Untitled

[shereeluvssinners]

[kkbeauty86]

My First Love Series

Chapter 5(pt.1)

“Alone With You”

Monday morning…

Monica is in her bedroom flipping through channels when she suddenly hears yelling coming from down the hall.

Korrie.

She immediately recognizes her voice.

“I heard you and Smoke was at the And1 game hugged up wit some bitches! Charity said she seen all y’all in a group with a bunch of bitches around y’all!”

Monica freezes.

Her stomach drops.

The And1 game too?

That means Shatara wasn’t lying about Skateland.

Smoke really was out in public again.

With the same woman.

She quietly gets up and cracks her bedroom door.

Stack’s voice carries through the house.

He sucks his teeth. “Man, Charity lyin’! She ain’t seen us doin’ shit!”

Their two year old son, Jayvon, starts crying in the living room, startled by the yelling.

Neither one of them even notices.

Korrie’s voice gets louder. “What the hell she gon’ lie on you for?”

“’Cause hoes be jealous!” Stack fires back. “They just want what you got.”

“Fuck that, Stack!” Korrie yells. “You stay playin’ wit me! I can’t wait to find out who the bitch is.”

Monica slowly closes her bedroom door.

For the first time…She and Korrie actually agree on something.

She walks over to her nightstand and grabs the cordless phone.

After a second, she punches in Candace’s number.

Candace answers on the fourth ring.

“Hello?”

“Hey, girl.”

“What you been on?”

“Nothin’ much.”

“What about you?”

Monica and Candace have always had an odd relationship.

Most people would think they’d hate each other considering they both messed around with Smoke.

But there was never any reason to.

Smoke never lied.

Never pretended either one of them was his girlfriend.

Never promised exclusivity.

From the very beginning, he’d been honest about seeing other women.

Because of that, Monica and Candace knew about each other—and eventually became cool.

Neither woman liked sharing him.

But they respected the truth more than a lie.

Monica sighs heavily. “Girl…I’m tryna figure some shit out.”

Candace laughs. “Like what?”

Monica starts pacing her room.

“Man… Smoke ass been actin’ real different. When the last time you seen him?”

Candace thinks for a second. “I don’t know…It’s been a while.”

Monica stops pacing. “And you ain’t mad about that shit?”

Candace shrugs, even though Monica can’t see her. “I mean…Not really. Smoke is Smoke. I’ll see him when I see him.”

Monica rolls her eyes. “That’s the problem. You ain’t gon’ see him. He fuckin’ around wit some new bitch and now he done cut all us off.”

Candace is quiet for a second before answering. “Girl…Why you mad? Smoke ain’t never gon’ be tied down to nobody. We already knew that. Just ‘cause he been wit another girl don’t mean he only messin’ wit her.”

Monica’s jaw clenches. “Uh-uh. You don’t understand.”

“Smoke ass been out in public wit this bitch. Kissin’ and shit.

First Skateland…And now the And1 game.”

Candace doesn’t respond right away.

Monica keeps going. “He ain’t never took us nowhere. But now he out here in public. Hugged up. Smilin’. Spendin’ money.” Her voice grows sharper with every word. “And you know what else?”

Candace sighs. “What?”

Monica shakes her head. “Whoever she is…She gettin’ all of Smoke’s time. And all his money. You know damn well that money used to be gettin’ spent on us.”

Candace finally pauses. “I mean…When you put it like that…”

Monica nods to herself. “Exactly.”

“This ain’t just another girl. This somethin’ different. I can feel it. He hidin’ her. He won’t even tell me who she is.”

Candace sits quietly, letting Monica vent.

The more Monica talks…

The more obvious it becomes.

This isn’t really about the money.

Or the dates. Or even the kissing.

It’s the fact that Smoke—who had always made it clear he wasn’t committing to anyone—suddenly seems to be making room in his life for only one woman.

And that realization burns.

Monica’s pride won’t let her accept it.

“So what you sayin’?” Candace finally asks. “What you tryna do?”

Monica doesn’t hesitate. “We need to find out who she is.”

Candace raises an eyebrow. “…Then what?”

Monica shrugs. “Pop up on her. Let her know what’s good.”

Candace lets out a long breath. “You don’t think that’s gon’ piss Smoke off?”

Monica laughs without humor. “Nah.I don’t care.”

Candace isn’t nearly as convinced. “I mean…We can find out who she is…But I already know Smoke gon’ flip his shit.”

Monica shakes her head . “He can be mad later.”

Candace chuckles. “You always startin’ shit.”

Monica smirks. “It’s better to ask for forgiveness later than permission now.”

Candace laughs despite herself. “You crazy.”

“I know.”

The two women laugh together.

But once the laughter dies down…

Monica’s expression hardens again.

Somewhere out there was a woman who had managed to do what none of them could. Get Smoke’s full attention.

And Monica couldn’t stand not knowing who she was.

📚📓✂️📚📓✂️📚📓✂️📚📓✂️📚

Fashion class is unusually quiet.

The steady whirr… whirr… whirr of sewing machines fills the room while students work on hemming skirts and stitching practice pieces together.

The smell of fresh fabric, starch, and machine oil lingers in the air.

Annie and Rhonda sit side by side in the back of the classroom, guiding fabric beneath their sewing machine needles.

Rhonda suddenly smiles. “Oh yeah…I got somethin’ for you.”

Annie looks over. “What?”

Rhonda reaches into her purse and pulls out a small manila envelope stuffed with freshly developed pictures from the And1 game. “I finally got ’em.”

Annie’s face lights up. “For real?”

Rhonda hands her the envelope. It’s the pictures from the game.

Annie immediately starts flipping through the glossy prints.

She smiles wider with every picture.

Then she gets to the group photo.

“Damn, girl. You ain’t waste no time gettin’ these developed.”

Rhonda grins proudly. “Sure didn’t.”

“I wanted to see ’em too.” Annie studies the picture closely.

Everybody is smiling.

Tobias has his arm around Rhonda.

Ramon is kneeling in front of Ebony.

Stack is cheesing in front of Devin with his hand on her ass.

Then…Her eyes land on herself and Smoke.

His hands are wrapped around her waist.

His head is resting near her shoulder.

A warm smile spreads across her face.

“Awww…” She laughs softly. “You and Tobias look so cute.”

Rhonda peeks over. “I know, right? But girl…”

She points at her and Smoke. “You and Smoke look even better.” She nudges Annie with her elbow. “I’m still stuck on him holdin’ you from behind like that.”

Annie giggles, feeling her cheeks warm all over again. “I knowww. He took me by surprise. I wasn’t expectin’ that.”

Rhonda laughs. “Girl…Smoke a man that know exactly what he want.”

Annie smiles but quickly shakes her head. “I mean…What do he want?”

Rhonda slowly turns and gives Annie the biggest side eye. “Annika. Stop playin’.”

Annie laughs. “I’m serious.”

Rhonda shakes her head. “YOU! Ray Charles can see that nigga got it bad for you. All he do is look at you.” She starts counting on her fingers. “He followed you to the concession stand. He bought you food. He bought us food. He call you beautiful every chance he get. He done started callin’ you Pretty Eyes. He look at you like ain’t nobody else in the room.” She laughs. “And don’t even get me started on that hug.”

Annie tries to hide behind the picture.

Rhonda reaches over and pulls it back down. “Girl…I seen that.”

Annie starts laughing. “What?”

“He ain’t wanna let you go.”

Annie shakes her head. “Stop.”

“I swear.” Rhonda nods dramatically. “I’m dead serious. I thought Stack was gon’ have to physically pry that man off you.”

Annie throws her head back laughing. “He was not holdin’ me that long.”

“Girl…” Rhonda smirks. “You was holdin’ him too.”

Annie gasps. “I was not!”

“You absolutely was. You looked so comfortable in his arms.”

Annie feels herself blushing all over again. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t.” Rhonda laughs. “You liked every second of that hug.”

Annie bites her lip. “…Maybe a little.”

Rhonda points at her triumphantly. “I knew it!”

She laughs. “And another thing…You cheesed the whole ride home.”

Annie’s eyes widen. “No I didn’t!”

“Yes you did.” Rhonda imitates Annie staring out the window smiling to herself. “You ain’t say nothin’ for twenty minutes. You was just sittin’ there…”

She makes an exaggerated lovestruck face. “…smilin’.”

Annie laughs so hard she nearly misses her stitch. “I was not!”

“You absolutely was.” Rhonda keeps laughing. “I almost asked Devin if we needed to take you to the hospital. ‘Cause you looked out of it.”

The two girls laugh until their sewing teacher tells them to quiet down. “Shhh!”

Rhonda lowers her voice. “So anyway…Tobias wanna meet up at Swope Park for Sunday Funday. You down?”

Annie nods. “Look at you. You really been havin’ me out and about.”

Rhonda grins. “I know. Thank God yo parents being a little more nicer. So?…You comin’?”

“Yeah… I guess. But you know I’m gonna have to lie and say I’m just going over your house. You know my parents will never let me go to Swope. And you know they making me go to church.”

“That’s cool. It’ll probably be around four anyway.”

“Perfect.” Annie slides the pictures back into the envelope. “So…” She smiles. “What you and Tobias be talkin’ about on the phone?”

Rhonda rolls her eyes dramatically.

“Girl…Not much. He always on that damn game. Or out trappin’. He be distracted half the damn time.” She points toward Annie. “What about you and Smoke?”

Annie smiles to herself. “We talk about… everything.”

Rhonda raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Like what?”

“He ask me about my family. We talk about school. Sports. Food.” She laughs softly.

“He mostly just like makin’ me laugh.”

Rhonda smiles. “I noticed.” She nudges Annie again. “You still actin’ shy?”

Annie sighs. “…A little.”

Rhonda throws her hands up. “I don’t know what I’ma do with you.”

Annie laughs. “What?”

“You got one of the finest niggas in Kansas City callin’ you every damn night…And you still over there acting shy.”

Annie smiles as she threads another piece of fabric through the machine. “I can’t help it.”

Rhonda shakes her head with a grin. “No… I really don’t think you can.”

The two girls laugh as the sewing machines continue humming around them.

🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇🌇

In the City…

Smoke pulls into Stack’s driveway a little before work.

The engine rumbles beneath him as he shifts into park.

Instead of getting out, he gives the horn two short taps.

Beep. Beep.

He has no intention of going inside.

Not if Monica is in there.

A few seconds later, the front door opens.

Stack steps out, closing it behind him before jogging over to the passenger side.

He climbs in, shutting the door with a thud. “What’s crackin’?”

Smoke shrugs. “Shit. ’Bout to head to work.”

Stack reaches behind his ear, pulls out a blunt, sparks it with his lighter, and takes a slow pull.

The inside of the truck fills with the familiar smell of weed. He passes it over.

Smoke takes it but lets it rest between his fingers for a second.

Stack looks around the truck. “It’s crazy we sittin’ in the driveway, my nigga. You know you can come in.”

Smoke shakes his head. “Nah. I’m good.”

Stack sighs. “Shit, this my house too. And you my brother. We ain’t gon’ keep doin’ this shit forever.”

Smoke just hums.

He doesn’t want to argue.

He just doesn’t feel like dealing with Monica.

Stack changes the subject. “Oh yeah…Can you watch Jayvon for me Wednesday night? Me and Korrie goin’ to Eighteenth and Vine for Wine Down Wednesday. I gotta get her to chill out.”

Smoke raises an eyebrow. “What happened now?”

Stack rolls his eyes. “Bro. She said somebody told her we was wit some bitches at the game.”

Smoke sucks his teeth. “Damn. Muthafuckas stay runnin’ they mouth. They ain’t got shit else better to do.” He finally takes a hit before passing the blunt back. “But yeah…I’ll watch him.”

“Bet.”

Just then…The front door opens again.

Monica steps onto the porch.

Her eyes immediately land on Smoke.

She folds her arms across her chest. Rolls her eyes.

Then turns around and walks right back inside without saying a word.

Stack watches the whole thing.

The second the door shuts…

He starts laughing so hard he chokes on his smoke. “Cough—damn!”

He pounds his chest.

Smoke can’t help but chuckle.

Stack finally catches his breath. “She still in her feelings.” He points toward the house. “She hurt, bro.”

Smoke lets out a long sigh. “Bro…I don’t know why.”

Stack looks at him like he’s crazy. “’Cause you cut her off completely. You know she ain’t never cared about the other bitches. It ain’t even about that. It’s the fact she ain’t got access to you no more.”

Smoke’s expression hardens. “Fuck all that. I ain’t in no relationship. That mean if I wake up one day and don’t wanna fuck wit somebody no more…I don’t have to.”

Stack nods slowly. “I get it.”

Then…He studies Smoke for a long moment. A grin slowly creeps across his face. “Nigga…I ain’t never seen you like this.”

Smoke already knows where this conversation is headed. “What?”

“I watched you and that chick…Annie….the other day.” Stack shakes his head. “You was different. I mean…She fine as hell and shit…But to cut all yo hoes off?” He whistles. “That’s unprecedented.” He smirks. “Nigga…What’s up?”

Smoke looks straight ahead through the windshield. He says nothing.

Stack waits. Still nothing. “So you ain’t gon’ answer?”

Smoke finally looks over. “What the fuck you want me to say, Stack?”

“Nigga ANYTHING. Why her? Why you actin’ different already?”

Smoke stays quiet.

His silence says more than any explanation could.

Stack notices. He laughs under his breath. “Aight…Well at least tell me what it is about her.”

Smoke leans back in his seat. He thinks for a long moment.

His eyes drift to the steering wheel.

Finally…He shrugs. “Shit…It’s everything.”

That’s all he says. Nothing more.

Stack stares at him.

For the first time…His brother looks genuinely speechless.

After a few seconds he nods slowly.

“Damn.” He chuckles. “Shit…I’m tryna see what’s up wit her friend.”

Smoke immediately cuts his eyes at him. “Don’t have that girl mixed all up in yo shit, Stack.”

Stack shrugs. “Do she know you got a kid?…and a baby mama?”

Stack scratches his beard. “Not yet. But I’ma tell her.”

Smoke lets out a dry laugh. “Yeah…Nigga, aight.”

Stack grins. “Her and yo girl supposed to go to Swope Sunday. Tobias told ’em to pull up.”

That catches Smoke’s attention immediately.

He raises an eyebrow. “Oh yeah?”

“Yep. You gon’ slide through?”

Smoke fights the smile trying to pull at his lips.

He shrugs casually. “Maybe.”

Stack stares at him for a long second.

He already knows his twin is full of shit.

Smoke notices him looking. “What, nigga?”

Stack starts laughing. “Don’t even try it.”

He points at him. “Talkin’ ’bout some maybe. You know damn well you gon’ be there.”

Smoke smirks. “I might.”

Stack shakes his head. “Nah. Yo ass gone already.”

Smoke shakes his head and starts the truck. “Whatever, nigga.”

But deep down…They both know Stack is right.

There wasn’t a damn thing that was gonna keep Smoke away from Swope Park if Annie was

gonna be there.

🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞🦀🦞

Later that evening, Red Lobster is already buzzing.

Servers walk in and out of the dining room carrying trays . The clatter of dishes, the hiss from the grill, and the cooks calling out ticket times blend together into the familiar dinner rush soundtrack.

The smell of cheddar bay biscuits over powers the kitchen.

The back door swings open.

Annie walks in. Like always…

Smoke’s eyes find her before she even has a chance to hang up her jacket.

It’s automatic now. Almost instinct.

Annie feels his eyes before she even looks up.

Their gazes lock across the kitchen.

This time… Smoke speaks first.

He mouths, “Sup?”

A smile immediately tugs at Annie’s lips.

She mouths back, “Hey.”

Smoke smirks.

His dimples flash for just a second.

Then Annie disappears through the swinging doors into the dining room.

A little while later…

Annie is in the galley making salads, carefully placing tomatoes around the rim of a bowl.

The cool smell of lettuce and ranch dressing surrounds her as she focuses on getting each order right.

Smoke decides he suddenly needs something to drink.

Not because he’s thirsty…But because Annie is standing in the galley.

He casually walks that direction.

His footsteps are slow. Unhurried.

Annie doesn’t turn around. She doesn’t have to.

She can feel him coming. Her heart starts beating faster.

His cologne hits her first.

Just before he passes behind her…

He leans in close enough for only her to hear. “Sup, Pretty Eyes?”

