Chapter 6 #2
Chesteria was so damn fine, it threw my whole approach off.
It was like my anger showed up ready for war, but my body forgot how to fire the first shot.
Her skin was glowing, her lips appeared soft and full, and she had that fierce fire in her eyes that always made me want to dominate and kiss her in the same breath.
And her scent? It hit me the second I got in her space—warm vanilla, a trace of soft cashmere, and that signature sweet shit she always wore that stayed on my tongue long after I’d had my face buried between her thighs.
I swallowed the heat in my chest, forcing my face to stay hard.
“So, if he’s not an intruder, then who the fuck is he? Cause I know damn well you didn’t bring a nigga to our shit?”
Chesteria’s mouth opened, then closed, the lie dying before it could be born. Before she could recover, ol’ boy spoke up, clearly under the impression I’d given him a pass to jump in.
“Wait… y’all shit?” He looked at Chesteria with his head cocked and brows drawn.
It was clear that clown didn’t know much about me… or that the cabin was shared property.
“C Baby, what the hell is going on?” he further pried.
C Baby?
My nostrils flared so hard the air felt hot.
Not only does she have another nigga in here, but she’s letting him “comfortably” call her the nickname “I” gave her?
The same one I used to growl in her ear when I had her face buried in pillows and her body locked under mine.
That name was created in the middle of moans, soaked sheets, and back-arching tension, now she just handing it out like party favors, letting some random-ass nigga rehearse lines he ain’t earned?
It don’t even sound right coming out of another nigga’s mouth.
It feels like hearing somebody else sing my song off-key.
And right there, right in that moment, I felt exactly how Mario felt in his song How Could You.
That was “our” thing… my word… my energy.
“C Baby? Really, Chess?” My eyes locked on her like I was reading her soul line for line, scanning for the part where she forgot who the fuck she used to belong to.
Chesteria knew that look—the one that used to make her weak… the one that said I wasn’t there to play nice.
“Oh, this some serious couple-type of shit going on, huh?” I added, jaw clenched.
Chesteria’s eyes widened. She shook her head no too fast.
“Bryce—Adrian,” she shouted, voice strained, looking between us. “I’ve told you not to call me that, and you still insist!”
“Fuck… you did. Again… my bad,” was all he offered.
Chesteria shot him the kind of glares that could shrink a man’s ego two shoe sizes. Then she began blinking slowly, in a way that gave off she was mentally reviewing several felony options.
But the way the nigga said, “my bad”? That wasn’t apologetic at all; it was taunting.
The kind of phrase used when a person is trying to test someone, unaware the test has already been failed.
Finally, Isis, who’d been looking between all of us like we were an episode of Maury and she was the confused cousin in the audience, seemed to finally piece things together.
I knew it wouldn’t be long.
“Okay, wait,” she chimed in, doing her best math. “So… is this the Chesteria? Like… your ex Chesteria?”
“Yes!” Me and Chesteria snapped in unison. The only difference was hers came with a neck-roll sass, and mine had that I-needed-to-punch-a-wall rage.
“This yo’ ex, Chesteria?” the nigga, Adrian asked, acting slow as hell like we didn’t just confirm that with our whole diaphragm.
“Nigga, can you not hear?” I barked. “How many yes’s you need? One in cursive?!”
Isis shook her head, stunned, mentally buffering. “Wow. This… is… whew… this is messy.”
Chesteria looked right at me and spoke with precision.
“Okay, but wait. You come storming in here, raising hell about me bringing someone…” She tilted her head slow and slick. “But who is she?”
Chesteria motioned toward Isis like she was a suspicious package.
“Because she damn sure doesn’t look like 'the help', a chef, and ain’t nobody managing a damn thing around here but us!” she finished.
Busted.
Fuck.
My focus was on that goofy ass nigga that I completely forgot Isis existed in that moment. Isis might as well have been a wall decoration with edges and attitude.
“She… she’s…”
Damn. Not one solid answer came to mind. I ain’t even care enough to fake one.
“The name is Isis,” Isis intervened, trying to smooth shit over, extending her hand with the practiced politeness of a job interview.
Chesteria stared at it the way one might regard a used napkin someone had the audacity to offer.
Isis slowly pulled her hand back once she realized she was offering herself to the wrong one.
“Well… me and Bryce are—”
“Nothing,” I rudely cut her off, “but two people who had sex a few times too many and somebody mistook it for something real. You don’t have to finish that sentence; I just did.”
