10. Nasseem
NASSEEM
T he cigar lounge sat low on La Brea, tucked behind a wine bar and two doors down from a private supper club only real money knew existed.
Inside, it was dim and warm, lit with amber sconces that bounced off the exposed brick.
Jazz hummed low from hidden speakers, and the smell of sweet tobacco, oak, and expensive cologne filled the air.
We had the back room to ourselves—leather club chairs circled around a low table, a bottle of Louis XIII breathing in the center next to an open box of Cuban cigars and a sterling silver cutter.
Creed was already posted up, navy blue joggers and a hoodie, fresh fade, one leg stretched out with a cigar half-burned in his fingers.
Brodie sat next to him, shirt sleeves rolled up, gold watch gleaming every time he raised his glass.
Royal had his feet propped up, grey tee tight on his chest, his diamond wedding band flashing every time he reached for the bottle.
And next to him, Zay—his wildcard security-slash-best friend-slash-certified shit talker—leaned back with his shades on inside, because Zay gon’ be Zay.
It felt good to be around them. It felt familiar and grounding.
I took the open seat next to Creed and leaned forward to grab a cigar, cutting’ it clean before lighting up and taking that first pull. Smooth. Strong. Just like the night was about to be.
“Damn, Nas,” Brodie said with a low laugh, watching me light up. “You always smoke like you just finished doing some shit you not proud of.”
“I probably did,” I muttered, blowing smoke through my nose.
“Here we go,” Royal said, grinning. “Nigga came in already mysterious.”
Zay poured everyone up a round of cognac before sitting back in his chair. “So, who we airing out first tonight? What demons we dragging out under cigar smoke and dark liquor?”
Brodie raised his hand. “Shit, I’ll go.” We all turned to him, and he sighed, rubbing a hand over his head.
“Man, it’s Ari. She been on her grind hard lately.
Courtroom, consultations, conferences—all that boss shit.
Meanwhile, I’m home juggling three kids under five.
The twins are up my ass every two minutes, then Alani be into everything. It’s chaos.”
Creed chuckled. “You wanted all them kids.”
“I still want more,” Brodie admitted. “That’s the crazy part. But I know Ari ain’t with it right now. Every time I bring it up, she shuts it down like the convo’s not even up for discussion.”
Royal leaned forward. “You asked her if she was ready? Or you just brought it up on some ‘I want a baby’ type timing?”
Brodie hesitated. “I mean…both?”
Zay shook his head. “See, that’s your problem. You tryna bring a whole human into the mix like she ain’t the one doing the heavy lifting. Hormones, body changes, recovery. My boy, you got two hyper ass twins and a toddler.”
“I know that,” Brodie said, frustrated. “But it still don’t change how I feel. I want a big family. I thought she did too.”
Creed took a sip and chimed in. “You do. But timing matters, bro. Maybe right now just ain’t it. Maybe she needs space to breathe before y’all expand again.”
“I get that,” Brodie muttered. “I just wish she’d say it with her chest instead of brushing me off like I’m being unreasonable.”
“You’re not unreasonable,” I told him. “You just need to meet her where she at. You work a lot too. Both y’all been grindin for years. Just give it time.”
Brodie nodded, taking it in. “Yeah. You right.”
Creed leaned back in his chair, taking another puff. “Speaking of time… I’m ready to get back in the game. I got a feeling next season gon’ be our year. Clippers gon’ eat.”
“Shit, y’all better,” Royal said. “I done put money on y’all in the playoffs last year and lost my whole damn pride.” We all laughed.
Creed smiled, but it faded quick. “For real though… I’m focused. But Gio’s been heavy on my mind.”
“Gio good?” I asked, brow raised.
Creed nodded. “Yeah, just… missing Gianna. Been talkin’ ‘bout her more, asking if he can go visit more often. I’m wondering if I should give her full custody again and just get him summers and holidays.”
“Hell no,” Brodie said instantly.
Royal looked confused. “Wait, this his bio mom, right?”
“Yeah,” Creed said. “She still in Dallas.”
I rubbed my jaw. “You really think that’s a good idea, though? Gianna didn’t step up when she had him the first time. In fact, she got into some bullshit behind my triflin’ ass brother. Yeah, you helped and got her ass out of jail, but can she be trusted to make the right decisions for him?”
Creed sighed. “I know. But I’m trying to be fair. Gio loves her. I don’t wanna be the reason he feels like he can’t have a relationship with his mama.”
“You’re not,” I said firmly. “You’re giving him stability. That’s more than she ever did. Don’t undo that trying to make up for her mistakes.”
Brodie nodded. “Serenity’s been raising him like he hers since all that shit went down with Gianna. That boy thriving. Don’t fuck around and shake the table cause you feeling guilty.”
