Page 27 of Kentrell

“Cool. I want some French toast.” She stretched, rubbing her stomach, head tipping back as the sunlight kissed her bare skin.

She didn’t care what anybody thought. That’s what made her tolerable.

She moved like one of us—except for the fact she had a coochie she passed around whenever she felt like fuckin’.

And I made sure I never forgot that.

“I know you not cooking.” I snorted, thinking about the last time she tried. Burned a whole bag of popcorn in the microwave. The house smelled like fire, feet and ass for three days.

We ordered takeout a lot, but if it came down to it, I knew how to throw something together. Had to. Me and my little brothers wasn’t going hungry.

“Shon,” she said, grinning like the shit was obvious. “You know I get that princess treatment from y’all niggas.”

She stretched, arms above her head like she was putting on a crown. “I lay on my back and get what I want.”

“Yeah, grub-nut.” I smirked, watching her grin drop.

“That’s a regular ass payout.”

“Don’t shit on my situation, Kentrell.” She rolled her eyes, picking at her skin like I wasn’t worth a full look. “I ain’t seen too many of y’all hoes stick around after they fucked.”

She wasn’t lying.

“But who knows,” she added, eyes flicking over me. “You been moody as hell lately. Might gotta bitch you hiding out.”

She was fishing.

I wasn’t biting.

“But I know,” she said, laughing to herself, “it’ll be a cold-ass day in hell before Kentrell Caldwell catch feelings behind some coochie.”

I didn’t respond.

Didn’t need to.

She could talk. That’s what Star did. I just made sure none of it got to me.

"Shit."

I exhaled as her laughter filled the room behind me. Left her where she was—naked, hungry, and still talking shit—as I slipped into the master bath and closed the door soft behind me.

She had no idea how close she was to striking a chord.

Didn’t nail it, but she wasn’t far off.

Zoe muthafuckin’ Davis.

The sooner I got to Hartman Towers, the sooner I could clear the fog in my head. First up: get the file Malcolm promised me. Then swing by her office and drop off what she asked for.

Whatever happened after that? I’d play it by ear.

“Damn, I’m tweakin’,” I muttered, cursing myself as I stepped under the water.

Fate? Me and her?

Yeah. I was losing it.

I closed my eyes, tried to clear my head while I washed. Got in and out the shower, dressed and ready in under forty minutes.

---