His deep voice brushes against her ear. Warm. Low.

Annie smiles before she even realizes she’s doing it.

She glances over her shoulder. “Hey, Big Head.”

Smoke grins so hard his dimples sink into his cheeks. “There she go.”

He keeps walking toward the drink station like nothing happened.

Melissa catches the entire exchange.

Her smile immediately disappears.

An hour later…

The dinner rush is in full swing.

Orders are flying across the line.

The printers won’t stop spitting out tickets.

Brandon is yelling times and food. “Cajun pasta walking! Stuffed mushrooms. Need shrimp dropped!”

Annie carefully loads several plates onto a large serving tray.

Smoke stares at her from the line like he always does, but Annie’s too busy to notice.

He can barely concentrate on his tickets because he can’t take his eyes off her.

Melissa is watching him at the end of the line.

Annie takes a deep breath.

A few weeks ago she couldn’t even balance a tray.

Now…She’s finally getting good at carrying a full tray on her shoulder.

She smiles to herself.

I’m getting it.

She bends her knees slightly…

Lifts…Balances the tray perfectly on her shoulder…And starts walking down the galley.

At that exact moment—Melissa walks past. BAM.

She slams her shoulder directly into Annie’s. Hard.

The tray flies sideways. CRASH!

Plates explode against the tile floor.

Food scatters everywhere.

The sound echoes through the kitchen.

For a second…Everything goes quiet.

Annie stands frozen.

She can’t believe what just happened.

Smoke sees every second of it from the line.

His jaw immediately tightens.

His eyes snap to Melissa.

She doesn’t even look back.

She just keeps walking.

Like nothing happened.

Annie finally finds her voice. “What the hell is your problem?!”

Melissa keeps walking. Doesn’t answer. Doesn’t apologize.

Nothing.

Annie slowly kneels to the floor.

Her hands shake as she gathers broken plates and scattered food.

Her vision blurs.

Tears spill onto her cheeks before she can stop them. Not because of the plates…

But because she’s embarrassed.

Frustrated. Now her table is going to be waiting. They’re going to be upset.

She worked hard to get that tray balanced…And it was gone in seconds.

She’s so mad that she wants to put her hands on Melissa but she knows that will end with her jobless.

Megan rushes over. “I got you.”

She kneels beside Annie and starts helping pick everything up.

Before Annie can grab another plate…

Another pair of hands reaches down.

Smoke.

He walked away from the line without thinking.

Without asking. He simply came.

He picks up the larger pieces before looking over at Annie.

That’s when he notices the tears rolling down her face.

His chest tightens.

He hates seeing her cry.

More than he expected to.

He gently reaches toward her.

“Come here.”

His voice is soft. Only for her.

He holds his hand out.

Annie looks up at him through watery eyes.

Without hesitation…She places her hand in his.

His fingers wrap around hers.

Warm. Steady.

He helps her to her feet.

Megan watches the exchange.

A small smile pulls at her lips.

She quietly goes back to cleaning up, giving them a little privacy.

Smoke guides Annie to the side of the line where the shelves block everyone else’s view.

Away from the staring eyes. Away from the whispers.

He turns toward her.

Without saying a word…He gently wipes the tears from beneath her eyes with his thumb.

“Don’t cry.”

His voice is barely above a whisper. “Don’t let nobody see you breakin’ down. That’s how they get you.”

Another tear slips free anyway. “I don’t know what her damn problem is. I don’t bother nobody.” Her voice cracks.

Smoke knows exactly what the issue is.

He shakes his head. “I know. But that ain’t got nothin’ to do wit you. That’s jealousy. That’s a them problem.” He gently brushes another tear away. “You hear me? You keep bein’ you. Cause you beautiful. You confident. You smart. And some people can’t stand to see somebody shine. So they try to dull yo light.” He tilts her chin up just enough so she’ll look at him. “Don’t let nobody tilt yo crown, Princess.”

Annie’s heart skips.

Princess.

Nobody has ever called her that before.

She stares into his hooded eyes.

He keeps wiping away the last of her tears.

His touch is unbelievably gentle.

“So here’s what we gon’ do. I’ma remake every last one of yo’ plates. As fast as I can. You tell yo table the kitchen backed up. We’ll take the blame.”

She shakes her head. “No…I don’t want y’all gettin’ in trouble because of me.”

Smoke smiles softly. “We’ll be aight. I got you.”

Annie finally lets out the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you…Elijah.”

For a moment…Neither of them speaks.

Smoke simply looks into her eyes.

God…They’re beautiful.

Even when red from crying.

He smiles. “No problem. I’d do anything for you.” His words come out fast before he can even stop them “I hate seein’ you cry.”

Annie’s heart melts.

She searches his face.

Trying to figure out how someone she’s only known a short time can make her feel this safe.

Smoke smiles again. “Now…” He tilts his head playfully. “Can I see that beautiful smile?”

Annie just stares at him. Still overwhelmed.

Smoke smirks. “Come on, Pretty Eyes…Please?”

A tiny smile finally breaks through. Then it grows.

Smoke feels warmth spread through his chest.

“There she go.” He nods proudly.

“That’s my—.” The words almost slip out. He catches himself just in time.

Instead he clears his throat. “Come on. I got food to cook.”

They walk back around the line together.

Melissa and Lindsey immediately look up.

Their expressions harden.

Smoke goes straight to the grill.

Without another word…He starts remaking Annie’s entire order himself.

Moving twice as fast as before.

Brandon notices but doesn’t question it.

Within minutes…Every plate is back in the window. Ready to go.

Annie looks over at him.

He gives her a small nod and smile.

She smiles back.

Across the galley…Melissa and Lindsey watch the exchange in silence.

The jealousy burning in their eyes is impossible to miss.

Because what bothered them wasn’t that Smoke remade the food.

It was the way he looked at Annie while he did it.

Like she was the only person in the kitchen.

🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃

Wednesday night…

Smoke and Annie have just gotten on the phone.

Smoke is standing in his kitchen with the cordless phone tucked between his shoulder and ear while he puts a burger on a bun with ketchup and the smell of fresh homemade fries hangs in the house.

Across the city, Annie sits in the Cove at Red Lobster, rolling silverware into crisp white napkins while waiting for the dinner rush to completely die down. The fluorescent lights hum overhead.

Smoke was off today.

Smoke smiles. “So… what you doin’?”

Annie finishes rolling another fork.

“Nothin’. Rolling silverware.”

Smoke hums in approval.

Before he can answer— “I want food!” A little voice echoes through the kitchen.

Smoke glances toward the living room.

“I’m makin’ it now, lil’ man.”

Annie immediately sits up straighter.

Her eyes widen. “…Was that a kid I just heard?”

“Yeah.”

Annie’s stomach instantly drops. “Oh my God…” There’s a brief pause.

“Elijah…Don’t tell me you have kids.”

Smoke purposely lets the silence linger.

He bites the inside of his cheek, already smiling.

On the other end of the line…

Annie’s heart is pounding so loud she can hear it.

Please don’t let this man have a child…

A second later…Smoke busts into laughter. Deep. Uncontrollable laughter. “No, Annie!”

He laughs harder. “That’s my nephew.”

Annie drops back against the chair with the biggest sigh of relief. “Oh my God…”

Smoke is still cracking up.

She can’t help laughing too.

“What?” She laughs. “What’s so funny, Smoke?”

“Oh…You mad.” He laughs again. “I could hear the panic in yo’ voice. There ain’t no way you thought I’d been hidin’ a kid from you.”

Annie groans dramatically. “Shut up, Elijah. You just never know. I ain’t know what to think.”

Smoke grins. “Well…No. I don’t have kids, Annika.”

She laughs again. “Okay, good.” Then something clicks. “Hold on…Nephew? That’s yo’ brother’s son?”

“Yeah. It is.”

“Oh wow…” She pauses. “Does Devin know?”

Smoke shrugs even though she can’t see him. “I don’t know.”

“I really hope he told her. She too young to be a stepmama.” She starts laughing. Then another question pops into her head. “Wait…Where his mama at?”

Smoke chuckles. “I see you full of questions tonight.”

“Mhmm. So where is she?”

Smoke quietly rinses a plate in the sink. “I’d rather not discuss that.”

Annie blinks.

She wasn’t expecting that answer. “Oh…Wow. Why not?”

Smoke dries his hands on a towel. “’Cause…It ain’t our business to discuss. I’d rather talk about us.” His voice softens. “So…How was work?”

Annie sits there for a second.

She realizes he didn’t snap at her.

He simply drew a boundary. And she actually…Respects it.

She thinks about Edward.

She’d do the exact same thing if somebody started asking questions about him.

Several quiet seconds pass.

Smoke smiles. “Annika…Don’t be like that. I ain’t mean nothin’ by it. I just wanna talk about you. Is that okay?”

Annie sighs. “Yeah….Smoke.”

Smoke smiles immediately. “Nah. You still mad.”

She laughs. “How you figure?”

“’Cause you said Smoke.”

Annie smiles. “Oh, whatever. You don’t know me.”

Smoke laughs. “Actually…I know you better than you think. But I’m tryna know you even more. Hence why I only wanna talk about you.”

Annie grins. “Well played, Elijah.”

She shakes her head. “Anyway…work was okay.”

“Nobody fucked wit you today, did they?”

“No, they left me alone.”

Just then—Smoke sets Jayvon’s plate on the table. “Come on. Sit down and eat.”

Jayvon climbs into the chair.

Annie smiles hearing it. “Look at you. I never took you for the babysittin’ type.”

Smoke raises an eyebrow. “And why not?”

“I don’t know.” She laughs. “I mean…Most dudes yo’ age be out and about. And…” She hesitates. “I mean…Look at you.”

Smoke grins. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Annie laughs harder. “Nothin’, Elijah.”

“Nah.” He chuckles. “Share wit the class. Tell me.”

She groans. “Forget about it. It don’t mean nothin’.”

Smoke smirks. “Ohhh…So you the type to judge me off my looks, huh?”

Annie laughs. “I meannn…Kind of.”

Smoke pretends to sound offended. “Damn. Don’t be judgin’ me by how I look. A whole lotta things about me’ll surprise you.”

Annie smiles. “Oh yeah? Like what? Give me one random surprising fact.”

Smoke thinks. “Hmmmm…I love romance movies.”

Annie gasps so loud Smoke has to pull the phone away from his ear.

“You lyin’!”

He laughs. “Actually…I’m not.”

She sits up straighter. “So you really watch romance movies? I took you for an action movie type.”

Smoke sucks his teeth. “I mean…Those cool too. But I’d rather watch people fall in love.”

Annie busts into laughter. “No way.”

Smoke chuckles. “Shit…Don’t laugh.”

“I’m already laughin’.”

“I just like seein’ people end up happy.” His voice grows quieter. “Niggas don’t get enough of that in real life.”

Annie’s heart melts. She’s completely flabbergasted. She never took Smoke as the type of man who loved romance. Sure, he always knew the right things to say, but he was so tough on the outside—quiet, guarded, a man who grew up in the hood and ran the streets. In her mind, men like that didn’t really believe in love… let alone curl up and watch romance movies. Yet somehow, the thought of him secretly loving them makes her heart beat even faster.

“So…What’s your favorite romantic movie?”

Smoke ponders for a second ,then finally answers. “You’ve Got Mail.”

She gasps again. “Oh my God. No wayyy. I adore that movie! And I love Sleepless in Seattle.”

Smoke laughs. “What you know bout that?”

Annie grins. “Elijah…There is no way you know about Sleepless in Seattle.”

“I do.” He laughs. “Why would I love You’ve Got Mail and not love Sleepless in Seattle? Meg Ryan and Tom Hanks got crazy chemistry.”

Annie swoons. “They really do.I actually cried at the end of You’ve Got Mail. I loved the last line. When Joe says to Kathleen…’Don’t cry, Shopgirl…’ And Kathleen says—”

Smoke cuts her off. “I wanted it to be you.”

Without thinking…They both say the next line together. “I wanted it to be you… so badly.”

Silence.

Then they both laugh.

“Oh my God, Elijah. I cannot believe you like romance movies.”

“Believe it. I like a lotta shit people wouldn’t expect.”

Annie smiles. “Hmph. What else you like?”

“Shit…I love cartoons.”

She raises an eyebrow. “Cartoons?”

“Mhmm.”

“What kinda cartoons?”

“Truthfully? All of ’em. But old school my favorite. Like Popeye…Batman…Scooby-Doo…The Jetsons…The Flintstones…Road Runner…Pink Panther.”

Annie smiles. “Oh wow. So you really like the old ones.”

“Hell yeah.” He laughs. “Don’t get it twisted. I love the newer ones too. X-Men. Hey Arnold.”

Annie lights up. “I like those too! But I’m a Disney girl. I still watch Disney.”

“Oh yeah? What you be watchin’?”

“Even Stevens. Lizzie McGuire. That’s So Raven.” She smiles. “And I just love me some Jett Jackson. I got a crush on him.”

Smoke laughs. “That’s cute. Hold on for me. I gotta wash his hands.”

“Okay.”

She hears Jayvon giggling. “Untle Smoke! I wanna play!”

“Nah, lil’ man. You been playin’ since you got here. It’s bedtime. Come on.”

Annie cheeses on the other end of the phone.

Smoke takes his little hand. He walks him into the bedroom.

The glow from Cartoon Network fills the room.

Adult Swim is already on. Smoke laughs to himself. “Nah…” He switches it off and slides Finding Nemo into the DVD player instead.

The familiar Disney menu music fills the room.

He lifts Jayvon into bed. Pulls the blanket over him. Turns off the lamp. The room goes dim except for the television.

Then he picks the cordless phone back up. “You still there?”

“Mhmm.” Annie smiles softly. “I like hearin’ you be an uncle. It’s really cute.”

Smoke grins. “You cute.”

Annie blushes. “Don’t start, Elijah.”

Smoke laughs. “It’s true. Anyway…Let me ask you somethin’.”

“Okaayy?”

“Why you never call me? I always gotta be the one callin’.”

Annie grows quiet. “I don’t know… I never know when you available. I don’t wanna interrupt.”

Smoke frowns. “Interrupt? Interrupt what?”

“I mean…” She shrugs. “I know you work…And be out in these streets.”

Smoke chuckles. “So? I ain’t never too busy for you. Even if I’m workin’…If I don’t answer…I’m definitely gon’ call you back.”

A smile spreads across Annie’s face. “You sure?”

“Hell yeah, I’m sure.” He pauses. “Don’t get me wrong…I love callin’ you. I don’t mind. But sometimes…” His voice softens. “I wanna know you be thinkin’ ‘bout me just as much as I be thinkin’ ’bout you.”

Annie feels another wave of butterflies. “…Okay. But you know our minutes ain’t free in the daytime.”

“I know. But don’t worry about that. I’ll pay for the minutes.”

Annie immediately shakes her head. “No, Elijah.”

“Yes, Annie.” He smiles to himself. “I just wanna hear yo’ voice.”

Annie smiles so hard her cheeks hurt.

She still can’t believe someone actually wants to hear from her this much.

She lets out a small sigh. “I don’t even know what to say.”

Smoke chuckles. “Say you’ll call me sometime.”

Annie smiles into the phone. “…Okay. I will.”

“Good.” Smoke smiles into the phone as he settles deeper against the pillows. “I be so ready to talk to you. You gon’ have me divin’ for my phone when I see yo’ name pop up.”

Annie laughs, lowering her voice so nobody walking by the Cove hears how flustered she is. “Stopppp, Elijah. My head is gonna explode.”

“Nah, I’m never gon’ stop.” His voice drops into that calm, teasing tone that always makes her stomach flutter. “Once I get you to start callin’ me, we can gradually move on to me takin’ you out.”

Annie’s fingers still around the napkin she’s rolling.

Her heart gives one hard thump.

Then another.

She swallows, suddenly unable to think of anything to say.

The line goes quiet.

Smoke waits a few seconds before chuckling. “Here we go.”

Annie bites back a smile. “What?”

“You still actin’ scared, I see.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” He laughs softly. “And it’s okay.”

Annie rolls her eyes even though he can’t see her. “I said I’m not.”

“You gotta get over the way I look.”

Annie’s mouth falls open. “What?—”

“Yeah, I know you think I’m fine and shit.” His smugness comes through the phone so clearly she can practically see the grin on his face.

