“My auntie has. Skylar was here earlier.”
“What you got planned for the day?”
Cyren’s eyes shifted his way, hesitating with her answer. “A meal is first on the list,” she said, chuckling. “Other than that. I’m not sure. I just... I need to get out of the house.”
“I feel that. We should do something.”
“We?” There was so much wonderment in that one word, and dare it be a hint of disgust? As if doing anything with him was against the fucking law.
A short explosion of air flew through Heavy’s nostrils. “Damn. My bad. You don’t speak French?”
Cyren caught the scoff along with the joke, thanks to the smirk on his lips, and she giggled.A nigga who can crack jokes and make me laugh? Might as well hand him my panties now.
“Sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I just...” Vulnerability had seemingly attached itself to her over the years.
Heavy didn’t interrupt her thoughts as she gathered her words, slinging them together in a messy, complicated flow of an explanation. He didn’t need one, but he listened.
“I’m used to doing everything alone, and I wasn’t expecting you to ask me that. So, sorry if I came off rude. It’s just...” Cyren sighed. “It’s been a long day. A long couple of years, actually.”
“It’s all good,” Heavy replied, catching the concern in her eyes, as if she’d hurt his feelings. “I was just throwing it out there. No pressure, though. I’ma head out and let you get back to your day.”
Cyren silently cursed herself out. She didn’t want him to let her get back to her day. At least not by herself. He’d thrown the idea out there and now needed to bring it to fruition.
“We can go,” she called out to his back, not realizing he hadn’t even given her a destination.
Heavy pivoted. “Go where?” he asked, smirking.
Shrugging, Cyren smiled. “I don’t know. Somewhere. You suggested it, and I don’t want to be alone right now. I can tell you don’t either.”
He didn’t smirk this time. Heavy felt like Cyren saw straight through him and the flawless façade he tried using to mask numbing anguish. She was right. He didn’t want to be alone either. Not today, for once, and they had yet another thing in common.
“A’ight. I’ll wait for you to finish getting dressed,” he said, ignoring but in a way still acknowledging the latter part of her sentences.
“Okay,” Cyren replied, softly and thankfully. “I just have to grab a few things, and I’ll be ready.”
Heavy chucked his head upward, and she walked out of the kitchen. Their proximity allowed him to catch her sweet smell of juicy peaches and the softness of vanilla. It made him salivate before he could stop it. It didn’t help that she had the meanest walk, either. Heavy’s eyes were glued. One, because he was a man. Respectfully. Two, because he loved women, specifically Black women, and all they stood for. The ones who were worth a damn to capture his eyes at least.
The natural sway of her hips and confident stride in her walk had him entranced as she glided down the hall. Cyren had perfected her walk as a young girl, mastering her femininity with every switch. Nicole checked anyone who dared to have something to say or try to label her baby asfast. Wasn’t shit fast in her house, but her hands, and she’d lay them on whoever to protect her daughter.
Cyren walked as if she owned every inch of ground her feet touched. That switch in her hips was confidence and power installed and built up by her mama. She’d never dim it or shrink for someone else’s comfort.
Amused and interested now more than he had been ten minutes ago, Heavy shook his head. His mind drifted to a conversation he and Dre had when he’d first come home.
“Didn’t she have a child?” Heavy asked.
Dre nodded, spotting a familiar face across the way. “Yeah. Lil’ cuz stays out of town.”
At the time, Heavy couldn’t remember her name, and Dre hadn’t offered it.
“Lil’ cuz, ain’t so little anymore. Damn.”
4
Heavy had learned a thing or two about Cyren in the three hours they’d been out together. She loved seafood, had traveled to eleven countries so far, was an April Aries, and she was three years younger than him. He locked in a few other key details, noting how much more talkative she’d gotten since she was out of the house. Heavy was glad to contribute to her openness.
His new discovery, as another round of tequila shots was placed on their table, was that she could drink. A lot. Heavywasn’t judging her at all. How could he when, at twenty-six, he was locked up. At least she had her freedom.
“This is round what... four?” Cyren asked as she grabbed a lime from the cup filled with them.
