet,” Carmen said. “Grand reopening. Isha’s brother got us on the list. It’s his spot with Lesley Grimson.”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter. What matters is that the VIP section is ours. Strong drinks. Ass shaking. This is the last girls’ night before you abandon us for the mountains,” Shadow added. “And before you say you’re not staying out late—”
“I’m not staying out late. I’m here for a good time, not a long time.”
“That’s what you think,” they chorused.
Kennedi was in the back seat of Shadow’s Nissan Pathfinder in a black dress with the sides cut out. Her boho braids flowed down her back, and Carmen’s makeup skills had her looking like the version of herself she forgot existed.
By the time they pulled up to Club Velvet, the line was wrapped around the building, bass moving through the brick walls like a pulse. Kennedi felt the familiar rush of anticipation building in her chest. She needed this.
Isha’s brother, Trey, appeared at the side entrance. “Y’all look good,” he said, hugging each of them. “VIP’s upstairs. And, uh...” He glanced at Kennedi. “Don’t be on that reporter shit in here. Mind your business tonight.”
“What does that mean?” she called after him, offended, but he was already gone.
Inside was packed with Coupeville’s finest and messiest. Young professionals, party girls snapping selfies, hood niggas posted by the bar. Bass thumped so hard she felt it in her ribs, purple and gold lights flashing across the crowd. Hookah smoke curled through the air, sweet and heavy.
This wasn’t her scene anymore, but she could appreciate it.
They made their way upstairs to VIP. Bottles of champagne waited on ice. The view of the dance floor below was perfect for people-watching.
“To Kennedi,” Shadow raised her glass after they’d all filled up, “for being brave enough to chase another opportunity, even though she’s leaving us again, we are still proud.”
“I always come back,” Kennedi said softly.
“Yeah.” Carmen clinked her glass against Kennedi's. “Your running is almost up.”
“Fuck all that sad shit,” Shadow said, standing. They let the music amp them up. Wound their hips, rapped lyrics, laughed louder than they had in weeks. Food arrived at the section courtesy of Trey, and they raised their glasses in his direction.
The remix to “Friend Do” by Bellygang Kushington dropped, and chaos followed, the girls going wild. Kennedi moved too, free and reckless.
“I’m a real player, I ain’t fuckin’ on nothin’ but a ten,” she mouthed along, grinning. She had her degrees, but she could also be trapped out.
She laughed, breathless, waving a hand. “I’m going to get some air.” The section was still lit, bottles popping, but the club was filling fast, and the walls felt closer by the second. She needed space.
“Want company?” Carmen asked, giving her a knowing look.
“Nah, I’m good. Just need a minute. I’ll be over there,” she said, pointing to the cool corner by the industrial fan.
She slipped out toward the balcony, grateful for the hit of cool air against her face. From up here, the whole club spread out below her, lights flashing, bodies moving, the bass shaking everything like loose change in a cup.
People-watching had always been her thing. Pick a stranger, build a story. In places like this, it was too easy.
Her first catch was a couple near the bar. Dude was fresh in his sneakers but kept glancing over his shoulder like somebody’s husband on bullshit. Guilt all in his stance.
Kennedi chuckled, raising her glass, ready to spin her next tale. Until her gaze snagged on him.
Her champagne glass almost slipped from her hand.
“No fucking way.” She whispered, blinking, hoping her eyes were playing tricks on her.
The thing she’d been trying to outrun was right before her in the flesh. Looking exactly like the man who’d had her twisted up in hotel sheets a month ago.
He was impossible to miss. Black sleeveless leather vest stamped with S.B.B.
on the back, nothing under it but ink and muscle, chains catching sparks from the club lights.
His jeans sat low, Versace boxers peeking over the top.
Broad through the shoulders, built solid in a way that made her feel like leaning on him wouldn't inconvenience him at all.
The atmosphere shifted, a wave of recognition and barely contained panic washed over her as Kodak Black’s “Skrilla” boomed through the speakers.
In the club boppin’ with my niggas
All of us rockin’ on ‘em jiggas
You ain’t talking money, I don’t hear ya
You ain’t gotta touch me, I don’t feel ya
She watched from the railing as his crew flowed through the club like they had the keys to the city, and heads turned. All eyes followed them, but hers locked straight on him.
When he laughed at something one of his boys said, her mind betrayed her. She’d been ignoring his calls for a month. Seeing him thirty feet below her, looking like everything she wanted but never trusted herself to keep — the guilt hit different.
“My God,” she whispered as his crew settled into the section diagonal from theirs. Rolani leaned back, completely at ease. His locs were twisted neatly, and when he tossed them out of his face she felt her pussy contract.
Time slowed as she watched him. The other men didn’t just follow.
They waited for his cue. Then, as if he could feel her stare burning into him, he locked eyes with her across the crowded space.
Recognition hit. Those hazel eyes went wide for a beat, then his whole face shifted into that devilish smirk that had made her lose her mind in LA.
Shit.
“Found you!” Shadow popped up at her elbow, following her line of sight. “Oh, hell.”
"What?" Kennedi asked, her voice strangled. Rolani stood from the booth, bottle in one hand, rings catching every light in the club as he crooked two fingers and tilted his chin toward her.
“Girl, don’t act dumb.” Shadow’s eyes darted between Kennedi’s face and Rolani’s.
Kennedi’s silence was answer enough.
Shadow’s grip tightened on her arm. “You leave on Tuesday. Maybe this ain’t the night to go poke that bear.”
Her phone buzzed in her clutch, and she reluctantly checked it.
Ro: Don’t make me come get you, Kennedi.
His eyes hadn’t left her. The audacity of it made her stomach flip in the best way. She straightened her dress and stepped toward the stairs.
Fuck it. She missed being close to him. She couldn’t deny that. And if she was leaving, maybe this was the universe giving her one last chance to be honest about what she felt before she buried it under a new city and a new job.
His crew spotted her first, whistles, nods, and smirks, followed as she stepped into the section. Rolani didn’t flinch.
“Well, well, well.” His voice rolled out low as he stood to his full height. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
“Small world,” she said, forcing her tone casual even though her palms were slick and her heart was racing. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”
“World ain’t that small.” He stepped closer, heat radiating off him. “You’ve been dodgin’ me. What’s up with that?”
“I’ve been busy.”