“But that shouldn’t keep you away from me. I ain’t gon’ bite.”

Annie smiles down at the silverware in her lap.

Smoke grows quieter. More serious. “Eventually, I wanna be alone wit you.”

Her breath catches.

“That’s the only way we can really get to know each other.” He pauses, making sure she hears the meaning behind his words. “I ain’t tryna pressure you, Annie. But I wanna be around you…Not just when we at work or when we happen to end up at the same place.” His voice lowers. “I wanna sit close to you so I can look in yo’ eyes when we talk. I wanna learn you…”

Annie’s heartbeat speeds up.

“Learn yo’ facial expressions. Yo’ body language. Learn what make you smile and what make you get quiet.”

Smoke stares at the ceiling for a moment. “And I know another reason why you nervous.”

Annie’s smile fades slightly.

She knows what he means.

“But this ain’t that, Annie.” His tone is steady. Certain. “I promise. If that was the only thing I wanted, I wouldn’t be wastin’ my time callin’ you every night. I wouldn’t care about yo’ school, yo’ family, or what kind of movies you like.” He smiles. “I wouldn’t be sittin’ here tryna convince you to call me, Princess.”

He used the word Princess again, it sends warmth rushing straight through Annie’s chest.

She lowers her head, grinning at the floor. “I hear you.” Her voice comes out softer than she intended. “And I’m doin’ my best not to be nervous.” She smiles. “But you make it so hard, Elijah.”

Smoke’s brows lift. “How?” He sits up slightly. “I been showin’ you I’m a regular person like anybody else.”

Annie snorts. “You are far from regular.”

Smoke laughs. “See? There you go.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

Annie traces the edge of the napkin with her thumb.

Smoke continues. “I see you and I’m interested in you…Only you.”

The words settle heavily between them. “I keep tellin’ you that you the shit.” He sighs. “You gotta hype yo’self up sometimes, Annika.”

Annie smiles shyly.

He continues. “Everything about you got me intrigued. Yo’ mind. Yo’ smile. The way you be shy one minute, then say some slick shit the next.”

Annie laughs. “You be payin’ too much attention.”

“I told you I’m tryna learn you.” His voice softens again. “And I mean that shit. Don’t second guess it.” He pauses. Then adds casually, “I guess I need to start wearin’ a ski mask around you so you can get comfortable.”

Annie busts into laughter at the visual.

Not a small giggle.

A full, breathless, belly laugh that makes her bend forward in her chair.

Smoke starts laughing too, mostly because he loves the sound of hers.

Annie finally catches her breath.

“Whyyy would you say something like that?”

“’Cause that seem like the only way I’m gon’ be able to take you on a date. You punishin’ me and shit for not bein’ ugly.”

She wipes beneath her eyes.

“Whatever, Big Head. It’s not.”

“Okay.” Smoke smirks. “We’ll see.”

“We will.”

“So that mean you agreein’ to a date?”

Annie immediately goes quiet again.

Smoke laughs. “Damn, I walked you right into that one.”

“You did not.”

“I definitely did.”

Annie shakes her head, smiling. “I said we’ll see.”

“Nah, you said we will. That sound like a yes to me.”

“You hear what you wanna hear.”

“When it come to you? Absolutely.”

Annie’s cheeks warm.

Smoke glances over at Jayvon, who is already asleep with one arm thrown above his head while Finding Nemo plays quietly in the background.

“Aight, I ain’t gon’ push you tonight.”

“Thank you.”

“But just know I’m askin’ again.”

Annie laughs. “I figured.”

“And eventually, you gon’ say yes.”

“You seem real sure of yourself.”

“I’m sure about you.”

That quiets her.

For a moment, the only sounds between them are the faint movie playing in Smoke’s room and the clinking of the silverware Annie’s rolling.

Then Annie smiles. “Well…”

Smoke waits.

“I might say yes.”

His grin spreads instantly. “Might?”

“Mhm.”

“Shit, I’ll take that for now.”

Annie laughs.

Smoke checks the clock beside the bed. “You still got a lot of silverware left?”

“Not really.”

“You tired?”

“Yeah. My hands hurt.”

“I wish I was there.”

“To roll silverware?”

“Nah.” He lowers his voice. “To rub yo’ hands.”

Annie’s stomach flips again. “Here you go.”

“I’m just sayin’.”

“Well, you ain’t here.”

“Not tonight.”

The promise hidden in his tone makes Annie smile.

Meagan calls her name from the doorway.

“Annie, we ready to finish closin’!”

She looks up. “Okay!”

Then she brings the phone back to her ear. “I gotta go, Elijah.”

Smoke sighs dramatically. “Damn.”

“You act like we ain’t been talkin’ all night.”

“That don’t mean I’m ready to get off the phone.”

Annie smiles. “I’ll call you tomorrow.”

Smoke goes silent.

Annie laughs. “What?”

“Nothin’.” His voice fills with satisfaction. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

She shakes her head. “Goodnight, Big Head.”

“Goodnight, Pretty Eyes.”

She hesitates before hanging up. “And Elijah?”

“Yeah?”

“I do think about you as much as you think about me.”

Smoke’s smile slowly grows. “Good.”

Annie hangs up before he can say anything else.

Smoke stares at the cordless phone for a few seconds, grinning to himself.

Across the city, Annie presses the phone against her chest and takes a slow breath before returning to work.

Neither of them can stop smiling.

📚✂️📓✂️📚📓✂️📚📓✂️📚📓✂️📚📓

The cafeteria is loud with the usual lunch-hour chaos.

Plastic trays slap against tables. Chairs scrape across the tile floor. Students yell over one another while the smell of greasy pizza, french fries, and reheated vegetables hangs heavy in the air.

Annie, Rhonda, and Devin are sitting at their usual table near the middle of the cafeteria.

Devin is picking the pepperoni off her pizza while Annie slowly dips fries into a puddle of ketchup. Rhonda sits across from them, facing the cafeteria entrance as she complains about the assignment they were given in English.

“I’m not writin’ no damn five page paper about The Scarlet Letter,” Rhonda says, stabbing her fork into a pile of mashed potatoes. “That book boring as hell.”

Annie laughs. “You say that about every book.”

“Because every book they make us read is boring.”

Devin shakes her head. “You just don’t like reading.”

“I like reading shit I care about.”

Rhonda lifts her drink to her lips.

Then she stops.

Her eyes narrow toward the entrance.

Ebony has just walked into the cafeteria.

But she isn’t alone. Ryan is beside her.

The two of them are deep in conversation, walking close enough that Ebony has to tilt her head toward him to hear whatever he’s saying over the noise.

Rhonda slowly lowers her drink.

As soon as they step fully inside, Ebony and Ryan split off in opposite directions like they don’t want anybody noticing they came in together.

Rhonda’s face twists. “Oh, hell nah.”

Annie and Devin both look up. “What?” they ask at the same time.

Rhonda keeps her eyes trained on Ebony as she makes her way toward their table. “There’s some shady shit goin’ on.”

Annie turns slightly in her seat. “What you talkin’ about?”

“Ebony just walked in here talkin’ to Ryan.”

Annie freezes with a french fry halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“Yep.”

Rhonda leans back in her chair, folding her arms. “Walked right through them doors together, talkin’ like they best friends. Then soon as they got inside, they split up.”

A strange heaviness settles in Annie’s stomach.

Before she can respond, Ebony reaches the table and drops her tray down beside Devin. “What’s up?”

Rhonda doesn’t waste a second. “Why the hell you still talkin’ to Ryan?”

Ebony looks at her. “What?”

“You heard me.” Rhonda points toward the cafeteria doors. “We wrote his ass off.”

Ebony rolls her eyes and pulls out her chair. “Okay, and?”

“And why the fuck was you just walkin’ in here with him?”

Ebony sits down, her expression already defensive. “Because he’s still my friend.”

Rhonda blinks. “Your friend?”

“Yes, my friend.” Ebony unwraps her straw. “I’m not writin’ him off just because y’all did.”

Rhonda feels heat crawl up her neck.

Next to her, Annie slowly sets her fry down.

She doesn’t want to tell Ebony who she can and can’t speak to. That isn’t her place.

Still, it feels strange.

Her and Ryan hadn’t just broken up.

He cheated on her. Embarrassed her.

Then continued bothering her afterward.

Annie can’t understand why Ebony would even want to remain close to somebody who had hurt her that badly.

Devin looks between them before speaking. “Now, you know you my best friend, Ebony.”

Her tone is calmer than Rhonda’s, but her expression is serious. “But that shit do look weird.”

Ebony cuts her eyes toward her. “How?”

“You know what Ryan did to Annie.”

Ebony shrugs. “That don’t have shit to do with me.”

Rhonda’s chair squeaks loudly against the floor as she sits forward.

“You a goofy bitch.”

Ebony’s head snaps toward her. “What?!”

Several people at the tables around them glance over.

Rhonda doesn’t care.’”I said you a goofy bitch.” She points across the table. “I’m not about to sit here and let you play with my best friend like that.”

Ebony pushes her tray away. “First of all, bitch, ain’t nobody playin’ with Annie.”

“Then why the fuck you still buddy-buddy with the nigga who cheated on her?”

“Because me and Ryan were friends before they even started dating!”

“So the fuck what?” Rhonda’s voice rises. “He hurt her!”

There had always been a natural divide within the four of them.

They were all close, but Rhonda and Annie had always gravitated toward each other. Rhonda understood Annie without needing much explanation. She was the first one ready to defend her, even when Annie didn’t ask.

Ebony and Devin were the same way.

They had their own bond—closer, louder, and sometimes impossible for anyone else to understand.

Normally, it balanced the group.

Today, it feels like a line drawn straight down the center of the table.

Annie reaches over and touches Rhonda’s arm. “Rhonda, calm down.”

Rhonda looks at her. “No, Annie. That shit ain’t right.”

“I know.” Annie keeps her voice low, even though her chest aches. “But it’s okay.”

She looks over at Ebony. “I’m not tryna control who nobody friends with.”

Ebony nods once, still irritated. “Exactly.”

Rhonda cuts her eyes at her. “Don’t ‘exactly’ shit.”

“Rhonda,” Annie warns.

Rhonda leans back, crossing her arms tightly over her chest.

She doesn’t say anything else, but the anger is still written all over her face.

The table goes quiet.

Devin picks at her pizza, clearly uncomfortable.

Annie hates the heaviness settling over them, so she clears her throat and forces herself to change the subject.

She looks at Devin. “Did Stack tell you he got a kid?”

Devin nods without hesitation. “Yeah. He told me.”

Annie studies her face. “Oh, okay. I just wanted to make sure you knew.”

Devin laughs. “Girl, I know.”

Ebony turns toward her. “You tryna be somebody stepmama?” Her face scrunches. “Eww.”

Rhonda side eyes Ebony but stays silent.

Devin leans back in her chair. “Girl, I ain’t tryna marry the man.” She picks up a fry. “I’m just tryna have fun. I’m young.” She bites into it and shrugs. “I’m here for a good time, not a long time.”

Annie laughs despite herself.

Devin continues. “Plus, he got money, he fine as hell, and he got a car.”

She gestures toward Ebony with the fry. “So don’t worry about me.”

Then she raises an eyebrow. “What’s up with you and Ramon?”

Ebony kisses her teeth. “I ain’t really talked to him. We had one conversation.”

Devin looks confused. “Why? He was fine as hell too.”

“Because I got other shit goin’ on.”

Rhonda cuts her eyes toward Ebony. “I bet you do.”

Ebony slowly turns toward her. “What the fuck that supposed to mean?”

Rhonda lifts one shoulder. “It mean whatever you want it to mean.”

Ebony’s eyes narrow.

Annie throws both hands up. “Stop, y’all.”

Neither girl responds.

Annie sighs. “Anyway…” She looks around the table. “We all goin’ to Swope Park Sunday, right?”

Devin nods. “Hell yeah.”

Rhonda answers next. “I’m goin’.”

Ebony picks up her drink. “Yeah.”

The tension loosens slightly, but it doesn’t disappear.

Devin looks at Annie and grins. “So Smoke gon’ be there?”

Annie feels her face warm. “I don’t know.”

Rhonda snorts. “Girl, yes he is. You know damn well that man gon’ show up if he know you there.”

Annie rolls her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifts. “Whatever.”

Devin studies her. “What happened when y’all talked last night?”

“Nothing.”

All three girls stare at her.

Annie laughs nervously. “Why y’all lookin’ at me like that?”

“Because ‘nothing’ don’t have you smiling like that,” Rhonda says.

“I’m not smiling.”

“Yes, you are,” Devin and Rhonda say together.

Even Ebony cracks a small smile.

Annie looks down at her tray.

“He said he eventually wanna take me out.”

The girls immediately perk up.

Rhonda leans closer to Annie “On a date?”

Annie nods. “Yeah.”

Devin slaps her palm against the table. “Girl!”

“Keep your voice down,” Annie whispers, laughing.

“When?” Ebony asks.

“He didn’t say exactly when.” Annie twists her straw wrapper around her finger. “He just said once I get comfortable callin’ him, he wanna move on to takin’ me out.”

Rhonda’s face softens. “That’s actually cute.”

Devin nods. “And he ain’t rushin’ you.”

“No.” Annie looks down. “He keeps saying he wants us to spend time alone so he can really get to know me.”

Ebony arches an eyebrow. “And what did you say?”

“I said I’d think about it.”

Rhonda groans. “Annie.”

“What?”

“Why are you still actin’ scared?”

“I’m not scared.”

All three girls give her the same look.

Annie sighs. “Okay…Maybe a little.”

Devin reaches across and squeezes her wrist. “Girl, ain’t nothing wrong with bein’ nervous. Especially after Ryan.”

Her eyes briefly flick toward Ebony before returning to Annie. “But Smoke been showin’ you he interested.”

Rhonda nods. “And he seems patient. He not pressuring you. He calls you every night. Bought you food. Defended you and comforted you. And he look at you like you the last woman on earth.”

Annie smiles despite herself.

Ebony takes a sip of her drink. “I mean…She shrugs. “They right.”

Annie looks at her.

Ebony continues. “You don’t gotta marry him. Just go somewhere with him and see how it feel. If you uncomfortable, leave.”

Devin nods. “Exactly. You can even tell us where y’all goin’.”

Rhonda points at Annie. “And call me when you get there and when you get home.”

Annie laughs. “You sound like my mama.”

“Good.” Rhonda smiles. “Somebody gotta make sure you don’t get kidnapped by them sleepy eyes and dimples.”

The girls laugh.

Annie shakes her head. “Y’all are so annoying.”

“But you gon’ go?” Devin asks.

Annie looks around at each of them.

The idea of being alone with Smoke makes her stomach twist with nerves.

But underneath the fear is excitement.

She wants to know what it would feel like to sit across from him without work, friends, or crowds surrounding them. She wants to see if their conversations feel just as natural face to face as they do over the phone.

Finally, she smiles. “I’ll think about it.”

Rhonda points at her. “That mean yes.”

“No, it don’t.”

“It definitely do,” Devin says.

Annie laughs, reaching for another fry.

“We’ll see.”

The bell rings before anyone can argue with her.

All around them, students begin gathering trays and pushing back chairs.

As Annie stands, she glances across the cafeteria. Ryan is sitting several tables away. He’s already looking at her.

Annie quickly looks away.

But as the girls leave the cafeteria, she can’t stop thinking about Smoke asking to take her out.

And for the first time…The thought scares her a little less.

🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃

Later that night, Annie finishes helping one of the twins with their homework.

She lets out a tired sigh as she walks down the hallway and flops across her bed face first. The mattress bounces beneath her.

A smile slowly spreads across her lips.

Her heart starts racing.

She was really about to call Smoke.

She told him she would, and she wanted to keep her word.

She reaches over to her nightstand, picks up her corded house phone, and slowly dials his number.

A few miles away

Smoke is just finishing up at work.

The kitchen is nearly empty now. The dinner rush is long gone, and only the hum of the refrigerators, the clatter of dishes being washed, and Quiet Storm playing softly on the boombox fill the room.

His phone rings. He glances down.

Unknown number.

He stares at it for a second before answering. “Sup? Who dis?”

Annie can’t help but laugh at the hesitation in his voice.

The second Smoke hears her laugh…

He knows exactly who it is.

