We all linked up at Jules and Nia's spot so everybody could pile into one truck. It was easier that way—less parking to worry 'bout on Bourbon, and we already knew how this crew got after one too many drinks. Chiana, Nia, and Amina were huddled up at the end of the kitchen counter, lookin' like they was castin' spells over a damn bag of edibles. That same pink-labeled gummy bag Chiana been sneakin' into all week. She already popped a few on the way over, eyes low, giggle too loose. "That's enough diggin' in that damn bag now," I called out from the other side of the kitchen, leanin' against the fridge with my arms crossed. "Y'all tryna fly before we even hit the block."
All three of 'em turned around like kids caught in the candy jar. Chiana slid the bag behind her back like that made a difference. "Ain't nobody even doin' nothin'."
"Ain't nobody ask you to lie neither," I muttered, smirkin' while reachin' for a bottle of water.
Right then, the front door creaked open and Noles walked in with a girl on his arm. And when I say girl—I mean it. She had that high-yellow skin tone, some bone-straight platinum weave with a swooped bang, and that one glittery-ass gold tooth on the side that flashed when she smiled. You could smell the lip gloss before she even got close. My brow raised slightly. Noles only twenty-four, but she looked like she was just figurin' out financial aid. Pierre leaned around the corner and blinked twice. "Oh, so you a cradle robber forreal, huh? That's why we ain't never met her." Me and Jules busted out laughing. "She legal, man," Noles muttered, grinnin' proud like he was tryna convince himself more than anybody.
The girl giggled, all soft and bashful, tuggin' at her off-shoulder top like she wasn't used to this kinda attention. She had a light voice, said her name was Marcet, but everybody called her "lil red. "She made her way to the living room taking a seat while Nia gave Noles a run down on the kids. "I already fed 'em. Don't let Jezel stay up past ten," she said, not even lookin' at him while she tied her hoodie around her waist. "And if she ask for a second Capri Sun, tell her no."
"unc got dis." Noles mumbled. We all piled into one truck like we was back in high school. Me, Jules, Pierre, and Noles up front—while the girls slid in the back, already gigglin' too damn loud. Amina pulled out a small bottle of tequila from her purse like she was pullin' a card in spades. I peeped them in the rearview as we rolled down the street. Chiana passed the bottle to Nia, who took it like it was holy water, throwin' her head back and takin' a full swig. The way they was cuttin' up back there, I knew we was in for a long-ass night. I shook my head.
By the time we made it to Bourbon, the whole block was alive. Music filled the air, mixin' with the steady basslines droppin' from bars on every corner. The scent of fried food, cheap liquor, and weed floated heavy. Neon lights blinked above the balconies, beads flew down from balconies, and drunk tourists stumbled past dressed like it was Mardi Gras, even though it wasn't.
We'd been out there about an hour now, and they asses was Toasted. Slurrin' they words, laughin' at shit that wasn't even funny. Talkin' loud like they was the only ones on the street. I was tipsy myself, not gone lie. I had a cup of Crown in my hand, sippin' slow while I walked a few paces behind Chiana them.
She had on them ripped jeans that hugged every curve—ass sittin' real pretty—and a fitted halter top that tied behind her neck, showin' just enough skin to keep me possessive.
I watched her from behind, drink in one hand, cell in the other, turnin' to Amina with a grin so bright it lit up her whole damn face. She was happy tonight. Carefree. And I couldn't even lie—it did somethin' to me. I'd seen her broken, bruised, quiet... Now she was light again. And I wanted to bottle that shit up and keep it safe. "Juste!" she turned around, eyes a little glassy. "You gon' just stare at me or you gon' come dance?"
"Girl, I don't dance," I chuckled, catchin' up to her, hand sliding low on her waist. "You know that."
