5. Kenyon
5
Kenyon
“ I t’s Keyes motherfuckin’ birthday!” Sydney yelled, standing on the bar.
The way she was pumping the champagne bottle, you would’ve thought it was her birthday. I didn’t take for granted turning another year older and wiser, it just didn’t bring the same excitement the older I got. Sydney didn’t think so, twirling around the bar. Unfortunately, I had seen this movie and was close enough to step in when she took a wrong step.
“My knight in shining armor!” Sydney smiled, landing in my arms and resting her head against my chest.
Security fought the sea of patrons eager to say they attended Kenyon Keyes's Birthday Bash. When we reached the back, I sat Sydney in the chair , taking the bottle out of her hand.
“You gotta’ chill, Syd.”
“ Chill ?” She slurred, pouting her lips.
“Yes, otherwise I’m locking your ass in Kross’s office.”
Sydney’s shoulders slid backward as she did her best impersonation of a sober person. Kross opened the door with Pedialyte in hand as if on cue. I took the bottle from him, cracked it open, and passed it to her.
“I’ll be good, Kenyon,” she slurred, using my government name to prove she was serious.
“You’re full of shit.”
“I promise,” Syd moved closer, snaking her arms around my torso before pecking my lips. “Besides, I need to sober up for later when the real party starts.”
Her mischievous grin had Kross covering his eyes.
“Do I need to give y’all freaky asses a minute?”
“Shut up!” Sydney hit him on her way out of the room.
“What are you going to do with her?”
I brushed off his concern and said, “Surprised to see you out tonight.”
“It’s my shit. Where else would I be? Besides, who else is going to watch you? It damn sure isn’t Syd.”
“Nobody needs to watch me.”
Kross let out a single chuckle. “Yeah, okay.”
“I know you have strict rules and shit,” My fingers curled into air quotes underscoring my sarcasm. “But try to relax and get some ass tonight. That’s what I want for my birthday.”
“Nigga, I didn’t ask,” Kross rebutted.
“Oh fuckin’ well. I love you, but shutting the world out won’t bring her back. It ain’t healthy for you either.”
“Neither is taking care of Sydney, so you don’t have to worry about your own shit. I guess we got that honest,” Kross patted my shoulder while taking the beer bottle out of my hand.
“I wasn’t done!”
“You are now.”
It might have been my birthday, but I was on a mission to make my brother enjoy himself. He deserved happiness after everything we had been through, but that seemed the farthest thing from his mind.
The evening unfolded like a scene from a music video with flashing lights, bass rattling the walls, and an air thick with smoke. The club was filled with guests, each one seemingly more thrilled than the last to be part of the festivities. And then, Sydney got on stage.
“I need the birthday boy on the stage!” She yelled into the mic.
Chugging my drink, I slid the glass toward Tambra and obliged her request.
“This seat is for you,” she directed before addressing the crowd. “Since it is his birthday, it’s only right to have the baddest bitches show him some love.”
The crowd moved like a tide, allowing Rajah to step through and make a grand entrance. I leaned back in my chair, a satisfied smirk on my face as Rajah pulled out every stunt and trick in her back. Then the music changed, piquing my curiosity.
“Hol up! Hold up! We ain’t done yet!” DJ Beats yelled into the mic.
The lights dimmed, and a sultry beat filled the air, pulsing through the room like a heartbeat. The crowd quieted, a sense of anticipation hanging in the air, and then she appeared—Zara, aka Nova.
The last person I expected to be strutting toward me, rustling a blonde wig. It was a far cry from the messy bun that gave me a hard time in the leasing office. There was a challenge in Zara’s gaze, a spark that sent a jolt of electricity through me, watching her hips sway to the beat. I was used to being in control and having the upper hand, but she held all the power right now.
She lifted one leg with a slow, seductive smile and placed her ankle on my shoulder. Her skin was smooth, and the scent of her perfume filled my senses, a heady mix of floral and spice. My brain was barely functioning when Zara lowered onto my lap, writhing against my body. Under the cascade of stage lights, she was unrecognizable from the woman I'd met.
Her lips parted, and she whispered, ‘Happy Birthday,’ her voice low and intimate. My hand itched to touch her, to feel the warmth of her skin under my fingertips. Reading my thoughts, Zara grabbed my hands and dragged them up her leg, drawing attention to the lines of her body.
“Goddamn Shawty got me wishing tonight was my birthday!” DJ Beats yelled, and from the faces in the crowd, every man and half the women felt the same.
As the song neared its end, she returned to the front of the stage and sank to her knees. Zara arched her back, her head thrown back in a display of raw, unfiltered sensuality. The music swelled, and she ended her routine with one final lingering look.
The crowd erupted, but it was distant, almost muted in my ears. All I could think about was Zara and the way she commanded me.