A grin immediately stretches across his face.

His entire tone softens. “Pretty eyes? What number you callin’ me from?”

Annie smiles. “It’s me, big head.”

Smoke chuckles. “Oh… so I must be special now.”

Annie kisses her teeth. “I guess.”

“You guess?” he teases. “Hold up… why you ain’t never give me this number? Everybody in the house use this phone or somethin’?”

“Nah. I got my own line right before I started working. I got too many siblings to keep sharing a phone.” She laughs. “And they like listenin’ in on people’s conversations.”

Smoke laughs with her. “Hmm…So you had yo own landline this whole time…But told me you couldn’t call ‘cause yo minutes wasn’t free before nine.”

Annie hides her smile. “Uh… yeah.”

She twirls the phone cord around her finger. “Honestly… I just wasn’t ready to give out my landline yet. The last time I did that…It didn’t end too well.”

Smoke’s smile fades. “What you mean?”

“Ryan had it. He blew my line up so much I had to leave the phone off the hook almost every day.”

Smoke’s jaw tightens.

His grip on the phone hardens as he walks out into the cool evening air.

“Damn…I wouldn’t do that to you.”

He unlocks his truck. “You change the number?”

“No. He stopped… for now.”

Smoke slides into his truck and starts the engine. “If you think he might start again…I’ll pay to have the number changed.”

Annie smiles to herself. “No, it’s okay.”

She laughs softly. “Elijah…Why you always tryna spoil me?”

Smoke backs out of his parking spot. “’Cause I want to. That’s just who I am. And truthfully…I feel like you, outta everybody… deserve it.”

His voice grows quieter. “You ain’t ever been spoiled before?”

Annie shrugs even though he can’t see her. “Not really. There’s too many of us. My parents couldn’t. It’s one of the reasons I’m working. So I can buy my own stuff.”

Smoke nods to himself. “I hear you.”

A warm smile spreads across his face.

“Well…I’m here now. So let me do things for you. That’s what a real man do. I take care of the people in my life. And you in it.”

Annie lets out a dramatic sigh. “Okayyyyy… big head.”

Smoke grins. “That’s more like it. Stubborn ass.”

Annie rolls her eyes. “Whatever, Elijah. What you doin’?”

“Just left the job. Gettin’ ready to bust a few heads, then call it a night.” He laughs. “What you doin’?

“Just got done helpin’ one of the twins with their homework.”

Smoke smiles to himself. “Look at you. I love hearin’ about you bein’ a big sister.”

Annie laughs. “Are you mockin’ me?”

“Nah.” His voice is sincere. “Not at all. I just like hearin’ about you takin’ care of people. You always lookin’ out for somebody.” He smiles. “That shit sexy, lil’ mama. We one and the same.”

Annie’s stomach flutters.

She quickly changes the subject before he can hear her smiling.

“Sooo…You goin’ to Swope Park Sunday?”

Smoke’s grin grows wider. “I don’t know…Is there a reason I should be goin’?”

“Oh…I thought Tobias asked you.”

“He did. But…I was waitin’ to see if the person I talk to every night was gon’ bring it up.”

Annie snickers. “What?”

“Shit…You knew about it before I did. And ain’t even mention it.”

“Oh please, Elijah. I just assumed he already told you.”

“He did.” He smiles to himself. But the only reason I’d wanna go…is to see yo pretty ass.”

Heat floods Annie’s cheeks. “There you go makin’ my cheeks hurt.”

“Good.” A smile slips into his voice. “So…You goin’?”

“Maybe I am…Maybe I’m not.” She teases.

Smoke chuckles. “Hmph. So what you sayin’? You don’t wanna see me?”

Annie kisses her teeth. “I ain’t say all that now.”

Smoke’s voice drops into that smooth, deep tone that always made her stomach flip. “Then let me be the one to say it…I wanna see you, Annika. So you already knew the answer to the question you asked. If you gon’ be there…I’m automatically there.”

His voice softens even more. “Don’t you know that you a siren? ‘Cause wherever you lead…I follow. Whenever and wherever you want me to be…I’ll be.”

Annie’s heart damn near stops.

A huge smile spreads across her face.

This smooth mf…

She thinks to herself.

Smoke smiles, imagining exactly what she looks like right now. “So yeah…I’ll be there. Patiently waitin’ on you.”

A moment passes. “So again…You goin’?”

Annie’s chest feels tight.

She slowly exhales. “Of course I am.”

Smoke smiles. “And who you goin’ there to see?” He pauses. “I wanna hear you say it.”

Annie freezes.

Her throat suddenly feels dry.

“I…” She swallows. “I’m goin’… to see you…” A tiny smile forms. “Elijah.”

Smoke closes his eyes for a second.

His chest tightens.

That was exactly what he’d wanted to hear.

The tension is so thick, Annie damn near chokes.

Before the silence grows too heavy, he clears his throat.

“So tell me… Who got you into sports?”

Annie blinks at the sudden change.

“Umm…My dad. He’s the biggest Royals and Chiefs fan. He never misses a game. When I was little I’d sit with him every Sunday. He even took me to a few Royals games.”

Smoke smiles as he pulls into a gas station to meet one of his clients.

“I like that. I love all sports too. Even though the Royals and Chiefs been pissin’ me off lately…I’m still ridin’ wit the home team.” He laughs. “I ain’t never seen a woman cheer the way you do.”

Annie laughs. “My bad. I really be into it.”

“Shit. Ain’t nothin’ wrong wit that.”

Just then his client walks up.

He leans in the truck window and immediately grins.

“Damn, nigga…Who you cakin’ wit on the phone that got you smilin’ like that?”

Smoke shakes his head. “Shut up, nigga. Ain’t none of yo business.”

They make a quick exchange.

Smoke pulls back onto the road.

“So…” He smiles. “Now what was we talkin’ about?”

“Sports.”

“Oh yeah. Who yo favorite basketball team?”

“I like college basketball. MU my favorite.”

Smoke laughs. “Damn shorty…You tryna be like me.”

“Nah.” She laughs. “You tryna be like me.”

They both laugh together.

A comfortable silence settles between them.

Then…Annie yawns.

Smoke smiles instantly. “Uh-oh. You tired.”

“No…I’m okay.”

“Nah.” His voice softens. “It’s aight. I want you to get some sleep. Don’t be stubborn.”

Annie sighs dramatically. “Okay.”

A small silence falls again.

Neither one really wants to end the call.

Finally…Smoke speaks. “…Thank you.”

Annie smiles. “For what?”

“For callin’ me.” His voice is almost shy now. “It felt real good hearin’ yo laugh on the other end. I ain’t gon’ lie…I smiled like a fool.”

Annie smiles so hard she covers her mouth. “You don’t have to thank me, Elijah.”

“I do. ‘Cause you kept yo word. And that means somethin’ to me.”

Annie smiles warmly. “You’re welcome.”

Another quiet moment passes.

Neither one hangs up.

“You hang up first,” Annie says.

Smoke laughs. “Nah. You called me. You hang up.”

Annie grins. “See? You don’t wanna get off either.”

“Damn…You caught me.”

She giggles. “I knew it.”

Smoke smiles to himself as he drives beneath the glow of the streetlights.

“Aight…I’ll let you get some sleep before you start yawnin’ every five seconds.”

“I only yawned once.”

“Mhm. I heard enough.”

Annie laughs again.

“Goodnight, pretty eyes.” His voice is soft enough to almost melt into the receiver. “Sweet dreams.”

Annie closes her eyes, smiling from ear to ear. “Goodnight, big head.”

They linger another second…

Neither one wanting to be the first to let go.

Finally…The line clicks.

Smoke stares at the phone for a moment before setting it on the passenger seat, still smiling to himself.

And Annie curls onto her side, hugging her pillow.

Her cheeks hurt from smiling.

🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃🌃

The next evening…

The soft glow of Annie’s bedside lamp illuminates her room as she lies across her bed on her stomach, absentmindedly twirling a pencil between her fingers while finishing her English homework. Her poetry notebook sits open beside her, along with her planner and a half empty bottle of Cherry Pepsi.

The phone on her nightstand catches her eye. It was almost nine.

She smiles to herself.

Maybe Elijah will got off early tonight.

Just as she reaches for her notebook again—Riiing… Riiing… Her heart skips.

She sits up with a grin and grabs the phone before it can ring a third time.

“Hello?”

Silence.

She pulls the receiver away from her ear for a second to make sure the call hadn’t dropped. “…Hello?” Nothing.

Then…A slow inhale. Another.

Someone was breathing.

Annie’s smile disappears.

Her fingers tighten around the phone. “Who is this?”

The breathing continues. Slow. Intentional.

Like whoever it was wanted her to know they were there.

A knot forms in her stomach. “…Ryan?”

The breathing immediately stops.

Click. The line goes dead.

Annie slowly lowers the receiver from her ear, staring at it in disbelief before placing it back in its cradle.

She hugs herself.

For two weeks…Nothing.

No blocked calls to her cell phone.

No messages. No begging. No disrespect.

She’d actually started believing Ryan had finally accepted that they were over.

Apparently she’d been wrong.

She sits back down on the edge of her bed, her mind racing.

She couldn’t even prove it was him.

He hadn’t spoken a single word.

But who else would call her personal line just to breathe into the phone?

Her mind drifts back to the conversation she just had last night with Smoke.

She hears his voice in her head.

I can pay to change the number.

At the time she’d thought maybe that would be a little much.

Now…Maybe it wasn’t.

She sighs and rubs her forehead.

Changing her personal line wasn’t impossible. The phone company charged a fee, but she could cover it herself, but she needed a ride to the phone company to do it and her parents would ask questions. Smoke would take her with no problem.

Then another thought settles in. “Should I even tell Elijah? Her stomach knots.

If she told him…He’d know exactly who she thought it was. And she’d heard the irritation in his voice the last time Ryan came up. Smoke wasn’t scared of confrontation.

@lizbehave @lilbitt @bananajoeclone @zunibugsiren @waitingtobreatheagain

Part 2

[shereeluvssinners]

Michael and Ryan

[shereeluvssinners]

Jack O’Connell

[shereeluvssinners]

Jayme Lawson 🤍

[shereeluvssinners]

Wunmi

W magazine

[shereeluvssinners]

[shereeluvssinners]

Wunmi 💜

[shereeluvssinners]

Wunmi Mosaku voicing Roxy Rocket in Batman Caped Crusader.

[yukiizip]

Today is her day—happy birthday, Wunmi Mosaku! 🥳🎉

Some of Wunmi Mosaku's best moments. 😊

[shereeluvssinners]

European Premiere Pictures

Wunmi strolling in.

Wunmi Mosaku

[midnightmemoirsofher]

The Virtue of Surrender

Pairing: Elijah Moore x Kennady James (OC)

Summary: A few nights after being brought to his knees, Elijah is riding the high of a new dynamic with Kennady, their friendship stronger than ever with the added layer of intimacy. When she calls him tipsy from a club, he sees his chance to turn the tables. What starts as a flirtatious drive home quickly escalates as Elijah decides it's his turn to teach the lesson, showing his bratty best friend what happens when you demand to be in charge.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, explicit language, car sex, fingering, deep throating, face fucking, praise kink, bratty sub/soft dom dynamic.

Patience Is A Virtue | The Virtue of Need

The silence in Elijah’s apartment was different now. It wasn’t the controlled quiet he had once curated, a space of pristine minimalism and cold, hard surfaces. It was warmer. Softer. It was a silence that held the memory of her laughter, the phantom scent of her coconut oil, the echo of her breathy moans. He was sprawled on his couch, the leather cool against his bare skin, wearing nothing but a pair of Nike grey sweatpants. The sweet, acrid smoke from the blunt he’d just finished coiled in the air around him, mingling with the faint, lingering trace of her perfume that still clung to the cushions.

He closed his eyes, and the memory hit him, not as a replay, but as a visceral, full-body experience. He could feel it again—the plush rug of her living room digging into his knees. He could feel the humiliating, exhilarating burn of his own tears, hot and salty on his cheeks. He could hear his own voice, a broken, desperate thing he barely recognized, begging.

‘Please, Ken. I need you. I need to be inside you.’

A slow, easy smile touched his lips. There was no shame in the memory. Not anymore. There was only awe. A deep reverence for the woman who had brought the great Elijah Moore to his knees without raising her voice, without breaking a sweat. She had seen through every layer of his carefully constructed armor, had looked at the raw, needy core of him, and turned him away. She had taken his desperation and his vulnerability and accepted them as her due.

And then she had given him what he wanted.

The memory shifted, the heat of his shame replaced by the searing, unforgettable heat of her. Skin on skin. The slick, tight welcome of her pussy as she’d sunk onto him, taking him in one slow, devastating motion. He remembered the way she’d looked at him, her eyes burning with a triumphant fire. He remembered the way she’d ridden him, her hips rolling in a slow, hypnotic rhythm that had built a tension in him.

‘Look at me,’ she’d commanded. ‘Watch how I take this dick. Watch how I make it mine.’

And he had watched. He had watched her unravel him, piece by piece, until he was nothing but a collection of nerve endings and aching need.

The craziest part? The friendship was still there. Unshaken. Unbroken. If anything, it was stronger. They had crossed a line, burned a bridge, and discovered that on the other side was a whole new country, a land of unspoken understanding and a shared, delicious secret. The sex wasn’t a complication. It was a bonus. A new, fluent language they could speak when words weren’t enough. It was the ultimate trust fall, and he had discovered he loved the feeling of falling, knowing she would always be there to catch him.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table, the sound a sharp, insistent vibration that cut through his hazy reverie. He glanced down at the screen, and his smile widened. It was her. A picture of her, mid-laugh, her head thrown back, the city lights blurred behind her, was his contact photo. He felt a familiar warmth spread through his chest, a low, pleasant hum of anticipation.

He swiped to answer, holding the phone to his ear. “‘Sup.”

The sound that hit him was a wall of chaos. A heavy, pulsing bass beat that vibrated through the phone, a cacophony of shouting and laughter, and then, cutting through it all, Kennady’s voice, loud, tipsy, and vibrant.

“Eliiiiiijah!” she sang, her voice a melodic slur. “My favorite nigga! My hero! I need you.”

He could practically hear the grin in her voice. He leaned back against the couch, his body relaxing into a state of lazy, confident readiness. “What’d you do now?”

“Nothing!” she insisted, her voice dropping to a whisper, though she was still shouting. “I’m just… out with the work people. And I’m… socially lubricated. And I miss you. And I need a ride home. Please?”

He could hear her friends giggling in the background, their high-pitched, drunken sounds a dramatic difference to Kennady’s low tone. He imagined her there, leaning against a wall in some loud, overcrowded club, a little drunk, gorgeous, surrounded by people who only knew the surface version of her. They didn’t know the way she looked when she was lost in pleasure, the way her voice got all soft and raspy when she was about to cum, the way she could reduce a man to tears with a few well-placed words and a slow roll of her hips. That was for his eyes only.

“Where are you?” he asked, his voice smooth, calm.

She rattled off the name of some new downtown hotspot, a place he’d probably seen on Instagram but would never be caught dead in. “Can you come? Please? I’ll make it worth your while.”

He chuckled, “I’m on my way.”

“Yay!” she squealed, and the sound was so genuine, so unburdened. “You’re the best! The absolute best! See you soon!”

She hung up, and the silence of his apartment rushed back in. He sat there for a moment, the phone still in his hand, a slow smile spreading across his face. He could still taste her on his tongue, still feel the ghost of her hands on his skin. She had taught him a lesson in patience. She had taught him what it felt like to need, to beg.

But that was then. This was now.

Tonight, he wasn't in the mood to learn. Tonight, it was his turn to teach.

—

The curb outside the club was a chaotic mess of idling Ubers and clusters of people dressed in their finest, desperate to be seen. Elijah’s blacked-out Yukon slid to a smooth, silent stop, a dark, imposing beast in a sea of glittering mediocrity. He didn’t get out. He just watched, his hands resting casually on the steering wheel, his gaze sweeping over the crowd.

Then he saw her. She was leaning against the brick wall, one hand on her hip, the other gesticulating wildly as she talked to a couple of women he didn’t recognize. She was a fucking vision. A tight, black mini-dress that hugged her body, the fabric shimmering under the club’s neon lights like a pool of oil. Her hair was down, a wild, voluminous mane that framed a face glowing with laughter and the happy, uninhibited buzz of expensive liquor. She looked like freedom. Like trouble. Like everything he’d ever wanted.

