Page 29 of Love's Free Will

She let out a dry laugh. “Oh, he was there—but he was never there if that makes sense. Always working, always too busy. Always following my mama’s lead, never speaking up.”

I nodded slowly. I understood that more than I wanted to admit.

“I get that. My pops in prison,” I said, surprising even myself. I didn’t really open up to people like that. I mean the world knew about my struggles some of them anyway, through my music, but I never fully opened up about shit like this.

She blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah.” I sat back, rubbing my jaw. “Been in since I was a kid. Caught a murder case over some dumb shit.”

She frowned. “Y’all close?”

I shrugged. “I talk to him. I keep him updated on shit. But I ain’t gonna act like that shit ain’t fuck me up growing up. I meanthe shit was so stupid Ave, I honestly never forgave that nigga for getting locked up, to this day I can’t stand that shit.”

Averi studied me for a second, something unreadable in her expression. Her dark brown orbs gazed in my direction though, pulling me into them. And then she said, “I get that.”

And I knew she did. Maybe too well.

After we finished eating, we made our way into her living room; her tv was on but a track was playing from her speakers which meant she wasn’t really watching it. I spotted her notebook on the table, tempted to pick it up to see what she was writing, but I knew from experience not to touch that notebook unless she invited me to.

Averi sat across from me on the couch, legs tucked beneath her, fingers slowly rolling the blunt like she had all the time in the world.

The tequila was hitting just right, warm in my chest, making everything just a little fuzzier, a little slower. But not her. She was clear as hell.

Messy curls, long legs, lips pouty and full, her brown skin glowing under the dim lights of her apartment. She looked fuckin’ edible and that was a problem.

She licked the edge of the blunt to seal it, her tongue quick, slick, and my eyes followed the motion a little too long. I exhaled through my nose, looking away. A nigga was strugglin’. She lit the blunt, took a slow pull, and exhaled, her lips barely parting as the smoke left her mouth in a smooth stream.

I watched her and she noticed. I knew she did because her lips twitched, her eyes glinting with mischief. “The hell you staring at?” she asked, voice soft, teasing.

I smirked. “You.”

She raised a brow, exhaling another cloud of smoke. “Why?”

“‘Cause you fine as hell, and I like the way you smoke.”

She laughed, shaking her head. “Boy please. Do that line work on all the hoes you be fuckin’ with?”

I grinned, reaching for the bottle of tequila, taking a long pull, then handing it to her. She took the bottle, her fingers brushing mine, her touch barely there but enough to feel it. She took a sip, eyes on me the whole time.

I licked my lips. “You know what I think?” I asked, leaning back against the couch.

She raised a brow, passing me the blunt. “What do you think Royal?” I watched her lips as they formed my name, shit was sexy, came out almost like a purr.

I took a pull from the blunt, letting the smoke settle before responding. “I think you been tryna fight this shit between us since the day we met,” I said lazily.

Her expression didn’t change, but I saw the way her fingers tightened around the bottle. She scoffed. “Nigga, what? I couldn’t stand yo ass when we first met.”

I leaned in slightly, tilting my head. “You heard me.”

She smirked, shaking her head. “Ain’t no this… between us.”

I exhaled. “Lyin’ ass.”

She gave me a look, crossing her arms under her chest, making me notice things I was already tryna ignore; the fullness of her chest, the way her erect nipples damn near bulged from her thin ass tank top. Averi St. Claire was short, but thick as hell in all the right places; especially in her hips and thighs; her small ass shorts doing nothing to hide her thickness.

“You got an ego the size of the damn city,” she muttered.

I smirked, taking another long pull before passing the blunt back to her.

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