1. Nairobi Crawford #2
“Yerrr!” Our heads snapped toward the kitchen entrance as a group stumbled in.
“Oh shit! —what up, O.G.?” A skinny dude in his early twenties crossed the room to greet CJ, grinning the whole way.
“Poncho,” CJ nodded, locking into the Reapers handshake with him.
Poncho slung his arms around two women on either side of him and glanced at me with open curiosity. “This you?” he asked, his eyes moving between me and CJ.
“Be easy, bruh,” CJ said as he took my hand and steered me out of the kitchen before Poncho could say anything else. We moved through the house, people pressing themselves against the wall to make room for us.
“Where are we going?” I asked, when we reached a staircase at the back.
“Somewhere quieter.”
The stairs creaked under us as we climbed. CJ pushed open the door at the top and hit a switch. Dozens of string lights came on across the rooftop patio. There were a few chairs, some tables, and a grill neatly arranged—a stark contrast to the party downstairs.
I exhaled and settled into one of the chairs.
“Nah, c’mere,” CJ said, patting his lap.
“You don’t?—”
“Nairobi.” The warning in his voice was more playful than anything. “Don’t even play with me right now.”
I narrowed my eyes at him as I stood and walked over to him.
“Was that so hard?” he murmured, his hands slid around my waist as I sank into his lap. “Whatever,” I muttered.
He chuckled and handed me his cup to hold as he reached into his pocket for a pre-rolled blunt and lighter.
I set both cups on the ground and adjusted myself, straddling him so we were face to face.
CJ lit the blunt, keeping his eyes locked on mine while the flame briefly cast a shadow over his face.
He took a slow pull and tilted his head back, exhaling into the open air.
His hand moved to my hips as he brought the blunt to his lips again. The heat from the palm of his hand seared through my jacket as it trailed up my back to the nape of my neck and guided my face towards his until our noses almost touched.
His lips parted. I opened mine.
Slowly, he exhaled, smoke passing from his mouth into mine, his eyes on me the whole time. I held it until the burn in my chest won and I had to turn my head to let it go.
When I turned back, he kissed me, giving me the chance to pull away if I wanted to. I didn’t. It lasted long enough to mean something without either of us making it more than it was.
He leaned back in the chair, the blunt resting between his fingers. “In another life,” he murmured, “we’d be together.”
“Hm.” I took the blunt from him and hit it once before stubbing it out. Neither of us needed to be too far gone. I still had a flight to catch.
“You going to see him when you go home?” he asked, rubbing my thigh absentmindedly.
“Who?” I asked, knowing damn well who he was referring to.
“Your boy.”
I traced my fingers over the Gotham Reapers patch on his jacket. “You jealous?”
“Curious.”
I laughed bitterly. “Doubt it. He hates me.”
CJ cocked his head and picked up his cup, taking a long sip before handing it to me.
“I don’t think anyone could hate you,” he said finally.
I rolled my eyes, took a sip and handed it back. “You don’t even know me for real, CJ.”
He set the cup down and slid his hand under my jacket, drawing me close until my body was nearly flush against his. He smelled like fresh soap and skin. His lips found my neck. “I know what you’ve shown me,” he said softly.
His mouth moved lower, to the hollow of my throat, and my breath hitched when he nipped me lightly—my back arching before he soothed the spot with another kiss.
Buzzing from the weed and alcohol, my body hummed with need, dampness growing between my thighs.
I shifted in his lap and wrapped my arms around his shoulders.
When I looked CJ up a few months after disappearing, he only asked if Fontaine would be a problem.
“I don’t need that nigga trying to knock my head off again,” he’d said.
It was a fair question, given how Fontaine acted when we first met.
But Fontaine knew the best and worst parts of me—knew I was fucking mess and had come back for me anyway.
That wasn’t something I took lightly, even if I was actively running from it.
I’d convinced myself that I was better off alone.
The life I led didn’t have room for real attachments, let alone romance.
So, I buried it. Buried him. But I was learning that feelings like that don’t go away. They just go quiet, sitting low like a simmer you forget.
CJ was a good friend. A good lover. But he wasn’t mine.
“You’re a runner, Nai. You ran.”
I closed my eyes, hating that his words cut deeper than I wanted to admit.
“He might be mad at you,” CJ continued, his lips moving against my skin down toward my collarbone. I found myself moving against his growing hardness. “But he doesn’t hate you.” His voice dropped lower. “You just broke that nigga’s heart is all.”
He pressed a soft kiss to my jaw, like he was trying to soothe the sting of his words.
I sat back and looked at him. “And what about you?” I asked. “Is this where you tell me I broke your heart too?”
A low chuckle moved through him as he shook his head. “Never that.” He held my gaze, something honest sitting behind his eyes. “But if I let you, you might.”