"You gon' do it tonight," she giggled, leanin' into me. Her breath smelled like tequila and sweet cherry slush. She tugged my hand and pulled me toward the crowd where a street band was playin' somethin' old school—Frankie Beverly & Maze. The vibe was too right. People all around was two-steppin', singin' along, spillin drinks without a care.
Chiana grabbed both my hands, started swayin' her hips in front of me. I caught myself smilin'. Not that fake-ass public smirk either—this one was real. Pure. "You feelin' good tonight, huh?" I asked, pullin' her closer so her back hit my chest. "Mhmm," she nodded, lookin' up at me over her shoulder. "You feelin' me?"
"All day," I muttered against her ear, lettin' my hand brush across her bare stomach. "Always." We danced like that for a minute—her leadin', me lettin' her. Bourbon felt good tonight. no tension in the air. Just vibes, music, and my woman actin' wild and free in front of me.
She ran off gigglin' with Nia and Amina, stumblin' a little in them heels, tipsy and full of life. The three of them was walkin' ahead, arms locked, loud as hell and not givin' a damn. Bourbon had that effect—brought out the wild in you. "You swear you in love, nigga," Pierre muttered, sippin' from his oversized neon cup. He had a grin on his face, but he was dead serious. "Man, fuck you P," I chuckled, shootin' him a bird. I turned and looked at Jules "You still messin' with Jade or you finally got that hoe off your line?" He shook his head, jaw tight. "Hell nah. She been callin', tryna tempt a nigga like everything still everything. But I'm tryna figure out what me and Nia doin' for real."
"Better figure it out quick," I said, glancin' toward the girls again. "Before somebody else do." Ahead of us, they'd stopped dead in their tracks, all three starin' up at a second-story balcony full of young niggas leanin' over the rails, throwin' beads and catcalls. Amina was already poppin' off, hands on her hips, mouth movin' like a machine gun. Nia and Chi just giggled behind her, tryna calm her down but low-key enjoyin' the attention. "Aye, hold my cup," Pierre said, pressin' his drink in my hand and yankin' up his pants. He was already stalkin' toward the girls with a look that said he wasn't on no chill. "Ay bruh, don't cause no scene," Jules called out, but we already knew what time it was.
I squinted up at the balcony just as Amina lifted her shirt, flashin' them niggas with zero hesitation. Beads flew down like confetti. Some drunk white boy yelled out, "I LOVE PRETTY TITTIES!" in the background. Pierre reached her quick, grippin' her around the neck from behind—not hard, but firm. "Girl, what the fuck is wrong witchu?" he hissed, yanking her shirt back down. Amina squealed, half-laughin', half-chokin'. "Boy, chill! It's Bourbon!"
"Nah, fuck that," he growled. "You ain't on no damn spring break trip, Amina. Tighten the fuck up man." One of the dudes from the balcony started poppin' off, tossin' more beads down toward Amina. "Damn, Red! Come up here, lemme see them lil cherries again!" Before Pierre could even react, I stepped up and tossed the cup I was holdin' down on the pavement, eyes locked on the balcony. "Aye, y'all might wanna stay y'all lil asses up there," I warned, voice low but sharp enough to slice through the street noise. "Y'all drunk, not stupid." The energy shifted real quick. They stepped back from the rail, still talkin' but not as bold. Nia grabbed Amina's arm and pulled her to the side, eyes wide. "Bitch, I said be bold—not belligerent!"
"she ain't got no sense," I muttered, pullin' Chiana to my side as she tried not to laugh. "Y'all play too damn much."
"Jus, it was just for fun," Chiana said, kissin' my cheek. "You know Amina wild."
"Yeah, and Pierre gon' put that wild shit on lockdown if she don't chill," I replied, eyes still on the balcony.
Pierre had Amina tucked up under his arm now, whisperin' somethin' in her ear that made her roll her eyes but fall silent. She stayed close, though—like she knew she crossed a line. Nia grabbed Chi's hand and pulled her off toward this little ducked-off club on the corner called Jezebels—neon red lights buzzin' above the entrance like they was flirtin' with the street. Amina broke free from Pierre's grip, struttin' behind them like she was the damn headliner. I just shook my head, lowkey relieved. My feet was startin' to talk back.