She pushed off the wall, said her goodbyes with a wave, and started toward the truck. He unlocked the doors with a soft click, the sound barely audible over the distant thump of the bass. She yanked the heavy passenger door open and tumbled inside, a whirlwind of laughter and the scent of tequila, and pure Kennady.

“Hey, you,” she breathed, slamming the door shut and plunging them into a sudden, intimate silence. The outside world, with its noise and its people, vanished. It was just them, in the dark, cavernous space of his truck. She immediately turned in her seat, her body flush against the leather, her hands finding his arm, her fingers curling around his bicep. “My hero. Always coming to my rescue.”

Her voice was a flirtatious melody that vibrated through his skin and went straight to his dick. He could feel the warmth of her touch, the slight pressure of her nails through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. He could smell the liquor on her breath, a sweet mix that made him want to lean in and taste it.

“You called,” he replied smoothly. He didn’t look at her right away. He kept his eyes on the street, pulling the Yukon away from the curb and into the flow of traffic with an easy confidence. He was in control. The truck, the night, the conversation. It was all his.

“I did,” she said, her hand sliding up his arm, her fingers tracing the line of his shoulder. “I was thinking about you.” Her voice dropped, becoming a conspiratorial whisper. “I was telling my friends about this guy I know. He’s real bossy. A little mean, sometimes. But he’s got a soft spot for me. He’d do anything for me.”

He let out a low chuckle, a sound that was all knowing amusement. “Is that right? Sounds like a chump.”

“Oh, he’s not a chump,” she countered, her hand sliding back down his arm, her fingers trailing a path of fire. “He’s just… whipped. And I love it.” She leaned closer, her lips brushing against his ear. “Thank you for coming to get me, Eli. I owe you one.”

He finally glanced at her, a quick, sideways look. The streetlights painted her face in shifting shadows and light, highlighting the mischievous glint in her eyes, the full, inviting curve of her lips. “You don’t owe me anything, Ken.”

“Mmm, I think I do,” she purred, her hand leaving his arm and settling on his thigh, high up, dangerously close to the growing bulge in his sweatpants. “I think I owe you a very, very… special thank you.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t tense. He just kept driving, his movements calm, his expression unreadable. But beneath the surface, a slow fire was building. He could feel the heat of her hand seeping through the fabric, a brand that marked him as hers. He could feel the familiar, aching pull of desire, but this time, it was different. It wasn’t a desperate, needy thing. It was a slow, confident burn. He knew what she wanted. And he knew he was going to give it to her. But on his terms. In his time.

He placed his own hand on her leg, his fingers wrapping around her knee. Her skin was soft, warm, impossibly smooth. He let his hand rest there for a moment, a silent acknowledgment of her touch. Then, he began to move.

His thumb started to stroke slow circles on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. Each pass was a little higher, a little bolder, a silent promise that made her breath catch. He could feel her shiver, a subtle, involuntary tremor that ran through her body. He could hear her breath hitch, a soft, sharp intake of air that was music to his ears. Every time his hand moved higher, toward the heat of her, her legs parted a little wider, an unconscious invitation, a silent plea for him to give her what she wanted. He could feel her anticipation, the way her muscles tensed, the way she held her breath, waiting for his touch to finally reach its destination. But he made her wait. He made her want. He made her need.

“You been drinking?” he asked, his voice casual, as if they were discussing the weather.

“Maybe a little,” she admitted, her voice a little breathless. She shifted in her seat, her legs parting slightly, giving him better access. “A couple of tequila sodas. A shot of Patron. Just enough to make me feel… brave.”

“Brave, huh?” he murmured, his thumb stroking higher, tracing the line of her dress, his fingers teasing the hem. “What are you gonna be brave about, Ken?”

She let out a soft, breathy laugh. “You’ll see,” she whispered. Her own hand began to move, sliding higher up his thigh, her fingers tracing the hard, thick line of his dick through his sweats.

He just kept driving, his thumb stroking, his touch a slow tease. He could feel the tension building in the small space of the truck, a thick, electric current that arced between them. He could feel her need, her desire, her impatience. It was a familiar feeling, but the roles were reversed. He was the one in control. He was the one setting the pace.

He took a left turn, heading away from the direction of her house, toward a darker, quieter part of the city. She didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she didn’t care. Maybe all she cared about was his hand on her skin.

He could feel her shifting her hips, sliding down in her seat, trying to use the movement to force his hand higher. Every time she did, he’d move his hand away, back to the safe, neutral territory of her knee. It was a slow game of push and pull, and he was winning. He could hear her pout, a soft, frustrated huff of air, and then a low, needy moan of frustration. She wanted him the same way he had wanted her days ago—a desperate, aching, all-consuming need that clouded judgment and obliterated pride.

“Eli…” she breathed, her voice a hoarse, desperate plea. “Please…” She grabbed his wrist, trying to guide his hand back to the heat between her thighs. “Stop teasing me. You know what I want. Please, daddy… just give it to me.”

He smiled. He had her right where he wanted her.

—

“Daddy?” Elijah’s voice was now filled with amusement. He finally took his eyes off the road, glancing over at her. She was pouting, her bottom lip pushed out in a way that was meant to be seductive but just looked fucking bratty. He could see the frustration in her eyes, the impatience warring with the desire. “Look at you. All that talk a few nights ago about patience and control, and now you can’t even wait five minutes. You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you, Ken?”

His words were a tease, a light jab, but they held a new, dominant edge that made her shiver. He was enjoying this, enjoying her desperation, enjoying the power shift. “Please, Eli,” she whined, her hand still gripping his wrist. “I want you. I need you.”

“I know you do, baby,” he cooed, his voice softening. “But good things come to those who wait. Isn’t that what you taught me?” He finally gave in, letting her guide his hand back to the heat between her thighs. He let his fingers rest there, over the thin, damp fabric of her thong. He could feel the heat radiating from her, a searing promise that made his own body throb in response. “But since you asked so nicely…”

He didn’t rush. He didn’t tear at her clothes or fumble with the fabric. He let his fingers trace the outline of her lips through the silk, a light, teasing touch that made her hips buck up against his hand. He could feel how her fat pussy ate her thong, the thin strip of fabric disappearing between her slick, swollen lips. She was soaked, her arousal soaking through the material. With a frustrated whimper, Kennady took matters into her own hands. She grabbed the hem of her dress and yanked it up, pulling it higher until it was bunched around her waist. She kicked off her heels, letting them fall to the floorboard with a soft thud, and placed her bare feet on his dashboard, her legs spread wide in a blatant, desperate invitation. She slumped even further down in her seat, her body an offering, preparing herself to be fingerfucked by him right there in his truck as they drove through the dark city street.

“Eli…” she breathed, her voice a hoarse, desperate whisper.

“Shhh,” he murmured. “Patience, baby. Remember?” He finally slipped his fingers beneath the fabric, his knuckles brushing against her wet, swollen lips. He found her clit, a swollen, throbbing pearl peeking out from its hood, glistening with her arousal. He began to stroke it in slow circles that made her gasp.

He risked a glance away from the road, his eyes drawn to the sight between her spread legs. As they drove under a streetlight, a flash of pale yellow illuminated her, and his mouth went dry. Her pussy was beautiful, a feast for the eyes. Her lips were puffy and dark, parted and slick with her wetness. Her clit, engorged and desperate, stood out, begging for his touch. He flicked it with his thumb, a quick movement that made her whole body jerk.

“Fuck, Eli!” she cried out, her hands flying to her own breasts. She slid her hands underneath her dress and grabbed her nipples, pinching them hard, rolling them between her fingers. Her head was thrown back, her mouth open, her eyes low and heavy-lidded with pleasure. She watched him through her lashes, watched as he played with her pussy, as he mastered her body with just a few fingers. The sight made his own mouth water, made him want to pull over and bury his face between her thighs, to taste her, to devour her.

“Right there,” she breathed, her voice a breathy affirmation. “Oh my god, right there. You’re making my pussy feel so good, Eli. So fucking good.”

He slid one finger inside her, and she was so wet, so ready, that it slipped in with no resistance. He watched her face as he did it, watched the way her eyes rolled back in her head, the way her lips parted in a silent moan. He added a second finger, then a third, stretching her, filling her. He had her pussy stretched open, his three fingers buried deep inside her, and he began to pound them in and out of her, a hard, fast rhythm that was worlds apart from his slow, teasing touches.

She met him pound for pound, her hips moving in a frantic, desperate rhythm, fucking his fingers right back. The sounds she made were obscene, a wet, squelching noise that filled his truck, mingling with her breathy moans and his own low grunts of effort.

“Look at you,” he praised. “Look at you taking my fingers like that. Such a good girl. Such a fucking good girl for me.” He could feel the sweet smell of her pussy filling his truck, a musky, intoxicating scent that made his dick harder than it had ever been. He wanted to add a fourth finger, to see how much she could take, to really stretch her, but he didn’t want to push her too much, not yet. He had to remain patient. He had to focus on tearing her little bratty pussy up, on making her cum. “That’s it, baby. Take it. Take all of it. You’re so fucking wet. You’re so fucking tight.”

“Fuck, Eli,” she gasped, her hands gripping the edge of her seat. “Please… don’t stop…”

“I’m not gonna stop, baby,” he cooed, his voice a low, filthy promise. “I’m gonna make you cum all over my fingers. I’m gonna make you scream my name. And then you’re gonna thank me for it.”

He increased the pressure, his thumb still stroking her clit, his fingers still curling inside her. He could feel her getting closer, her walls tightening around him, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. He could feel the tension building in her, an aching need that was about to snap.

“Cum for me, Ken,” he commanded, his voice a firm order. “Cum for me now.”

And she did. Her body arched, a silent, beautiful thing, her back bowing off the seat. A strangled cry was torn from her throat, a hoarse, breathy moan of his name. Her pussy clenched around his fingers, a series of powerful contractions. He kept his fingers inside her, drawing out her orgasm, until she was a trembling, whimpering mess.

He slowly withdrew his fingers, bringing them to his lips. They came to a red light, the world outside the truck bathed in a sudden, stark red glow. He looked at her, his eyes dark and intense, and then he tasted her. He didn’t just lick his fingers clean; he made a show of it. He brought them to his mouth, one by one, sucking them clean, his eyes locked on hers the entire time. He savored the taste of her, the sweet flavor, a taste he knew he would never get enough of.

God, look at him, Kennady thought, her body still trembling. Look at him, tasting me like that. Like I’m the best fucking thing he’s ever had. He’s trying to kill me.

“You taste so good, honey,” he praised, his voice a low, rough murmur. “So fucking sweet. I could eat this pussy all night.”

The light turned green, but he didn’t move. He just kept looking at her, his eyes burning with an almost frightening hunger. He had her. He knew he had her. He had reduced her to a whimpering, needy mess with just a few fingers.

But he had underestimated her. He had underestimated her fire, her stubbornness, her refusal to be the one to surrender.

The aftermath wasn’t gratitude. It wasn’t a soft, whispered thank you. It was a demand.

“That was a warm-up,” she said, her voice a bratty challenge, her eyes burning with a renewed fire. “I want more. Pull over. Now.”

He let out a low, amused chuckle, a sound that was both a compliment and a dismissal. He finally put the truck in drive, pulling away from the intersection with a smooth, easy confidence. “Always so demanding, Ken. You’d think you’d learn a little patience after what I just did to you.”

“Fuck patience,” she shot back. “I want you to fuck me. Now. Pull the damn truck over, Eli, or I swear to God I’ll climb over this console and ride you right here while you’re driving.”

He laughed, a real, deep, genuine laugh that rumbled in his chest. “Oh, you’d like that, wouldn’t you? You’d like to be in charge, to be the one calling the shots. But that’s not how this works, baby. You’ll get what I give you, when I give it to you. And you’ll fucking like it.”

—

Her demanding tone ignited something in him. It wasn’t anger. It was a cold, calm fire. He’d been soft with her, patient, teaching her the way she had taught him. But she was a brat. A spoiled, greedy little thing who thought she could still call the shots. He could see it in her eyes, the defiance, the challenge. She wanted to be put in her place. And he was more than happy to oblige.

Gotta tame that mouth, he thought. All that talking back, all that attitude. Gotta give it something to do besides run.

He took a sharp right, pulling the Yukon into the entrance of a small, dimly lit park not far from her neighborhood. The playground equipment was a collection of dark, skeletal shapes against the night sky. He drove past the empty swings and slides, heading for the far corner of the parking lot, a secluded spot hidden by a copse of oak trees. He killed the engine, and the world outside the truck fell away, leaving them in a pocket of thick, heavy silence.

He turned to her, his expression unreadable in the dim light, but his voice was a low, firm command. “I told you, Ken. You don’t give the orders in here. Not tonight.”

She opened her mouth, probably to say something smart, something defiant, but he held up a hand, a gesture that was both gentle and absolute. “No. You wanted to play games. You wanted to be a brat. Fine. We’ll play. But we play by my rules. You taught me patience. Now I’m about to teach you some manners. You’re gonna learn how to worship this dick with your mouth.”

He could see the flicker of uncertainty, the dawning realization that she had pushed him too far. He could see the fear, and the excitement, and the aching need that was warring for dominance.

He unbuckled his seatbelt and pushed his seat back. “Come here,” he said, his voice a coaxing command. He didn’t grab her or force her. He just held out his hand, an invitation she couldn’t refuse.

She hesitated for a moment, then took his hand, her fingers trembling slightly. He helped her over the center console, her body clumsy and awkward in the confined space. She settled on her knees on the floor between his legs, her dress still bunched around her waist.

He freed his dick, the hard, thick length springing free from the confines of his sweatpants. It was a sight to behold, all eight and a half inches of hard, chocolate muscle. The shaft was thick, roped with prominent veins that pulsed with his heartbeat, the head a broad, mushroomed crown that was already leaking. It was pointed right at her face, a silent, demanding challenge, and Kennady’s mouth watered at the sight of it. Her tongue darted out, wetting her lips, a subconscious reaction.

He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin. “You’re gonna be a good girl for me, aren’t you, Ken?” he murmured, his voice softening. “You’re gonna open that pretty mouth and take this dick like the good girl I know you can be.”

He gripped her hair in one hand, his fingers tangling in the thick, soft strands. He guided her head down, his movements and intentions clear. He didn’t force her. He just guided her, letting her set the pace, letting her choose to surrender. He could feel her hesitation, her last bit of resistance, before she finally gave in, her head bowing, her lips parting in a silent offering.

He guided himself to her lips, rubbing the head of his dick against her mouth, smearing her with his wetness. She parted her lips wider, and he felt the first, tentative touch of her tongue. It was a soft, wet, fluttering thing, a small, shy lick that made his whole body tense. Then, she took him in, her lips sliding over the head of his dick. The feeling was overwhelming. Her mouth was so wet, so warm, a soft, velvety cavern that enveloped him.

“That’s it, honey,” he praised, his voice a filthy whisper. The new nickname felt right, a perfect, possessive endearment. “Slow. Take your time. Feel me on your tongue. Just the tip at first. Get used to it. Get used to the taste.”

—

For a moment, Kennady was obedient. She followed his instructions, her lips sliding over the head of his dick, her tongue exploring the sensitive ridge, her movements slow and tentative. She was testing the waters, learning the feel of him, the taste of him. The scent of him filled her senses. She could feel the soft skin of his dick against her lips, the hard, steel core beneath. It was intoxicating.

But obedience wasn’t in her nature, not when it came to this. Not when she knew she could make him lose control. She decided to push.

She took him deeper, her mouth widening to accommodate his girth, her movements becoming faster, more confident. She began to bob her head, a frantic, desperate rhythm that was designed to overwhelm him, to make him forget all about his lessons in patience and control. She wanted to hear him groan, to feel his hips buck, to see his composure shatter. She wanted to be the one in charge again.

For a split second, it almost worked. Her sudden, aggressive pace caught him completely off guard. The wet, heat of her mouth, the way her tongue swirled and lapped, the desperate force of her movements—it was a sensory assault that bypassed his brain and went straight to his dick. His hips betrayed him, giving a sharp, involuntary thrust upward. A low groan rumbled in his chest, a sound of pleasure. His hand, which had been resting gently on her head, almost slipped from her hair, his fingers loosening as his body threatened to surrender to the urge to fuck her mouth, to chase the release she was so desperately trying to give him.

