“Want company?” Carmen asked, giving her a knowing look.
“Nah, I’m good. Just need a minute. I’ll be over there,” she said, pointing to the cool corner by the industrial fan.
She slipped out toward the balcony, grateful for the hit of cool air against her face. From up here, the whole club spread out below her, lights flashing, bodies moving, the bass shaking everything like loose change in a cup.
People-watching had always been her thing. Pick a stranger, build a story. In places like this, it was too easy.
Her first catch was a couple near the bar. Dude was fresh in his sneakers but kept glancing over his shoulder like somebody’s husband on bullshit. Guilt all in his stance.
Kennedi chuckled, raising her glass, ready to spin her next tale. Until her gaze snagged on him.
Her champagne glass almost slipped from her hand.
“No fucking way.” She whispered, blinking, hoping her eyes were playing tricks on her.
The thing she’d been trying to outrun was right before her in the flesh. Looking exactly like the man who’d had her twisted up in hotel sheets a month ago.
He was impossible to miss. Black sleeveless leather vest stamped with S.B.B. on the back, nothing under it but ink and muscle, chains catching sparks from the club lights. His jeans sat low, Versace boxers peeking over the top. Broad through the shoulders, built solid in a way that made her feel like leaning on him wouldn't inconvenience him at all.
The atmosphere shifted, a wave of recognition and barely contained panic washed over her as Kodak Black’s “Skrilla” boomed through the speakers.
In the club boppin’ with my niggas
All of us rockin’ on ‘em jiggas
You ain’t talking money, I don’t hear ya
You ain’t gotta touch me, I don’t feel ya
She watched from the railing as his crew flowed through the club like they had the keys to the city, and heads turned. All eyes followed them, but hers locked straight on him.
When he laughed at something one of his boys said, her mind betrayed her. She’d been ignoring his calls for a month. Seeing him thirty feet below her, looking like everything she wanted but never trusted herself to keep — the guilt hit different.
“My God,” she whispered as his crew settled into the section diagonal from theirs. Rolani leaned back, completely at ease. Hislocs were twisted neatly, and when he tossed them out of his face she felt her pussy contract.
Time slowed as she watched him. The other men didn’t just follow. They waited for his cue. Then, as if he could feel her stare burning into him, he locked eyes with her across the crowded space. Recognition hit. Those hazel eyes went wide for a beat, then his whole face shifted into that devilish smirk that had made her lose her mind in LA.
Shit.
“Found you!” Shadow popped up at her elbow, following her line of sight. “Oh, hell.”
"What?" Kennedi asked, her voice strangled. Rolani stood from the booth, bottle in one hand, rings catching every light in the club as he crooked two fingers and tilted his chin toward her.
“Girl, don’t act dumb.” Shadow’s eyes darted between Kennedi’s face and Rolani’s.
Kennedi’s silence was answer enough.
Shadow’s grip tightened on her arm. “You leave on Tuesday. Maybe this ain’t the night to go poke that bear.”
Her phone buzzed in her clutch, and she reluctantly checked it.
Ro: Don’t make me come get you, Kennedi.
His eyes hadn’t left her. The audacity of it made her stomach flip in the best way. She straightened her dress and stepped toward the stairs.
Fuck it. She missed being close to him. She couldn’t deny that. And if she was leaving, maybe this was the universe giving her one last chance to be honest about what she felt before she buried it under a new city and a new job.
His crew spotted her first, whistles, nods, and smirks, followed as she stepped into the section. Rolani didn’t flinch.
