Chapter 16 #3
His laugh came unexpectedly. “Man, we really do love our grandmas. Can't even bullshit about it.” He leaned forward. “She kept me straight when the streets were calling loud as hell. Well, straight as she could. I am my daddy's child.”
The shift in his voice from player to unguarded made her melt. He trusted her. And she was starting to trust him too. All of this felt too good to be true. Too easy. And from what she knew, that hadn’t been either of their stories.
“What do you miss most about her?”
“Everything. But if I’m being real...” He paused, eyes going somewhere else.
“Sunday dinners. She’d cook for the whole block, making sure everybody ate a good meal at least once a week.
She had this big ass laugh that’d fill up the whole house; it made you forget whatever bullshit was weighing on you.
Used to tell me the right one would find me when I wasn’t even looking.
She always wanted that for me. Mama issues and shit. ”
The way he looked at her when he returned to the present made her forget how to breathe.
“And have you?” The question came out in a whisper. “Found that person?”
Their eyes locked, everything else fading to static. “Yeah. I think I have. I hope I have.”
Her face warmed under his gaze, the heat rising before she could hide it. “Rolani...”
“Look.” He reached over softly, his fingers finding hers.
“I ain’t never had a lot of people really riding for me.
Pearl, Robin, Giovanni, and his pops before cancer got him.
But I’m ready to see what love and sharing life with somebody actually look like.
I done all the other shit—ran the streets, got my paper up, proved whatever the fuck I thought I needed to prove.
Now I want something I never thought a nigga like me deserved. ”
The server came through with their plates, steam rising off the fried catfish, but Kennedi barely noticed, still processing what he laid out.
“Your turn,” he said, breaking the moment as he grabbed the hot sauce, drowning his fish before taking a bite. “How has a woman as beautiful and talented as you stayed on the market?”
She paused, fingers tightening on her glass. “Some men see my independence and want to break it down, challenge it. That’s going to turn me off every single time. And it’s easier by yourself in my line of work. Men in this field are weird.”
“Like that nigga in the elevator.” Rolani’s voice had gone cold.
“Exactly.” She met his eyes. “That fool was talking about giving me babies, making me a wife. Like that was some prize or all that I was good for. It’s always like that.”
Rolani sat back, jaw working. He thought back to David and the way he had her pinned and scared.
“I should’ve sent that nigga to meet his maker.”
Heat flooded through her—not fear. Desire. The way he said it, so matter-of-fact, so absolute.
“We wouldn’t be here if you did.”
“Real shit.” He leaned forward. “But that’s what I’m saying.
You been dealing with niggas who see your ambition as a threat or an opportunity to get at you.
Not as who you are.” His voice dropped. “I see you, Ken. The work you put in, the way you don’t back down.
That shit turns me on more than you know. ”
She blinked. “Rolani, you are always gassing me up and saying the right things.”
“I’m serious. I like watching you work. When you get super focused, you get that little crease between your eyebrows, and you start chewing your lip.” He leaned closer. “That shit makes me want to put you through the mattress, respectfully.”
“I don’t—”
“You do. And I like it.”
Despite everything, she laughed. “You’re a mess.”
“Maybe. But I’m right, though.” He stole a piece of her cornbread, maintaining eye contact like it was a challenge. “And you still ain’t eating. Come on, Ken. Let me feed you.”
Before she could say anything, he forked a piece of catfish from her plate, golden and steaming.
She watched him lick his lips before blowing on the hot fish, her whole body going tight.
Lord, she was supposed to be a grown woman with some self-control, not sitting here getting wet watching a man cool down food.
She crossed her legs, uncrossed them, crossed them again.
His eyes flicked down to the movement, then back to her face. That slow smile spread. He knew exactly what he was doing to her. The man was only using his thick juicy lips to cool catfish, and she was ready to climb him like a tree in the middle of Luther's.
“Open,” he said. Her clit had its own personal connection to his mouth, pulsing every time he spoke.
As she leaned forward to take the bite, their eyes met.
“I like you,” she muttered, the admission falling out before she could catch it.
“I like you too, Kennedi.” He leaned back, eyes never leaving hers. “Tell me this, though… what I gotta do to keep you? That’s the shit I’m on.”
He gripped her chin, forcing her eyes to meet his. Her throat was so dry that all the moisture pooled between her thighs. The straightforwardness of it—no games, no dancing around, just the eye contact—made her stomach flip. “Why are you so smooth? Mr. I don’t do this.”
“I don't.” He shrugged, smiling, letting her lean back.
“You bring it out of me. Or maybe...” he reached for his drink, taking a slow sip, “…when you know what you want, the words come easy. And I want you, Ken. All of you. The professional shit, the shit you try to hide, the crazy you let slip. I want Sunday dinners and Monday morning attitudes. I want the arguments and the making up. I want to be the nigga you call when shit goes your way, when you stump your pretty fucking toe, and when shit goes left. All of it. All for you.”
The weight of his words settled between them. She felt exposed, and he caught it in the way her eyes dropped, and her shoulders pulled.
“Aye, don't do that.” His voice dropped. “I don't want to clip your wings. We can fly together. You need someone who gets you. I get you.”
“You gonna hurt me?” she asked quietly, fear finally voiced.
“Maybe,” he said, and the honesty of it made her look up. “Not on purpose. I'mma fuck up sometimes. Say the wrong shit, do the wrong shit. But I can promise you this — I’mma always show up to fix it. I don't run when shit gets hard. That ain't how Pearl raised me.”
She held his gaze for a long moment. For once, she didn’t feel the need to brace herself.
“I'm not trying to hurt you,” she said quietly. “I'm trying to unlearn how I protect myself.”
A pause.
“Does that include cheating?”
“Ken, fuck no. If I’m cheating, I’m cheating with the money, never with a bitch. That ain’t how I move.”
The certainty in his voice eased a knot she hadn't known she was carrying.
She reached for her water. He reached for the check.
Outside the restaurant, they walked hand in hand. He was trying to keep it low, but everything in him wanted to pull her close and let the whole city know she was his.
“You coming home with me?” he asked, pressing her against the passenger’s side door where no one could see them.
“What about those boundaries we talked about? Taking it slow?”
“We’ll take it slow,” he murmured against her ear. “Real slow. All fuckin night long.”
Her laugh was breathless. “It’s 3 P.M., Rolani. I need to go finish some work.”
“Ken, you fuckin on the boss. I am the work. I want to hold you. Talk more. Learn more about my future wife.”
When he looked at her like a slice of apple pie with vanilla ice cream on top, her resolve melted completely.
“Okay,” she whispered. “But I’m working while we hang out. Deal?”
“You got it, baby.”