But then, the teacher in him, the dom he was becoming, reasserted itself. He wasn't going to let her win that easily. He wasn't going to let her take back the control he had just fought so hard to claim. His hand tightened in her hair, his grip a firm, unyielding anchor that stopped her movements cold. He held her steady, his dick buried deep in her mouth, a silent, unyielding command.

She tried to pull back, to protest, but his grip was like iron. She was trapped, her mouth full of him, her body at his mercy.

“Uh-uh, honey,” he murmured, his voice a warning rumble. “I told you. We go at my pace. You don’t get to rush this. You don’t get to rush me.”

She let out a frustrated whine, the sound muffled by his dick. She tried to move again, a defiant little thrust of her head, but his grip tightened, a clear, undeniable command.

“I see what you’re doing,” he continued, his voice a low, teasing chide. “You think you can make me lose control. You think you can make me forget who’s in charge. But that’s not gonna happen. You wanted to be a brat? Fine. We can play that. But brats get punished.”

He used his other hand to guide her, pushing her down, forcing her to take more of him. She felt the head of his dick hit the back of her throat, and she gagged, her eyes watering. He didn’t let up. He just held her there, his dick buried deep in her mouth, her nose pressed against the hair at his base.

“Just stay there,” he cooed, his voice a soft, menacing whisper. “Feel that?” His dick throbed. “ That’s all you. Just surrender to it. This is what happens when you try to be a greedy little girl. You get to be reminded of your place.”

This wasn't a lesson, but a punishment. She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t do anything but feel him. Feel him throb in her throat, feel his heartbeat against her tongue, feel the full, overwhelming reality of his control. She could feel the tears streaming down her cheeks, a mix of discomfort and a strange, unexpected arousal.

He held her there for what felt like an eternity, a long, silent moment where the only sounds were her own ragged breaths and the low hum of the truck’s engine. Then, just as she thought she couldn’t take it anymore, he relaxed his grip, allowing her to pull back.

She gasped for air, a desperate, ragged sound, her mouth wet and swollen. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and pleading, a silent question on her lips.

“You gonna be good now?” he asked, his voice a low, gentle inquiry. “You gonna do what I say?”

She nodded, her movements slow, submissive. 

“Good girl,” he praised, his voice a soft, filthy caress. “Now, let’s try again. But this time, you do it my way. Slow. Easy. No rushing. No trying to make me cum. Just… feel it. Worship it.”

He guided her back down, his hand still tangled in her hair, his touch a gentle, constant reminder of his control. She obeyed, her lips parting, her tongue darting out to lick the head of his dick. She took him in, her movements slow compared to her desperate attempts from before.

She was no longer the calm teacher. She was the eager student, desperate for his praise. She was no longer the bratty sub, trying to test his limits. She was the worshipful devotee, her only goal to please him, to earn the release he now controlled.

He was no longer the desperate man, begging for a taste of her. He was the soft dom, praising her with his smooth, filthy voice, his words a constant stream of encouragement and degradation.

“Look at you,” he murmured, his voice proud. “Got that mouth all sloppy for me, making a mess all over my dick. You’re a nasty little thing, aren’t you, honey? So fucking greedy for it. But you’re learning. You’re learning how to be a good girl and take this dick the way I want you to. And that’s how you get rewarded.”

He guided her, his hands firm but gentle, his voice a constant, reassuring presence that was a stark contrast to the filthy things he was teaching her. This wasn't about her skill; she knew how to suck dick. This was about his preference. This was about teaching her the intricate, specific art of pleasing him.

"Slow down, honey," he murmured, his grip on her hair loosening just enough to let her move. "Not like that. We're not in a race. I want you to worship it. Start with the tip. Just the tip."

She obeyed, pulling back until just the broad, mushroomed head of his dick was between her lips. She flicked her tongue against the slit, tasting the salty bead of pre-cum that had gathered there.

"Yeah, just like that," he praised. "Now swirl your tongue. All the way around. Get it real wet for me."

She did, her tongue tracing the sensitive ridge, a slow, deliberate circle that made his hips twitch. She could feel the thick, pulsing vein on the underside of his dick, a throbbing line that begged for attention.

"Feel that vein?" he asked. "I want you to lick it. I want you to trace it all the way down to my balls. Slow. Don't you dare rush."

She flattened her tongue and did as he asked, licking a long, slow path from the head of his dick all the way down to the base, where his balls were drawn up tight against his body.

"Good girl," he praised. "Such a good fucking girl for me. Now, take me back in your mouth. But this time, when I tell you to, I want you to relax your throat. I want you to let me in. I want to feel the back of your throat."

She took him in again, her lips sliding over his dick. She could feel him getting deeper, the head of his dick pushing against the back of her throat.

"Relax, honey," he coaxed, his voice soft. "Breathe through your nose. Just let it happen. I'm not gonna hurt you."

She took a deep breath, and then she felt it. A slow, steady pressure as he pushed her head down, forcing her to take more of him. She felt the head of his dick slide past the tight, constricting muscles of her throat, a full, overwhelming sensation that made her eyes water. She gagged, a reflexive, uncontrollable contraction, but he held her steady, his grip a firm, unyielding anchor.

"That's it," he praised.

He held her there for a moment, letting her get used to the feeling of him, letting her adjust to the full, overwhelming reality of his size. Then, he began to move.

He started slow, a gentle, rocking motion of his hips, his dick sliding in and out of her throat. He was fucking her mouth, but it was a slow, controlled thing.

"You like that?" he asked, his voice a low, filthy whisper. "You like me fucking your mouth?"

She could only moan, a muffled, desperate sound that was lost in the wet, sloppy sounds of their fucking. She was lost, adrift in a sea of sensation, a prisoner to the slow rhythm of his hips, to the soft, whispered words of praise, to the overwhelming, all-consuming desire that was pouring from him, into her, filling all the empty places she hadn't even known were there. She was no longer Kennady, the bratty, demanding friend. She was his. His to command, his to teach, his to worship. And she had never felt more alive, more free, more complete.

He could feel her surrender in the way her body went pliant, in the way her whimpers of protest turned into soft, eager moans of acceptance. She was no longer fighting him; she was flowing with him.

"Good girl," he praised. "You see? You see how much better it is when you're good? You learn your lesson, you get your reward."

He slowly pulled her head back, letting his dick slide from her throat until just the head was resting on her lips. He loosened his grip, his hand moving from her hair to her cheek, his touch gentle, almost reverent.

"You've been such a good student, honey," he murmured. "You've learned so well. Now, I'm gonna give you a prize. I'm gonna let you show me what you can do. Show me how you can make me cum. Show me how nasty you can be for me."

A smile spread across her lips, a look of lust in her eyes. She was free. Free to explore, free to experiment, free to unleash the full force of her desire.

She didn't hesitate. She took him in again, but this time, she was in control. It was her prize, and she was going to enjoy every second of it. She bobbed her head, her lips sliding up and down his dick, her tongue swirling and lapping, her movements a symphony of sloppy, wet, obscene sounds. The truck was filled with the music of it—the wet, glck, glck, glck of her mouth, the soft slap of her lips against his skin, the low, guttural groans that were torn from his throat.

“Fuck, Ken… just like that,” he breathed. He was no longer calm. He was a man on the brink. His hips began to buck, his movements becoming more erratic, more desperate.

She pulled back, a thick string of spit connecting her lips to the head of his dick. “You like that, Eli? You like it when I suck your dick like this?” she asked, teasing him. She wrapped her hand around his dick, her grip tight, and began to stroke him; her movements made his whole body tense. She was a fucking tease, a master of the art of pleasure, and she was using all of her skills to drive him wild.

“Don’t stop,” he groaned, his hands gripping the edge of his seat. “Don’t you fucking stop.”

“Or what?” she asked, her voice a playful taunt. She slowed her strokes. “You gonna punish me again? You gonna make me hold your dick in my throat until I cry? I don’t think you have it in you.”

He let out a low, frustrated growl, a sound that was a warning. She was pushing his buttons, testing his limits, and he was loving every second of it.

She took him back in her mouth, teasing him, edging him, bringing him to the brink of release and then pulling back, again and again. She could feel his frustration, his desperation, his aching need for release. It was a power she reveled in, a power she had no intention of giving up again.

She reached down with her other hand, her fingers finding his balls. She began to massage them, her touch gentle, a soft, rolling motion that made his whole body tense. She could feel them drawing up tight against his body, a sign that he was close.

She could feel her pussy dripping, her juices soaking her thong, a testament to the power she held over him. She was so turned on that she could barely think straight. All she could think about was him, his dick, his pleasure, his release.

She reached down, her hand sliding between her own thighs. She was wet and still swollen from his earlier attention. She began to play with her pussy, her fingers circling her clit, her movements matching the rhythm of her mouth. She was pleasuring herself while she pleasured him, a feedback loop of sensation that was pushing them both closer to the edge.

"Fuck, Ken," he groaned. "I'm gonna cum. I'm gonna fucking cum."

She could feel it, the tightening of his balls, the pulsing of his dick, the hot, thick flood of his release. She took him deep, her mouth a perfect, tight sheath, and she swallowed, her throat muscles milking him, drawing every last drop of his cum from his body.

He came with a strangled cry, his body arching, his hands gripping her head, his hips bucking, emptying every drop into her throat. And as he came, so did she. The feeling of him cumming in her mouth, the taste of him, the sound of his pleasure- it was all too much. Pleasure surged through her in relentless waves, unraveling her until she was shaking between his legs. She moaned around him, her body tightening instinctively as the last of the sensation moved through her.

He slumped back in his seat, his chest heaving, his body spent. The truck was silent, save for their ragged breaths and the faint hum of the engine. Kennady slowly lifted her head, a lazy, smile on her swollen lips. She wiped a stray drop of cum from the corner of her mouth with her thumb.

Elijah looked at her, at the woman who had just brought him to his knees and then lifted him to the heavens, and a slow, easy smile spread across his face. He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb stroking her skin.

“You know,” he murmured, his voice a low, raspy whisper. “I don’t think I’m ever gonna get tired of this new part of our friendship.”

 @blyffe @transparentphantomface @daddysmoke @championshipshade @christinabae @og-goddesstrill @writingsbytee @bananajoeclone @psychicafrorainbow @blowmymbackout @storiesbyasl  @bananajoeclone @ms-mosley-ifunastyyy @nayys-world @monstaxmomma0 @kimmiedream @hotebonynearby @underated345-blog @xeniaonvenus @prettyisasprettydoes1306 @kindofaintrovert @mmbee675 @bestleowoman2exist @justazzi

[shereeluvssinners]

[shereeluvssinners]

Wunmi

[lizbehave]

† The Priestess

Annie, an 18-year-old from New Orleans, moves to Clarksdale with dreams of building a life all her own. There she meets Smoke, a 21-year-old war veteran with a dangerous reputation. What grows between them is sweet, sticky, and Southern— a smoldering love set against a world of bootlegging, Hoodoo, and blues.

Chapter 10

The house was quiet after the rumble of Smoke’s truck faded into the night, the scent of Annie’s perfume oil and Smoke’s frustration all that was left behind.

Outside, a strong wind swept through the land turning dead leaves into little cyclones. It rattled the bones of the house, making the porch floorboards groan even though no living soul dared to darken their front porch this time of night. The soothing song of crickets rubbing their wings together layered over the quiet of the woods and the sudden, sharp whistle that pierced the night air whenever a train passed by in the distance.

Stack was used to that. A solitude that never felt quiet or empty. Because his twin was always somewhere orbiting him in some way.

He set the book that he never meant to read in the first place down on the coffee table and sighed.

He was happy for Smoke.

He’d seen him with plenty women before. Women he brought back to the house, women he took on dates, good women, beautiful women. 

But he’d never seen him look at them the way he looked at Annie. 

And Annie looked at Smoke the way nobody ever had. Like she believed there was something there worth saving.

He watched them watch each other through the mirror with something in their eyes that lived there like it was second nature. They held whole conversations with just looks and facial expressions. Stack would catch them at it, his eyes flicking curiously between the two. 

That made him chuckle to himself. 

He liked Annie for his brother. She was a good girl. From a good family in New Orleans from what he’d heard from her great-aunt Della. 

Between feelings of genuine happiness and a twinge of protectiveness, something cold and unfamiliar made his gut twist. Something he didn’t want to admit out loud. 

It was something that he hadn't experienced since his father first put his hands on him as a child.

Smoke was a killer. They both were. Sure, most of it was deserved. Between the war and niggas who would have killed them if they didn’t shoot first. But they had innocent blood on their hands too. Ancestral blood. 

Stack stood from the couch and walked towards the back door, deciding to check on the still to keep his mind on things that mattered right now. He passed by their military trunk and paused. He took two steps back and looked over at the trunk that sat untouched for years in their home. Then he turned to crouch in front of it.

The faded blue wooden trunk had years of history soaked into its grain. The top opened with a loud groan of metal creaking on the hinges.

At the top were basic things. Two helmets, two army blankets, bayonets, French guns, knives, binoculars, and ammunition they carried back from the war. 

A tin nestled beneath the blankets caught the light of the candle still burning in the room. He moved the contents of the trunk around carefully and pulled it out, dusting the top of it off with his hands.

It was small, bronze, its edges worn to a muted black, with raised decorative script and decals all over. The bottom of the tin read Christmas 1914. Two large M’s on either side of a female figurehead sat in the center. He liked to think the M stood for Moore, one for each of them. 

Stack took a deep breath then opened the tin. A small oval locket sat inside, right on top of a few crumpled papers, its delicate chain wrapped around the golden pendant like a spiral. His thumb brushed the top before he opened it.

He’d seen the picture a million times but his breath got stuck in his throat every time he laid his eyes on it.

“Mama,” he whispered. It wasn’t the word that hit deep but the intention behind it. He called Miss Cecily—Mary’s mama—“mama” plenty of times to the point that it was almost second nature to him after twenty-some odd-years. But here, looking at the black-and-white photo of the women who lended him his first breath, the word slipping from his lips felt different. Like a spell or an invocation. Like if he said it soft enough she’d appear out of thin air as alive as the eyes staring back at him felt.

She looked happy and her radiance shined through the picture. Stack couldn’t help but grin. She was beautiful. The thing he liked the most about the picture was that she felt alive. He could almost feel her gaze on him through the picture. He had her nose and her smile that spread across her face like a sunrise and lit up her big, round eyes.

He thumbed the lock of her hair that sat to the side of the locket. It was soft, a beautiful texture of kinks and coils that looked dark, like a midnight blue-black, braided into a thick plait. 

Stack’s jaw worked. 

He’d heard stories from people who knew her. What she was like, how she couldn’t wait to meet her children. Miss Cecily’s whole face would light up when she told stories about their friendship and time together. It made him ache for her. And the contents of the tin were the only thing he and Smoke had.

What did she smell like? What did her hugs feel like? What did her voice sound like? 

Would she be proud of them?

It made him wonder about their daddy too. What was he like before the blood and the death and the liquor that hollowed him out?

He pulled out one of the papers decorated with his mother’s writing. 

E.M.

Emmaline Moore.

Her initials were written in cursive on top of the folded squares. 

He didn’t unfold them. He couldn’t. 

Since Miss Cecily handed over the bundle of their mother’s poems, neither he nor Smoke dared to actually read them. They sat in that tin as a testament to her life but something too sacred to actually unfold.

Stack shook his head. He sniffled once, grunting to clear the tears that threatened his throat. He tucked the locket and poem back into the tin and put it back into the trunk underneath the army blankets. He closed the top of the trunk that felt like a door to the past where the memories felt too alive and stung like the back of his father’s hand.

“Fuck,” he sighed, running a hand down his jaw. He stood up and swiftly walked to the kitchen to fill a tin mug with two fingers of moonshine. 

He and his brother had business to attend. Real business. With Clay down here and Duke in Memphis and niggas up North. Talks of carving a life elsewhere clouded his restless thoughts. It wouldn’t be the first time, but their first time didn’t last that long. 

Harlem. 

The war. 

They could have stayed. Started over. But they came right back to the blistering heat and familiar hunger of the Mississippi Delta. To the ghosts that lived under the floorboards and the very faint scent of lavender that lived inside that bronze holiday tin. 