Creed looked conflicted but didn’t argue. Just sat quiet, letting the words settle.
Then Royal broke the silence. “Man, I ain’t even gon’ lie, this long-distance shit with Ave got me in a chokehold.
” We all groaned in unison. He had been stressing about his tour for months, not wanting to be away from Averi too long.
And I got it, they were newlyweds technically, married only six or seven months.
Zay cackled. “Not this again.”
“Nah, for real,” Royal said, laughing too. “I want her on tour with me. Every stop and in every room. But I know she got shit goin’ on, her own career, her own grind. I don’t wanna be that needy nigga, but I need her.”
Zay clapped his hands. “Pussy whipped!”
Royal grinned. “Hell yeah. For my wife? Most definitely.”
We all cracked up. Creed and Brodie nodding like they agreed with him and knew where he was coming from. That shit hit different, that married life. I wanted that, wanted to be hella needy about my wife and constantly lay up under her. Sometimes I wondered if Egypt could be that for me.
“Nah, but real shit,” I said, “Averi solid. She gon’ make that shit work. You know she will.”
Brodie agreed. “She always finds her way back to you. Even when she stubborn.”
Zay nodded. “Yeah, Sis ain’t even worrying about it for real. It’s yo ass stressin’ out for nothin’. We all know she in deep, won’t let a nigga say shit bad about yo’ ugly ass.”
Royal smiled, pride shining in his eyes. “Yeah…that’s my baby man. She mine for life.” Then everyone turned to me.
“So, what’s up with you, Nas?” Brodie asked. “You been real lowkey lately.” I exhaled slow, took a sip of my drink, and looked around the circle.
Fuck it. I thought to myself. Now was as good a time as any.
“Me and Egypt been fuckin’ around with each other,” I said, eyes steady. “Shit been going on since Creed and Serenity’s wedding.”
Royal didn’t blink. “Knew it.”
Zay shook his head laughin. “Y’all not slick at all, by the way.”
Brodie laughed. “Bruh, you really thought we ain’t notice the secret looks? The whispered convos? Nigga, you be hovering.”
Creed smiled but stayed quiet. He already knew, of course. I chuckled. “Damn. So y’all been clockin’ us this whole time?”
“I been knowin since that game we went to last year in the luxury box,” Royal shrugged. “Then when ya’ll was at my crib afterwards, ya’ll was being too nice to each other.”
Zay added, “Egypt don’t play about you. And you damn sure don’t play about her. Ya’ll act like ya’ll the only ones get to clown each other. It was obvious.”
I nodded, suddenly relieved. “We just needed to keep it to ourselves for a while. Let it be whatever it was gon’ be. Without all the extra eyes.”
Brodie leaned in. “So, what is it now?”
“Real,” I said without hesitation. “It’s serious. I love her lil’ ugly ass. I ain’t never been this in it before. She got me.”
Royal whistled low. “Damn. Nas in love. Didn’t think I’d live to see the day.”
Creed clapped my shoulder. “Good for you, bro. You deserve that.”
“I’m tryna protect it,” I said quietly. “Protect her. She everything.”
The room fell quiet, the good kind. The kind where real shit got acknowledged. And in that moment, I realized I wasn’t carrying it alone anymore. I had my brothers behind me. And soon, the whole world would know who my woman was.
New York felt like a different type of cold than L.A. It was sharp and bone-deep. The kind that made you tighten your coat and square your shoulders even if you were used to the wind. But Egypt didn’t flinch. She stepped out of the car like she was born in it. Like the chill bowed down to her.
I followed behind her as we climbed the steps into 30 Rock, security and Fallon’s team already waiting to escort us inside. She had on this long duster cardigan, heels clicking like power with every step. She didn’t have to try. She just was a star.
I’d seen her act. I’d seen her command a room without saying a word. But seeing her walk into this building, poised and locked in, knowing she was about to perform her own damn music, her words, her melody, her moment—it hit different.
The hallways were buzzing. Fallon’s people moved around like bees in a hive, headsets, schedules, voices on walkies. The sound of rehearsals floated from behind closed doors. Egypt didn’t even blink. She walked straight through it like she belonged there…because she did.
They took us backstage and led her toward the stage for soundcheck. She dropped her coat, revealing that black jumpsuit hugging her hips like they were painted on. Her curly hair was pinned up, but even half-done, she was fire.
I stayed tucked off to the side, lowkey, leaning against a wall while she tested mics and ran through her set with the house band.
The first few notes of Notice Me spilled into the empty room, smooth and haunting.
She wasn’t even singing full out yet, but it still sent something crawling across my skin.