Page 27 of Love's Free Will

I’d seen glimpses of Royal that no one else had. We’d been getting on each other’s nerves these last few weeks since I got to Atlanta, there was no doubting that. But I noticed things about him that the world didn’t get to see.

The way he answered his little sister’s calls on the first ring and stopped in the middle of the session to get her whatever she needed. The way he teased his mother but still hugged her tight before he left; I noticed that one when she’d stopped by the studio after a particularly long studio session where we were working damn near 24 hours straight. She’d come in to bring us some food wanting to make sure her baby boy ate. I also noticed the way he ran from nothing, even when the world expected him to fail.

I thought about how he got under my skin, how he looked at me like he could see through my bullshit and how his voice slid over beats like silk and smoke.

I hated that I wanted to defend him. But I did. “I know enough to say you’re wrong about him.”

Her stare was sharp, calculating. “So, you do care about him.”

I froze and she obviously took my silence as confirmation and scoffed, shaking her head. “Disappointing.”

My throat tightened, but I swallowed it down. I refused to let her see how much that hurt so instead, I grabbed my bag. “You know what? I’m done.”

“Averi—”

“No,” I said firmly. “I don’t need this shit today. Not from you, not from nobody. I told you I wasn’t dating him nor am I fuckin’ him, not that it’s any of your damn business. I’ll see you later Ma.” I turned and walked straight out of her office.

I should’ve gone to the studio. But I wasn’t in the mood to deal with Royal’s bullshit after dealing with my mother’s. Instead, I drove straight home, kicked off my heels, and poured myself a large-ass glass of wine.

I was on my second glass when my phone vibrated. I sighed, knowing exactly who it was.

Royal: Where you at?

I stared at the message for a few seconds before typing back.

Me: Not feeling well. Can’t make it.

There was a long pause before he responded.

Royal: You good?

I hesitated, because no, I wasn’t good. But I wasn’t about to tell him that.

So, I just sent a simple “Yeah.”

He didn’t text again. I set my phone down and exhaled, closing my eyes. I didn’t know what bothered me more—mymother’s judgment or the fact that Royal actually cared enough to check.

8

ROYAL

Averi was lying her ass off. I knew it the second I read that text.

Ave: Not feeling well. Can’t make it."

Bullshit. I had seen her drag her sick ass into the studio last week, voice barely there, talking ‘bout "nothing keeps me from my money." And now she was flaking on me?

Nah. Something was off.

I finished laying my verse, but my mind wasn’t on the track. It was on her—and that alone pissed me off because getting shit done, getting this album finished had been the only thing I should have been worried about. Still that beautiful chocolate debutante was on my mind.

After wrapping up, I dipped out early and made a quick stop at Ms. Kay’s, ordering two smothered chicken specials—one for me and one for Averi because I knew she liked it. I had watched her damn near inhale her plate the last few times we’d been there.

And since I was already going over there, I grabbed a bottle of tequila from the liquor store up the block. Because why the fuck not?

When I made it back to my apartment building, I parked my car in my parking garage space then hit the elevator. Instead of pressing 17 to get to my floor, I hit 15 to go to hers.

The elevator ride was long and thank God it was empty, I didn’t feel like dealing with no fans asking for pictures which even in this building, I still got on a regular basis. When the elevator made it to her floor, I exited and walked the short distance away to apartment 1502. I knew her apartment number because I had lowkey stalked her, getting the info from concierge the day after we discovered we were neighbors.

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