"Shit, thank God," I muttered under my breath, stretchin' my arms as we stepped inside. Inside Jezebels, the vibe flipped real quick. It wasn't one of them overhyped tourist traps. This joint was darker, cooler, had that throwback feel with thick bass in the speakers and red lights bouncing off gold-framed mirrors. Smelled like fried chicken and brown liquor—real New Orleans shit. We slid into a tight little booth in the corner. It was one of them U-shaped setups that barely fit all of us, but we made it work. Chiana, Nia, and Amina were still over at the bar giggling and ordering another round like they hadn't had enough already.
"Man," Jules sighed, stretchin' out and lookin' around like he was home. "Can we get some chicken at this muthafucka? Few brews and three cups of Hennessy, red bone?" he said to the bottle girl that walked up, thick and glossy with a notepad in hand. She laughed, poppin' her gum. "I'ma see what I can do, baeby. But you gon' have to behave." She winked and strolled off, hips switchin' like she knew she was being watched.
Pierre leaned back, arms crossed. "She thicker than gravy. My lawd" He chuckled. "Yes sirrrr" Jules added. I nodded, eyes trailin' over to the bar. Chi was standin' with her back to me, laughin' at somethin' Nia said. Her hips swayed while she talked, hand on her hip, sippin' out that big-ass drink like she ain't got a care in the world. That lil tied-up shirt had me itchin' to untie it. My baby was tipsy and glowed under those red lights. Then her body language shifted.
She stopped laughing and leaned in toward Nia, whisperin' somethin' that made Nia stiffen. I followed her gaze—and that's when I saw Nash. He snatched Nia up real quick with a smirk on his face, and in an instant, That nigga had Nia up against the side of the bar, damn near kissin' the gloss off her lips in front of everybody like he ain't give a single fuck. His hand was on her waist, pullin' her closer. And the look on her face—like she wasn't even fightin' it. Like this wasn't a room full of witnesses. Like her husband wasn't twenty feet away.
Jules saw it two seconds after I did. He stood up so fast the table damn near flipped. I watched him reach for his waistband, eyes locked on the back of Nash's head. His face was blank, jaw tight, and that vein in his neck was poppin'. Oh, this shit was about to go up. "Nah... fuck no," Jules muttered, low but lethal. Me and Pierre was already movin', makin' our way behind him just in case shit turned left. "Come on Jules, she don't even mean shit by that!" Amina rushed to his side, heels clickin' fast as hell. She tugged on his arm, tryna talk him down, but his eyes ain't leave Nash.
"Nah, fuck that. They think this funny?" Jules barked, voice sharp enough to slice through the music, loud enough to pull heads from every corner of the club. The bounce beat thumped beneath our feet, bass hittin' hard like it was synced to Jules' blood pressure. Folks was still dancin', but the energy shifted—eyes started cutting over, curious at first... then cautious.
Then Jules snapped. His hand moved swift as hell—clean, practiced—snatched the Glock from his waistband and clicked the safety off like it was second nature. The barrel pressed against the back of Nash's head before anybody could blink. Nia gasped, jumpin' between them, her hands up, eyes wide. "Jules, don't! Don't do this!" Nash stiffened. His whole body went stone still like he knew better than to make one sudden move.
Jules wasn't lookin' at me. Wasn't lookin' at Nia. His whole focus was on the man who'd dared to cross that invisible line—put hands on what was his. I saw it in his face: he wasn't even here anymore. He was somewhere deep in the past. Some old shit from high school still clawin' at his chest. "Jules," I said low, steppin' in close, one hand grippin' his shoulder tight. "Not in here, my nigga. Not like this." He ain't blink. Just breathed heavy, jaw clenched tight.