Clarksdale was the devil they knew. 

Taking a chug of moonshine, he let the sting settle in his chest. It helped distract his mind…for now.

Stack was already in his room when the front door swung open and Smoke walked in. His footsteps, heavy and grounding, cut through the darkness that sat over the front room like a veil. He dropped his keys by the door, hung up his jacket, and silently walked the few paces to his bedroom. 

His door shut behind him with a soft click. He knew he needed to wash up before bed but he didn’t want to. The scent of Annie still clung to his skin and he wasn’t ready to get rid of it yet.

But he went anyway.

He left his room, trudging to the wash basin outside of their house. It was hidden inside a shed in their backyard near their outhouse; the small space smelled like quicklime, damp soil, and lye soap. 

The water was cold but it was refreshing as he reflected on the night he spent with Annie.

He was starting to feel something for her. 

And although he couldn’t name it yet, he couldn’t deny it. Couldn’t deny the ache he felt when he was away from her either.

Smoke stripped down, the cool air calming the fire in his blood. 

The soapy rag went across his broad shoulders, down the span of his chest and groin, water dripping down his length that was already starting to react to the thought of her.

When she rolled her hips, grinding herself back on him... 

She only did it once, but what it made him feel—

Like a fiend needing a fix. He wanted more.

He groaned, the sound swallowed by the night around him.

That damn woman. 

All soft-tempered and honey-tongued. Her sweetness made his teeth ache. The worst part was she didn’t even know how much those big eyes and pouty lips made him weak for her. Her curious little gestures being so innocent in intent drove him crazy. 

He’d never tell her either. 

Once he was done, he dumped the water and carried in a bucket of fresh water from the creek for the morning. Then he made his way back into the house. 

The pathway was dark. Pitch black. But Smoke knew the shape of it by heart. He secured the back door and checked the front and the windows without a light to guide him before settling into his bedroom and securing the latch. 

None of that settled his earlier thoughts. Smoke laid back in his bed, one hand resting behind his head. His manhood was still half-hard. He ran the other hand over his chest, his fingertips brushing over the coarse patch of hair scattered there. He didn’t touch it yet. His palm hovered over his crotch so he could feel it twitch under the covers. 

“Damn,” he whispered.

He gave in. To the heat, the thoughts, the wanting. He slipped his hand underneath his drawers and let his restraint lay at his bedside, forgotten just for a moment.

He grabbed hold of it, stroking the shaft lazily as it came to life in his palm. His fingers twisted underneath his sensitive head while his other hand came down to squeeze his balls. His breath hitched. He was already slick with want before he’d truly begun. 

He closed his eyes and thought about Annie lying in front of him on the couch earlier. His arms had been wrapped tightly around her. Her backside that fit in his lap like a puzzle piece. His head buried in the crook of her neck, so close he could feel her pulse fluttering nervously against his lips.

“Damn, Annie,” he choked out behind gritted teeth. “Fuck,” he hissed as his legs started to twitch.

It didn’t take long. He gasped as his release shot out in thick, hot ropes across his chiseled stomach. He tried to catch his breath, smothering his panting in the crook of his arm.

Once his breathing slowed he cleaned himself up, making the decision to sleep naked regardless of the cool draft that crept through the cracks of the house. 

As he drifted off he thought about Annie. Her touch, her skin, her warmth. 

He couldn’t wait to see her again. 

But until then he’d settle for a dream. 

Saturday, December 13, 1919 - The Harvest Party

The gentle drone of hooded dryers softened the laughter and low conversations flowing through the salon, where secrets and sisterhood were shared in equal measure. 

Women occupied nearly every chair and the narrow spaces between them at Ritzy’s on Issaquena, passing combs, hairpins, bottles, and gossip over one another’s heads. Some waited with capes draped around their shoulders while others sat with heads tilted back over washbasins. Hot combs rested over blue flames near the stove, their metal teeth heating to a glow. The smell singed the air, mingling with pomade, perfume, and the sharp sweetness of corn liquor being passed around discreetly.

Nellie and Gigi traded casual conversation between each other.

Verity sat on the waiting bench near the window fanning herself with a folded newspaper. Her friend sat quietly next to her.

“Girl, you gon’ burn every strand off that poor girl’s head foolin’ with that hooch,” Verity said as she watched a hairdresser take a healthy swig from a flask before picking up a hot comb.

“I ain’t had but two swallows,” she replied. “Plus she got enough hair for three women...don’t you girl?”

The girl in her chair smiled sheepishly. 

Annie walked in the salon, shutting the door quickly before the crisp winter air could sneak in behind her. She loosened her coat as warmth settled over her skin.

“Finally!” Nellie called out.

“There she go,” Gigi greeted. “Heyyy Louisiana!” 

She sat near the front window with her hair pressed into glossy waves, silver clips fastened neatly along her temples. Nellie sat in the chair next to her, a towel wrapped around her shoulders while another hairdresser parted and oiled her scalp.

Annie raised an eyebrow as she hung her coat up on the rack. “I ain’t late.”

“You ain’t early neither,” Nellie replied.

“Leave her be,” Gigi waved a hand. “You know she got a lot on her mind.”

Nellie hummed knowingly.

Annie walked to the waiting bench and took a seat next to Verity and her friend after greeting them both before turning toward Nellie and Gigi.

“And what you mean by that?”

Gigi’s mouth spread into a sly grin. “Girl, you know what I mean.”

“I surely do not.”

“Mhmm.”

Annie looked across the salon, searching for a familiar face before she could stop herself. 

“She really ain’t coming, huh?” Annie said to herself. Her eyes widened. She didn’t mean to say that out loud and she definitely didn’t mean for Gigi or Nellie to hear it.

Too late.

Nellie was already sucking her teeth dramatically. 

“‘Course she ain’t. You already know how her husband be. Lock and key.” 

Verity clicked her tongue, a quiet-ish warning aimed at her sister, but Nellie ignored her and rolled her eyes.

It was a reflex to expect to see Pearline across the room, so the absence felt strange. There was no familiar voice joining Gigi’s laughter, no careful smile, no nervous glance toward the door like her husband might appear out of thin air.

One of the hairdressers gestured for Annie to come sit in her chair. She crossed the room and lowered herself in front of the mirror, untying the scarf from around her head while the hairdresser began undoing the straight backs beneath it.

Annie relaxed as the woman’s fingers moved through her hair. Conversation layered over conversation around her. Food, weather, liquor, clothes, shoes—all smalltalk at first. Then the topic of men came up. Which men would come alone, which men would come at all. Who they’d show up with…or without.

Annie casually glanced over at Gigi who was taking a gulp of something in a small brown bottle.

“Here,” she held it out to her. “For your nerves.”

Annie looked at the bottle. “I ain’t nervous,” she mumbled.

Gigi tilted her head. “Then why your knee bouncin’?”

Annie looked down. Her right leg moved steadily beneath the cape tied around her neck. She stopped it instantly.

“See?” Gigi laughed. “Here.” She encouraged her again to take the bottle.

Annie waved her off. “Uh-uh, I’m just ready for tonight.” 

“More for me,” Gigi shrugged, taking another swig.

“Ready for the party,” Nellie asked, “or ready for Smoke?”

Annie felt warmth rise from her chest to her cheeks.

Her hairdresser met her gaze through the mirror. “Keep your head still, girl.”

“Sorry.”

Her hairdresser just grinned.

“Well?” Nellie probed.

Annie sighed. “I’m ready for the party.”

“Mhmm.”

Annie sucked her teeth. “Y’all actin’ like he never seen me befo’.”

“Not like he gon’ see you tonight,” Nellie shot back.

Annie pressed her lips together to keep from smiling.

“This the first time everybody gon’ see y’all together since you agreed to let him court you proper.”

“So?” Annie questioned, almost bashfully. “That don’t mean nothin’.” 

“Girl please,” Nellie said, almost brazingly so. “It means everything.”

“I guess.”

“Mhmm,” Gigi agreed. “And tonight you gon’ see it for yourself. Everybody gon’ be lookin’ at the woman who got Smoke Moore to call on her proper.”

“I hope he ain’t got a weak heart,” Verity remarked, proud, from across the room. Her friend’s lips pulled tight, her fingers tensing on the hem of her blouse.

“Okay?” Nellie chimed in. “‘Cuz from what Pea said about your dress, it ain’t for the faint of heart.”

Annie chuckled to herself, her cheeks warming.

Her hairdresser removed a hot comb from the flame. She tested it against a square of paper towel and watched a faint brown line appear before crossing back over to Annie. 

“Hold still.”

Annie sat up straight, hands gripping the arms of the chair as the metal comb passed close to her scalp, the hot fumes pressing sharply against the delicate skin there. 

“Whew!” 

She exhaled as the comb moved further down her strands, smoothing them as the teeth raked through her thick hair. It was a nice, albeit fleeting distraction from the conversations that went on around her, but Gigi’s words replayed in her mind. 

Smoke had walked beside her before. He’d been seen with her all around town and walked close enough for people to whisper. But tonight would be different.

Annie would go to the party with her friends and Smoke would show up…whenever he decided to show up. 

That meant she’d be waiting on him. Which left her with nothing but time. Time to be anxious. Time to wonder when he’d finally get there. Time to feel the room shift when he did. The thought made something flutter beneath her ribs.

Would he find her immediately, his eyes dark and unreadable beneath the brim of his hat watching her from across the room?

Would he come straight to her, or would he make her wait while he greeted everyone else?

And more importantly, what would she do when he was standing in front of her?

Stand quietly and let him take her hand?

Smile like he hadn’t been occupying her thoughts all day?

Annie’s knee began bouncing again.

Her hairdresser paused, hot comb inches from her scalp. “Annie-girl.”

Annie immediately stilled her leg. “Sorry—I’m sorry.” She bit her lip.

“Told you,” Gigi smirked. “Nerves.”

Annie just sat quiet looking at herself in the mirror. Half her hair had been smoothed and shaped while the other half remained thick, free and wild around her face. She looked like she was caught between two versions of herself.

The version of herself who first arrived in Clarksdale and the one staring back at her in the mirror. 

Before, people looked at her because she was new. But now…now they’d be watching her because she got chose.

And not just by anyone.

By one-half of a pair of twins so infamous, the town—no, the county—called them the SmokeStack twins.

Smoke was a man who wore silence like clothing. A man whose hand covered hers when she touched his heart. A man who looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

They’d see him walk towards her. They’d watch how close he stood, where he put his hands, whether his expression softened when she spoke. Every dance would be evidence. Every glance would be collected and carried home as gossip. 

And they’d watch Annie too. To see whether she welcomed his attention. Whether she leaned into him. Whether she acted differently now that Elijah Moore had chosen to court her.

The flutter beneath her ribs increased almost violently.

Maybe she wasn’t nervous about being seen with him.

Maybe she was just nervous about how much she wanted to be.

“You smilin’,” Gigi’s voice went sideways, pulling her out of her thoughts.

“Am not.”

“Are too.”

“She been smilin’ since you said Smoke’s name,” Nellie said with a grin.

“Y’all worry too much about what I’m doin’.”

Annie held her hand out for the bottle, which Gigi happily obliged. She uncapped it, sniffing it before taking a small swallow. She grimaced as the liquor burned across her tongue. “Lord, I do not know how y’all drink this stuff straight.” 

“‘Course we do,” Nellie blurted incredulously with bugged out eyes, “we’re your friends!” 

The three women laughed.

Annie glanced around at the crowded salon. The shop bell rang constantly—if one woman was stepping out, another was stepping in. Face powder dusted the countertops, stockings draped over chair backs, purses lay open, revealing lipstick and tiny bottles of perfume. Gigi was laughing so hard she had to hold her stomach. Nellie bickered with her hairdresser about which direction she wanted her curls turned. Even the salon owner, Lottie Mae, wasn’t above taking a discreet sip from the mysterious brown bottle making its rounds. 

When she first arrived all those months ago she imagined finding something like this—a community of women who teased her, made room for her, watched her, and cared enough to ask her if she was nervous. 

Pearline’s absence was still noticeable, a quiet ache beneath all the noise.

But even more noticeable was Annie’s place among them. And sitting in this salon chair, laughter, heat and chaos all around her, she felt perfectly held.

Smoke leaned back in a barber’s chair, striped plastic cape draped across his shoulders and a hot towel sitting over his beard. A slew of grooming tools plus a shaving mug and brush sat on a small metal table off to the side of his chair. 

Brown’s Barbershop was lively, low conversations carried over the sound of soft music drifting from the corner. The smell of hair tonic, aftershave, and a hint of cigar smoke clung stubbornly to tobacco-stained plaster walls. 

“How much we takin’ off today, Smoke?” Roy, the barber, asked as he removed the towel from Smoke’s face.

Smoke looked at his beard in the mirror. “Just trim the sides a little,” he replied, “and clean up the edges.” 

“Gotchu,” Roy said with a nod.

“He could stand to lose a few inches from the top too.” A voice rose over the hum of the shop, commanding with a teasing edge. “And use some of that pomade in there too so he don’t look like a field nigga on a hot day.”

Smoke rolled his eyes. “Ignore him.” 

Roy just chuckled, shook his head and picked up his shears.

Stack sat in the open backroom of the shop slapping cards down on a table, eyes full of mirth. Judging by the annoyed groans and curses coming from his opponents at the table, he’d just played somebody out of their money. He gathered his winnings and pushed up from his seat, the legs of the chair scraping against the wooden floors. The mirrors on the wall watched him stalk towards Smoke’s chair by the window.

“Big brotha gotta look extra nice tonight,” Stack said teasingly. “Ain’t that right?” 

Roy grunted as he trimmed the sides of Smoke’s beard. “Oh yeah? Why is that?” 

Smoke ground his teeth. “Stack.” 

Stack tilted his head. “Smoke.”

“We goin’ to that party tonight over at Messenger’s,” he said to Roy.

“I ain’t think y’all went to those,” Roy muttered in concentration.

“We don’t,” he shrugged,“we makin’ an exception this year.” He smirked, his smile spreading slowly as he stared at Smoke in the mirror. Smoke glared back, his own expression void of warmth. 

“The only thing y’all make exceptions for are dollars.” 

That pulled a low chuckle out of Smoke.

“And beautiful women,” Stack added. 

Roy waited for Stack to explain because beautiful women were nothing the twins were ever short on. And never, as long as he’d known them, were they ever a reason for them to go to a party at a juke. He looked up from his tools, eyes darting between Smoke’s unreadable face and Stack’s daring gaze staring back at his twin.

“Oh…he ain’t tell you?” Stack said, low enough so his voice only reached the three of them.

Roy blinked, eyebrows raised.

“Smoke got a special lady he goin’ to see tonight,” he said, holding his suspenders with his thumbs, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet.

Roy started trimming the top of Smoke’s hair now. “This somebody gotta name?”

“Annie,” Smoke finally spoke.

“Annie,” Roy echoed as he circled the chair to get another angle. “And she special, huh? How special?”

“She’s my woman,” Smoke said with finality. “And I’m only goin’ ‘cause she gon’ be there.”

“Can’t say I know that name,” Roy voiced, “but if she got you comin’ out the house more, I like her already.”

Smoke chuckled low. 

“Me too,” Stack started, his eyes darting around. “Yeah, she real nice. Beautiful. Tall. Voice real soft…like a blanket. Like somethin’ that makes you wanna—-”

“Stack,” Smoke hissed.

Stack just grinned wider. 

Roy shook his head and twenty minutes later, both Smoke and Stack were leaving the barbershop smelling of hair tonic and Hoyt’s just as the sun was starting to retreat behind the buildings. 

They walked past the cobbler, past the tailor shop, past the flower girl posted at the corner, her knitted white shawl barely shielding her thin frame from the bitter air, and hopped into their Dodge Brothers Model 30 parked just outside the general store. 

Smoke started the engine as Stack spread out casually in the front seat.

“Couple niggas in there turned they heads.”

“Who?”

“One nigga damn near choked on his drink.” Stack laughed to himself. 

“Who else?”

“Few niggas from Maybell. One of them friends with Terry. You know he used to stay over at Della’s?”

Smoke shook his head. “Vultures.”

Stack barked out a laugh. “Relax big bro, you knew this was gon’ happen.” He looked out the window as town buildings turned into flat countryside. “You know these niggas sniff out innocence like a sacrificial lamb. Shit.”

