Chapter 4
Heavy had learned a thing or two about Cyren in the three hours they’d been out together.
She loved seafood, had traveled to eleven countries so far, was an April Aries, and she was three years younger than him.
He locked in a few other key details, noting how much more talkative she’d gotten since she was out of the house.
Heavy was glad to contribute to her openness.
His new discovery, as another round of tequila shots was placed on their table, was that she could drink. A lot. Heavy wasn’t judging her at all. How could he when, at twenty-six, he was locked up. At least she had her freedom.
“This is round what... four?” Cyren asked as she grabbed a lime from the cup filled with them.
Heavy licked his lips, eyes roaming Goodies, the hole-in-the-wall spot she suggested they go to after dinner. Her chicken and shrimp pasta from Pearl Tavern had hit the spot just enough to cure her appetite.
“Yeah. I’m glad you’re keeping up.” That meant she wasn’t drunk yet. Good.
“I have to since someone doesn’t want to drink with me.” She fake pouted, poking that bottom lip out, which made Heavy’s chest tighten.
This girl, man. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to drink. He couldn’t. Not when he had her with him and especially, not in public. He’d given himself a two-drink limit and had already reached it with the first two shots.
“I’m letting you enjoy yourself. Don’t look at me like that.”
Could she hear the pleading in his tone?
Her heavy, glossed eyes fanned with lashes she hadn’t cried off were as intoxicating as the liquor.
Cyren was so fucking beautiful to him; Heavy caught himself staring multiple times throughout the evening.
He didn’t give a fuck and wouldn’t, unless she said something. He liked what he saw.
“Like what?” Cyren was being bashful.
Picking up her shot glass, she tossed it back and hurriedly bit into the lime wedge. The more she drank, the less she grimaced. The less pain she felt.
“How am I looking at you?” She reframed her question.
Like you need me to give you all the answers to them unknown questions floating around in your head.
That was too heavy a reply, but it was the truth.
“Like batting your eyes and poking that lip out is going to make me change my mind.”
Cyren grinned, sipping some of her water. “Whatever,” she said, playfully rolling her eyes. “Thank you, though. Had it not been for you getting me out of the house, I would’ve probably gotten my food to-go and been holed up in my room crying.”
Her sad chuckle wasn’t missed, and Heavy hated the sound. Still, he was grateful for his interception, nonetheless.
“You were off work today?” he asked.
“I don’t have a job right now.”
Heavy bobbed his head once. “That’s coo’.”
His expression didn’t change at her little white lie, and Cyren couldn’t even keep it going. Laughing, she shook her head.
“Chu’ laughing at?” Heavy asked.
“You. I told you I didn’t have a job, and you didn’t even flinch.”
He shrugged. “It’s a lot of mothafuckas out here without jobs. What? You thought I’d judge you?”
Cyren didn’t know what type of response to expect from him.
She was used to people looking at her crazily when she’d given them that answer in the past. It’d been the truth then.
So, yes. Maybe she did think for a fraction of a second that’s what he’d do.
That’s what everyone seemed to do, who hadn’t been in her shoes.
They couldn’t even fit, find, or finance the painful ones she didn’t ask to wear.
The style was of an otherworldly quality, inaccessible, and expensive as fuck.
Eyeing him, Cyren noticed how serious he was. “I guess. I do have a job, though. It doesn’t feel right working on her, I mean, on their birthday, so I took off.”
She lost her job after Nicole passed away. There weren’t enough bereavement days or PTO that could cover for her. Thankfully, she had graduated with her bachelor’s the year prior; otherwise, she would’ve been a dropout.
“Nothing wrong with that. Where you work at?” He was interested in all things Cyren.
She sipped more of her water. “The credit union. I process loans and a few other things. Nothing too serious.”
“You probably be at work playing on them folks’ clock,” Heavy teased, making her laugh.
Her pearly whites and the smallest hint of a gap showed. Her prominent cheekbones lifted, forcing her eyes to close. The amass of curls fell forward, as she found humor in his words.
“I do not. They love me up there.”
A presence invaded their space before Heavy could let her know that he was sure they did. What wasn’t to love about her?
“I heard there was a young woman over here who I helped raise,” the older woman, with gold rings and gold bangles clanking on her arm, said.
Her burgundy hair was braided and twisted into a bun at her nape, matching the shade of her lipstick. She was fly as hell and looked old enough to be their grandmother but still young and having shit her way. There was evidence in the way the men’s eyes, young and old, lingered as she stood there.
