Arina laughs, swatting lightly at his chest, but her eyes give her away. Her hand drifts lower, brushing against the hard length straining in his jeans—quick enough to look playful, but bold enough to make him grin.
Saint doesn’t hesitate. His arm hooks around my waist, yanking me into him, laughter buzzing around us but fading the second I feel his body against mine. His lips brush my cheek, his deep voice dropping low. “You look better than the food on the menu.”
His mouth captures mine in a slow, claiming kiss that leaves my pulse uneven—long enough for Cairo to chuckle, low and wicked.
Cairo pulls me from Saint and turns me with a knowing hand at my waist, guiding me until I’m facing him, his green eyes roaming over me and darkening with every second hetakes me in. He hooks a finger under my chin, lifting my face to meet the hunger burning in his eyes.
“Sexy and punctual,” he teases, pressing a heated kiss to my lips. His breath lingers when he adds, “I like a woman who shows up ready to be devoured.”
Inside, the hostess leads us past polished tables and gleaming chandeliers, weaving us through the hum of low conversations until we reach a large corner booth. It’s tucked away just enough to feel private but open enough to still command the room. The tinted window next to us softens the sunlight into a warm, purple hue.
The booth curves wide, the smooth brown leather hugging the wall like it was built for moments that shouldn’t be seen. The table gleams—a deep tan polished to perfection, a single candle flickering in the center. Above, a chandelier drips in gold, casting light that dances over skin and glass, making the whole space feel magical.
The view from the table dominates the room, the kind of spot you only get if you’re someone of importance—and I can’t help but wonder which one of them pulled off these reservations.
King slides in first, patting the space beside him for Arina, while Saint and Cairo motion for me to take the seat between them. The weight of their stares turning a simple motion into something that easily feels like foreplay. I slide into the booth and can’t help but feel like this is a date. A real one—except instead of one guy to impress, I’ve signed up for two.
No wonder my brain is short-circuiting.
If you would have asked me yesterday what I expected the morning after to look like—it wouldn’t have been this. I wouldn’t have imagined them making reservations at a place like this, pulling us into hugs and kisses in broad daylight like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
This is not the story you hear when your friends say they met some guys at a strip club.
But then again, last night wasn’t aboutthem.
It was about me—about me finally letting go, about wanting something even if it wasn’t love. With Saint and Cairo all the pain I’ve been carrying, easily evaporates.
And I don’t regret it for a second.
Still, I don’t know what it is. I’m not delusional enough to think sex or their good looks can rewrite history or fix the parts of me that ache when the lights go out. I’m not here looking for forever—and I doubt they are either. I’m just curious where this will all go. Sleeping with both of them doesn’t make me crave commitment—it just makes me crave the thrill of what real adult freedom feels like.
And right now that’s all I want—nothing more and nothing less.
Especially with the thought of being a stripper looping in the back of my mind. I can already see it—the stage lights cutting across my skin, turning me into something untouchable. The bass vibrating through me with every sway of my hips. The money raining down, soft paper kisses against my bare skin.
Star and Light showed me the blueprint last night—the way they commanded the room like they owned the fucking air in it. Their minds sharp, their bodies confident, and the look in their eyes that told everyone exactly how much they’re worth. Even our men ate it up. They weren’t even paying attention to the performance and still dropped stacks for them.
I break the silence, glancing around the table, keeping my tone casual but laced with curiosity. “So,” I start, tracing the rim of my glass, “how do you guys all know each other?”
Cairo leans forward, his grin easy and smooth. “I met Saint my freshman year at Morris Brown.”
My brows lift before I can stop them.Morris Brown?That’s not just some regular-ass college. It’s one of the oldest HBCUs in Georgia—it’s been around since the 1800s—and the first one actually owned and run by Black folks. You don’t just get accepted in there unless you’ve got something to offer.
I glance between them, my curiosity sharpening. These men aren’t just smooth talkers with money and good dick—they’re educated. And somehow that makes them a lot more attractive.
Suddenly, Cairo’s confidence feels earned, not performed. And the way Saint carries himself, the quiet control in his movements—it all clicks. That’s the kind of man who knows exactly who he is and what the hell he brings to the table.
Arina’s brows shoot up. “Y’all went to Morris Brown? All of you?” Her eyes turning from one to the other, before landing on King.
“Yeah,” King said, grinning. “I met Saint when I was a freshman too.”
Saint leans back, “yeah—I met them both my sophomore year. Even though Cairo was a freshman, they still made him my roommate at the Towers after my old one got expelled.”
Cairo chuckles, nodding his head. “And we’ve been brothers ever since. King was a freshman with me, and we knew each other ‘cause of this girl we both were messing with.”
King groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Yeah, that bitch was a hoe. I still can’t believe I was tryna make her my girlfriend for real.”
Saint lets out a real laugh, bright and unrestrained, his perfect teeth on full display. “When I heard Cairo was fighting over her, I shut that shit down. Ain’t no way myboy’s gonna be fighting over one chick when there’s pussy all over campus.”
