Page 85 of Kentrell

Even if just for tonight.

His breathing was steady, but I could feel the tension buzzing beneath his skin like a live wire.

Then, softly—so low I almost missed it—he spoke.

“Everything’s a fuckin’ lie.”

My fingers paused in his waves. I didn’t say anything. Just listened.

“They smile in your face. Swear they love you. Swear they loyal. Swear they solid.” He let out a dry, humorless laugh. “Whole time, they runnin’ plays behind your back.”

His hand slid up my spine, resting heavy between my shoulder blades. The weight of it made me shiver.

“Had me out here bein’ loyal to folks who never saw me as blood.” He shook his head slowly, voice low and bitter. “I should’ve never—” he stopped when our eyes met. The pause was thick. Loaded. “I’on even know who to trust no more, G. This shit really blowin’ me.”

As calm as his expression was, I could feel the storm behind it. The rage sitting in his chest, coiled and ready. It came through every time he gripped me tighter, like he was trying to keep himself from slipping off the edge. Like I was the one thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

He was fighting something I couldn’t see.

And by the way he spoke around it, barely skimming the truth, I knew there was nothing I could say to talk him down. He wasn’t asking for peace.

He was preparing for war.

Then, like a light switch flipping, his whole face shifted.

His eyes glimmered. His voice softened.

“Whatchu do today?”

Just like that, he deflected.

It was something I’d picked up on during our second lunch—and again at dinner later that night. When things got too close, too heavy, he pivoted. Redirected the spotlight.

It was his defense mechanism. A pattern.

And I hated it.

Because I’d been telling him everything. Letting him into my routines, my past, my thoughts. Meanwhile, he kept his secrets and most of himself unknown—mysterious, unassuming,reserved. And no matter how much he tried to act cool, I knew he knew more about me than I ever gave him permission to know.

So with him showing up at my doorstep tonight—unannounced, with that storm in his chest—I wanted to do something different.

I wanted to surprise him for a change.

Ease his mind, if I could.

As I stared into his waiting eyes, it hit me.

The only way I could truly throw him for a loop… was to break character. Step out of the version of me he’d come to expect. Do somethinghewouldn’t see coming.

So I dropped my gaze to his full, soft lips.

And leaned in.

One peck.

Then another.

Until one of us—probably him—slipped some tongue, igniting a full-blown make-out session that burned hotter with every second.

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