Page 41 of Kentrell

Mars’s face lit up like it was Christmas morning.

“Iknewit!” she crowed. “Miss No-Strings is out here catching feelings off one kiss!”

“Don’t get too excited, Marniece.”

I used her full name like a warning, but it didn’t slow her down. That grin of hers only got wider.

“I want one night. No strings. That’s it.”

She tilted her head like she was studying a specimen. “You sure about that?”

“Yes.”

“Mmm.” She leaned against the edge of my desk. “Famous last words. You’ll be sleeping in that man’s T-shirts and cooking for him by Tuesday.”

“I don't even know if he wears T-shirts.”

“Girl, please. You sound like you're trying not to fall already. You are—look at you. Your cheeks red, thighs pressed together, voice all calm like you’re not two seconds away from moaning.”

“Marniece,” I groaned.

“Zoe,” she mocked right back, folding her arms with a grin. “Just admit it. Your body has been talking since that man walked out of here. You’re not listening. That kiss woke something up. It started with the twitch in your jaw, now you’re dreaming about him, daydreaming, losing focus. You’re one denial away from snapping at folks in the break room.”

“You’re exaggerating.”

“I’m warning you,” she said. “You can lose your job from blocking good dick out of your life.”

I laughed, but she didn’t. Her eyes narrowed like she meant every word.

“Kind of like you’re doing with Shareef?” I asked.

She didn’t blink. “No. Because I fucked him last night.”

“What?” I damn near choked. “I thought y’all hated each other!”

“We do. He gets on my last nerve. But he makes me feel...” She paused, eyes glinting. “He makes me feel everything. And when I need it? He can fuck me through a damn wall.”

I covered my face, groaning. “You are disgusting.”

“And satisfied,” she said with a wink before turning to the window.

Something shifted then. The sarcasm drained from her voice. Her shoulders eased downward, like she was shedding something heavy just to breathe.

“Truth is... I love him.”

“I knew it.”

She gave a dry laugh and shook her head. “Yeah, but I can’t...”

Without thinking, I moved to the oversized wicker basket Desi had dropped off earlier than planned. Grabbing the blush-hued bottle of wine, a corkscrew, and the box of custom Luna Rosé flutes, I joined her at the window.

“You can’t what?” I asked, setting the bottle on the windowsill. I opened the box first, removing the delicate glasses, then uncorked the wine with a satisfying pop. “It’s not chilled, but Vita Nova still has that sparkle.”

Mars smirked and shrugged, already reaching for a glass. She hardly ever needed persuading. I wasn’t just retained by Romano Vineyards—I was their best customer and an unintentional evangelist for anyone who drank before bed.

We sipped in silence. Mars stood still, gazing out the window. I watched her instead.

Her shoulders dropped further, and for once, there was no slick remark waiting on her lips. Just a soft breath that carried weight.

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