Smiling, Cyren inched out of the booth. “Hey, Ms. Neeti.”
Their embrace was full of love... and loss. Ms. Neeti squeezed her tight, pouring all her strength and those forever-flowing prayers into her. Before she could get emotional, Cyren pulled away.
“Hey, to you, too, sweetie. My goodness, you’re gorgeous. Looking just like Nicole when she was your age.”
Cyren smiled softly, being held at arm’s length. She’d heard that her entire life. Thank goodness she doesn’t look like that daddy of hers. Cyren’s grandma had recited the statement or a variation of it, dissing the man, every time she saw her granddaughter.
“Thank you. I didn’t know you were here.”
“Mhm. In the back.” Ms. Neeti focused her attention on Heavy. “How you doing, handsome? I’m Ms. Neeti.”
“I’m good. Nice to meet you. Coo’ lil’ spot you got here.”
Ms. Neeti grinned and patted Cyren’s arm. “Nothing like a man who can spot the boss without knowing the boss.” She winked at Heavy and focused her attention on Cyren. “You ain’t brang your tail ‘round here to see me. How long you been home?”
Cyren gulped. Of course, she said it as if she knew she wasn’t just visiting like she did during college breaks or weekends. She didn’t want to lie, but she also didn’t want to have to explain why she hadn’t visited. Goodie’s wasn’t exactly the first destination on her mind when she moved back.
“Not too long. Some months. I’ve been trying to get back—”
“Nope. You don’t have to explain anything to me. To anybody. I was just teasing. I’m happy you’re home, Cy. You let me know if you need anything, hear?”
Cyren nodded. “Yes, ma’am. I will.”
“Alright. Y’all enjoy yourselves. Love you, sweetie.”
“Love you, too.”
Ms. Neeti gave them both a smile before heading back to her office.
Cyren scooted back inside the booth, her eyes darting around for the waitress to bring her another shot.
Her nerves were bad all over again. Heavy read her mind, focusing on the way her fingers fidgeted against the perspired glass of water.
“You want another shot?”
She blinked away almost wet lenses and cleared her throat. “No. That’s okay.”
“Nah. Go ’head. It’s coo’ if you do. Do what you gotta do to not feel that shit.”
Gulping, Cyren stared at him from across the booth. His hard gaze didn’t waver from hers. She knew that not feeling anything right now was temporary, but the sincerity in his tone urged her to wave their waitress over.
“Okay,” Cyren agreed.
Their waitress was back before she could fill the semi-awkward silence.
She filled Cyren’s glass and placed a fresh glass of Sprite in front of Heavy.
Without a lime and care for the hangover she might have in the morning, Cyren tossed it back and licked her tingling lips. She was certainly done for now.
“This was my mom’s and her friend’s favorite spot. Well, it was my granny’s favorite spot first. That’s how long Ms. Neeti has been in business.”
“Word?” Heavy asked, interested in the history. “Not ya moms took over.”
Chuckling, Cyren nodded. Bright-eyed, eager to yap. “No, for real. She really did. According to my granny, she used to sneak in when she was around fifteen and just sit in the back listening to the music, eating the food, and getting refills of her favorite drink.”
“So you get that sneaky shit from her?” Heavy asked, and Cyren’s jaw slacked.
Far from offended, Cyren laughed and shook her head. “Sneaky is crazy. They were going to let us in regardless of our age.”
“True,” he agreed, nodding.
Goodie’s had been around for years and was a staple establishment in the city.
Known for its good drinks, even better food, after-hour performances, gambling in the basement, and close-knit family vibes, it was the place to be during the week and weekends.
The bouncer at the door didn’t recognize Cyren, but he knew Heavy.
Their identification wasn’t checked, even though the age limit to enter was thirty.
Ms. Neeti wasn’t about to play with these Gen Z kids.
She didn’t care if they were of age to drink.
“What was my cousin like?”
Her question came from far-left field, and Heavy caught it, even though she tried interfering.
“I didn’t really know the adult him since I was away at school. Just what I saw when I used to have social media. Every time I watched his stories on Instagram, he was turned up somewhere or joking with the people from the block.”
Cyren chuckled, thinking back to the time she watched one of his stories, and he was racing one of the friendly neighborhood dopeheads in the street. Dre didn’t have a chance.
“That nigga was a clown for sure.” Heavy grinned, shaking his head.
He had too many stories to count. Dre didn’t care who you were or where you were at; he’d roast you right on the spot. He couldn’t be the person you sat by at a funeral. He’d get the entire row stared at or escorted out for laughing.