Chesteria chuckled, but not the cute kind; that “I’m trying not to spazz in front of company” kind.
“This… this is wild,” she said, rubbing her temple, clearly in need of an Advil, a nap, an emotional support blunt, everybody in the room to shut the hell up at the same time, and God to pull up personally.
“I’ll say,” Isis subtly agreed, touching me like I hadn’t just cut her off mid-sentence and made it clear she was irrelevant. “So, babe,” she continued, “what are we going to do? Surely we’re not staying here. I mean, we don’t want to interrupt their alone time.”
Alone time? Them in the same bed? Her wearing a bonnet, cuddled up with him, giggling at some weak ass Netflix movie—maybe even fucking?
That thought had my blood boiling.
I shoved Isis off me, rejecting the contact like a blanket in the summer—unnecessary and irritating.
“For the last damn time, and I do mean the last time, stop calling me that babe shit. I’ve told you ten times too many. You wanna see what happens if you say it an eleventh time? Go ahead… try me. I promise you’ll be walking back to the city with God on yo’ side and yo’ heels in yo’ hand.”
Isis stood there, lips parted, thoughts nowhere in sight and dignity not far behind.
“Oh… and we’re staying tonight,” I announced to Chesteria.
Chesteria folded her arms angrily. “Really, Bryce? But this isn’t even your month.”
“Right!” Isis jumped in, head snapping like she had a valid point and her opinion carried weight… only to get shut down with a quick turn of Chesteria’s head and one lifted brow.
“I ain’t ask for a group vote!” Chesteria snapped, eyes wide with that I’m-fresh-out-of-grace expression like Isis had been tapping her last nerve with stilettos, and they’d barely shared air for five minutes.
Isis blinked, confused. “Excuse me?!”
“No, I won’t,” Chesteria returned, voice smooth but dipped in venom. “Whatever excuse Bryce gave you to tag along, baby, I promise you, it’s invalid. I don’t care if he told you that you were the second coming of Christ, this isn’t your cabin, and it damn sure isn’t your conversation.”
“Girl, you don’t even know me to be talking to me like that!” Isis hissed.
Chesteria smirked. “And yet, somehow, I already don’t like you. Isn’t that wild?”
I’d heard enough. Plus, Chesteria had fast and seasoned hands. And the way her body shifted, I knew she was one wrong eyebrow twitch away from beating Isis into next week and asking questions later.
“Look, everybody chill!” I barked.
Isis flinched, startled by the bass in my voice, but her pissed-off expression stayed locked and loaded like she was trying to reload her comebacks.
The nigga Adrian didn’t even look up. He was leaning against the wall, casually eating trail mix like it was game day and the fight card just got announced. And Chesteria? Unbothered.
I turned to face her fully. “Now, back to you. Damn, you must really want to spend some quality time with this nigga, huh?”
“Bryce, this has nothing to do with me trying to spend time with anyone! Don’t turn this on me! It’s the principle! We set boundaries and agreements for a reason—to avoid awkward situations like this! More than anything, it was about space!”
Regardless of how I felt about the whole situation, Chesteria was right.
We did set that shit up to keep things clean and keep our distance unless it was our turn.
But none of that shit mattered at that moment.
Every rule we made flew out the window the second after seeing her there, looking how she looked, standing beside another nigga who clearly didn’t belong in our atmosphere.
That flipped every switch I had. I didn’t say how I really felt in that moment, because yeah, I did fuck up…
but so did she. Chesteria just wasn’t ready to admit it.
“I know,” I finally said in acknowledgment. “Fuck… I know.”
My fists clenched at my sides.
“On some real shit, me showing up wasn’t on no petty shit. I swear I thought this was my month, so I didn’t even know you’d be here… especially with another nigga.”
I turned and glared at that nigga, mentally taking measurements for his funeral suit.
My stare held long and hard enough for him to feel it, even if he was dumb enough to act like he didn’t.
“This is still my property too, Chess,” I reminded her. “Your name might be on the deed, but so is mine, sweetheart. So you ain’t the only owner, and I’m not some uninvited guest who’s trespassing. Don’t forget that.”
Chesteria didn’t argue; she gave me that same cute-ass eye roll that used to have her legs wide open in minutes, begging me not to stop.
That look alone used to get her flipped, face down, ass up, clawing at sheets like her life depended on it.
It didn’t matter where we were—bedroom, kitchen counter, backseat, or hallway floor—once she gave me that look, it was game over.
And she knew it… yet she still did it… and it still had that effect.