“Stack…,” Smoke said, his voice held an edge to it that made Stack’s parted lips snap shut. Something possessive in Smoke sparked hot, much hotter than it did in the barbershop where he knew Stack’s words were bait. “Watch your mouth.” 

Stack held both hands up in defense. “You right, my bad.” He looked over at his brother. “My fault.”

“You good,” his jaw worked, “just don’t be gettin’ carried away talkin’ ‘bout what’s mine.”

Stack smoothly changed the subject to something lighter and less personal—clothing. That was his lane. Clothes, shoes, hair, hats—you name it, he knew where to get it, and he was good at it too. 

Smoke liked his clothes to fit looser, more relaxed. Stack had taken it upon himself to pick out his outfit for tonight and something in him didn’t feel like fighting him on it. 

A cream long-sleeved collared shirt, a pair of charcoal-colored trousers with a clean crease down the front, and a bow tie were hanging up for Smoke when he got back from his bath.

“I ain’t wearin’ no bow tie, nigga,” he said, voice flat.

Stack stopped what he was doing and turned slowly. “You can’t not wear a bowtie.”

“I ain’t wearin’ no fuckin’ bow tie.” 

Stack just shook his head and pulled a pair of suspenders with black leather tabs from his wardrobe. He tossed them to Smoke who caught them with one hand.

“Thought you wanted to look sharp.”

“I ain’t say all that.”

“You ain’t have to.”

He stepped into the trousers and suspenders first before shrugging on the shirt, the collar concealing the aluminum dog tags hanging around his neck. He fastened a dark-colored waistcoat over the shirt and stepped into a pair of polished black leather boots before sticking a pistol in the back of his trousers’ waistband. A black knee-length wool overcoat completed the look.

He kept his accessories simple, his Elgin watch with a steel case and a brown leather wrist strap, a pair of leather gloves that he put in the pocket of his overcoat, and nothing more but the clean line of his clothes and the smell of his cologne.

Stack looked him over as he set the iron on the stove for his own clothes. High-waisted trousers in a rich, warm tobacco brown with a matching waistcoat. Light collared shirt with a burgundy tie, gold tie and double-ridged collar bars. Cap-toe oxford shoes and a burgundy fedora with a narrow black grosgrain. 

“You still need a bow tie.”

Smoke sucked his teeth, pulling at his collar.

“A bow tie…a tie…somethin’....your neck look too empty.”

“Man…”

“Trust me…you gon’ thank me later,” he said with a knowing grin. “I know you tryna impress her.”

Maybe his brother was right. He wanted to impress her. Wanted to see her big, brown eyes grow even wider when she saw him across the room. 

He didn’t know if he was ready to see her in a short dress that showed any kind of thigh. He just might lose it if somebody stared at her too long. But he wasn’t about to sit at home while it happened. So he’d let Stack dress him. As long as Annie’s face lit up….shit.

He was doing it again; his thoughts just drifting off to her like they’d been doing more often lately.

As long as her face lit up, he’d swallow his pride tonight. 

Aunt Della’s boarding house was thrumming with life as usual, lodgers spread throughout the first level. But tonight it held the life of a particular young woman who felt like she stood at the threshold of something bigger than herself.

The women sat around Annie’s room laughing, gossiping, and trying not to mess up their new hairdos. Annie kept one leg tucked under her while Gigi sat cross-legged on the floor and Nellie sat next to Annie on the bed with her back on the wall.

Golden hour poured into the room through the lace curtains like honey over toast, slow and warm.

Della stepped into her doorway and couldn’t help but grin at the scene in front of her. Her eyes flicked from Nellie listening intently while Gigi narrated a story excitedly with her hands. Then her eyes moved to Annie and she saw the three generations that dwelled inside of her. 

Annie had her mother’s eyes, big, brown pools of warmth that freckled in the sunlight.

Her grandmother’s grace. Like a river, smooth, solemn, calm.

She had the caul that covered her great-grandmother over her spirit like a veil.

And something else.

Her hand dropped to the pocket of her apron where a small pouch sat. 

A few days ago…

Della sat tall in her front room chair and let the steady tick of the grandfather clock punctuate her thoughts while the house slept. She liked it that way. Running a boarding house rarely gave her room to sit alone with her thoughts. The only time she could spare was when the world was dreaming. 

A thick wax candle burned low on the coffee table. The scent of her chewing clove filled the air along with the heady fragrance from her tea, its steam curling around the smoke from the candle like two ghosts doing a dance. Her knitting lay in her lap, half done, half discarded, fingers still holding the needle. 

Annie had walked in a few hours ago, face so bright it looked like she swallowed the sun. But as the house quieted down, something tugged at her spirit.

It wasn’t a warning. Not exactly.

But the longer she sat there, the harder it pulled, like a physical tugging of her ribs. The slow, methodical drip of the yard pump felt like it was getting closer. The sound of the low crackle of embers from the woodstove seemed louder.

“Alright,” she said to herself. She pushed off the chair, left her knitting on the cushion, and blew candles out one-by-one as she walked through the house. The smoke curled around her like spirits guiding her forward.

The underground chamber was so quiet, it felt like the room was holding its breath. That wasn’t unusual. But the silence was disturbed by the constant drip of water from one particular spot in the ceiling. Della huffed under her breath and slid a bucket underneath it. She passed the heavy oak door with two padlocks and stood in front of the door to a smaller room, more narrow on the inside, darker. No locks on the door. 

She gathered what she needed. A tiny cloth bag. Horseshoe nail. Lodestone. Strands of hair. Then incense smoke clouded the small room. She tied the bag with a miller’s knot then closed her eyes and set her intentions. The whiskey touched the pouch three times. Just enough to feed it, not enough to flood it.

“Soil of my soil. Bone of my bone. Blood of my blood. I bless you…Asé.” 

“You okay, auntie?” Annie asked, looking towards the doorway.

Aunt Della blinked once and smiled warmly. She palmed the mojo bag in her apron pocket. “Just thinkin’ about how much you look like your mama.”

Annie fiddled with the edge of her robe.

“Y’all want some drinks?”

Gigi hopped up. “Yes, please!” She hustled to the doorway. “I can help!”

Aunt Della shook her head and they walked out the door towards the staircase. Their voices faded as they walked downstairs. Nellie hugged her knees and tilted her head towards Annie.

“You excited?”

“Nervous,” Annie chuckled. 

“Nervous? Fo’ what?”

Annie hummed. “I dunno, I just…got butterflies.”

“Mhmm,” Nellie said sarcastically. “You nervous about bein’ in a dark room with a lil’ liquor in your system and that man.”

Annie giggled.

“All that temptation,” she teased.

Annie thought about sweat and perfume and sweet whiskey and blues weaving through the juke slowly, wrapping around bodies and curling into every corner like smoke puffing out a locomotive stack. She felt a tingle run up her skin just thinking about it. Nellie looked at her with a knowing smirk and Annie rolled her eyes. 

“Well let’s get you dressed, girl.”

Luella padded up the steps of the boarding house with her assistant who carefully held a dark green garment bag in her hands. A canvas drawstring bag with Annie’s shoes, accessories, and some finishing pins hung off Luella’s shoulder. They walked right in, the front door already cracked open by the lodgers that crowded the front room and spilled onto the porch partaking in their Saturday shenanigans. The whole house smelled like moonshine, sweet perfume, and anticipation.

Della appeared from the kitchen with Gigi behind her holding a tray of drinks. A fizzy, deep violet colored potion with swirls of ruby red in the liquid. She greeted Luella and her assistant warmly.

“I knew you’d be right on time.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

“And I can’t wait to see it. Ladies, follow me.”

The four women walked up the stairs slowly, mindful of the delicate things they held in their hands. Annie was fastening the clasp on the back of Nellie’s dress when they all walked in. They all gasped at the sight of her pretty onyx colored dress with hints of silver that made it look like moonlight reflecting off water. 

“Don’t she look good?” Annie said.

Nellie spun around. “Y’all like it?” 

“You look good, girl,” Gigi said. “Let me see it from the side.” 

Nellie obliged, posing to the side.

“Yessss, okay body. Okay, hips.”

Nellie snapped and pursed her lips playfully. “Yes ma’am.” 

“Come on,” Aunt Della said. “Y’all can get dressed properly in my room.”

Aunt Della’s room was larger than the average lodger room. The windows were wide, sunlight filtering through yellowed lace curtains that made the light look embroidered. The smell of laundry starch, Florida water, and pine lived deep in the walls. Underneath it all, the scent of pipe smoke and cedar—her late husband’s familiar smell—still lingered like a ghost between the wood and fabric.

Gigi got dressed next. She disappeared behind the folding screen and came out in a teal number with golden beads stitched in patterns, the dress more flirty than seductive. It flowed around her frame, cinching gently at her waist and stopping a bit lower than mid-thigh. A simple necklace hung around her neck and a flower hair comb was tucked gracefully on the side of her chignon. The look was paired with beige t-strap heels laced delicately around her ankles.

The women drank a little and twirled around the room as they played with perfume and pearls and flung stockings at each other. Aunt Della even turned on her phonograph to set the mood with some music. 

“Alright, Annie,” she said over the music, “It’s ‘bout that time.”

Annie stood and slipped behind the folding screen to undress. 

She looked at herself in the mirror as Luella’s assistant unzipped the garment bag holding her dress. She stood in just her underwear. Her rich, dark skin was shiny from the oil she’d put on, making it look lush and inviting like a softness that whispered warmth. 

She stepped into her tights first. 

The tight fabric smoothed over her legs like silk. 

Luella’s assistant helped her position and attach the bra which pushed her breasts up to the heavens, making them look like bountiful, chocolate mounds. They were naturally perky, so she didn’t notice that much of a difference in how high they sat on her chest, but she admired how they looked pushed together forming a delicate slope. 

Annie took a moment to apply drops of fragrant oil to her neck, behind her ears, across her wrists, and down the center of her cleavage. The intoxicating scent wafted up through her nostrils, making her feel transformed and a little more…daring. 

Luella’s assistant helped her step into her dress with a carefulness that bordered on sacredness. 

The dress skimmed over her thick thighs. Just imagining Smoke’s burning glance on them made anticipation hum beneath her skin. It hugged the curve of her hips and the lushness of her backside, curving over the softness of her stomach before settling perfectly on her shoulders. 

The assistant zipped it up in the back and watched it tighten and mold perfectly to her body. 

Annie looked at herself in the mirror, her gaze drifting over her generous curves. She smiled. Not just because of how she looked in the dress, but because of everything it represented. She had friends. A growing community. Money being saved for her shop. A budding relationship. Somewhere along the way, Clarksdale had stopped feeling like a place she was visiting and started feeling like home. 

“Alright now,” Luella’s assistant said low with a wink. “I don’t even think you need a necklace. These girls gon’ steal the show.” 

“I reckon you right,” Annie said with a chuckle.

Annie stepped out from behind the partition into a room of women absorbed in their own conversations. The liquor had loosened tongues, and the easy hum of voices filled the room. When she cleared her throat, heads turned towards her. Mouths fell open. A few soft gasps escaped before a hush swept through the room. The silence felt like a blanket, thick and warm and reverent— like a holy kind of quiet.

Annie was a vision. A wonder carved from a dream. A marvel in motion that held a quiet radiance like the sun rising slowly at dawn. 

The neckline plunged deep and accentuated the fullness of her breasts, framing her bust in mesh fabric and silver beadwork in a scalloped pattern, and surrounding it with fan and feather appliques studded with rhinestones and beads. 

The dark green velvet bodice had a straight drop-waisted silhouette, leading to a large butterfly motif centered just below her hips, that transformed into a short silver fringe that hit her mid-thigh and shimmered in the light, whispering against her thighs with every step. 

Gigi rose slowly, eyes widening. “My word,” she gasped. “Pea said it was beautiful…but I ain’t think it’d be like this.”

Luella looked on with pride. Her assistant stood behind Annie making sure no last minute adjustments were needed.

“She don’t even need no pinnin’, Miss Luella,” she said.

“It’s perfect,” Luella replied.

“You look just darlin’, Annie,” Aunt Della remarked. 

“And dangerous,” Nellie added. “A man could get lost in them curves and never find his way back home.” 

The room laughed and Annie smiled along with them. 

“Y’all really like it?” she asked, smoothing down the sides with her palms.

“Like it? I love it!” 

The praise made Annie’s cheeks warm with embarrassment and nervous energy. The bedframe squeaked as she sat to buckle her shoes. Her footwork was simple, just some t-strap heels. Nothing too high. Functional enough to dance in. 

The full-length mirror threw the setting sun back into the room in faded flashes. Dust and powder floated in the air and every time somebody moved. The light caught little particles of it like specks of gold that blinked when the sun touched them.

“Y’all…we better go before this liquor take hold of my good senses,” Gigi said, twirling with a half-finished drink in her hand.

“Who said you got any sense at all?” Nellie said, sipping her own drink.

Annie giggled. “Yeah, we better go y’all. I don’t wanna walk there in the dark.”

“But it gets dark out early.”

Annie looked at the pocket watch on Aunt Della’s bedside table. “But—”

“Relax. It’s only a few blocks Annie,” Aunt Della said. “Plus y’all gon’ get bored after ‘bout an hour or two.”

“I sure hope not,” Annie said quickly with a concerned face.

“There’s only so much dancin’ and drinkin’ you can do before your hair sweat out and your dress start clingin’ to you. You’ll be ready to peel off that dress.”

Annie crossed her arms. “Fine then,” she said, “somebody pour me another drink.”

When the sun descended a little lower, they decided to head out. The sky was deepening fast, sunset sweeping hurriedly across the horizon. Gigi, Nellie, and Annie gathered downstairs, outfits, shoes, accessories and coats fully on, fussing over last minute details.

Aunt Della adjusted the fur collar of Annie’s overcoat and looked at her with gentle eyes. She reached into her apron pocket and pulled the mojo bag out, dropping it into Annie’s coinpurse. It was a small black velvet pouch with a drawstring closure that hung off a thick braided cord that was doubled to make a wrist strap. It was meticulously adorned with small silver details that made it twinkle like a constellation.

“Keep this close,” she insisted. “I made it just for you.”

Annie nodded once. “Okay.”

Della took a final look at her then let her go. The women stepped outside one by one, greeted by hoots, hollers, and whistles from the lodgers occupying space on the front porch.

A sudden gust of wind rattled through the windchime and swept through the front door, strong enough to make Della grip her shawl tighter. 

“Mind y’all curfew!” She yelled after them.

Annie turned back, giving her great-aunt a reassuring smile. “We will!” 

They stepped down the porch and onto the street, their heels clicking down the sidewalk like the tempered beat of a metronome. The evening sky bloomed with shades of pink, red, and purple that bled across the horizon. Annie took a deep breath and linked arms with Nellie and Gigi as they made their way to Fourth Street.

-

-

Sooo what y'all think is gonna happen at the party? Any predictions? 👀The next two chapters will be the actual party and the aftermath!🤭

Also y'all know I love putting actual details from the movie in this story. Smoke and Stack actually did keep a locket with a picture of their mother in their military trunk. 🥹

<- Chapter 9

-> Masterlist

@myheartsaysyes @nika324 @brownsugarcoffy @soufcakmistress @nahimjustfeelingit-writes @dealore @thedutifulone @lilbitt @kkbeauty86 @nyifly22 @brownskincheyenne @atpeaceinthestars @explodesallovertheplace @miss-spiders-sunny-patch @margepimpson @sweetarchivistsiege @zunibugsiren @blue4everrsworld @xeebop @hdfen2474 @girlmath101 @sintizc @chromexbarbie @theogbadbitch @shereeluvssinners @anniensmoke3 @og-goddesstrill @thebumblebeesworld @merrymaryfebruary @partylikemajima @numb1smokeanniestan @shamansha @nicanotnika @hotebonynearby @dollys-world224 @waitingtobreatheagain @theegoldenchild @swuchiwa @bananajoeclone @harleycativy

S/N: If you want to be tagged or no longer want to be tagged in this series, please let me know!

💜Quick shoutout to everyone who reads, likes, reblogs, comments, etc. Y'all feedback really does make my day!

[dealore]

I can take few one shot request… don’t mind sending me some beautiful people 🥺

[thebumblebeesworld]

working on something realllll good

happy birthday to the queen, wunmi mosaku!!