Page 120 of Heavy Is The Crown

Before he could even fully appreciate the sight of her stepping out, the back window rolled down.

Musa.

That big ass dog sat comfortably in the backseat like a damn VIP passenger, his massive head poking out just enough to take in the scene.

His eyes locked onto Kenyatta immediately, assessing.

Kenyatta huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Man, I already told you, we cool.”

Musa blinked, unimpressed. Then, like he was just checking for formality, he let out a deep, low huff before rolling his head back inside.

Yeah, whatever.

That was when Kenyatta finally looked back at Krys and instantly regretted it.

Goddamn.

That body-hugging dress was doing entirely too much. Mid-thigh, split high, hugging her curves just right. The buttons were fighting for their lives to contain the blossoming of her cleavage.

He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to drag his eyes up before he got in trouble. But then the whole picture came together: the fresh Nikes; clean beige and white to match the dress. Effortless. The delicate jewelry; not too much, not too little. And when she pushed her oversized designer shades up into her hair and flashed him that slanted smile…yep, this ride was about to be long as hell.

“A’ight, you cute. You tryna be somebody’s problem today?”

Krys rolled her eyes in feigned indifference. “Please, I just threw this on.”

Kenyatta chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, a’ight.”

From the backseat, Musa let out a heavy sigh, shifting against the leather like he was over the entire interaction.

“Even your boy tired of your shit,” Kenyatta teased, nodding toward Musa.

Krys laughed, shooting a glance over her shoulder. “He just mad he ain’t in the front seat.”

Musa huffed again.

Instead of hopping back in the driver’s seat, Krys casually tossed Kenyatta the keys.

Kenyatta caught them mid-air, frowning slightly as he looked at her. It threw him off for a second. She was letting him drive?

“Oh, we doing this?”

Krys shrugged. “It’s your world today, Yatta. I’m just in it.”

Kenyatta eyed her, skeptical. “You sure? This yo’ baby. I think you love this more than the Benz.”

“I trust you.”

Oh shit! Why did that do something to him?

He took the keys, sliding into the driver’s seat. The leather melted around him, the interior smelled like soft vanilla and expensive shit.

Musa let out a small grunt as Kenyatta adjusted the seat, as if he was making sure the new driver didn’t fuck anything up.

Kenyatta cut his eyes at him through the rearview mirror. “Man, I got it. You gon’ backseat drive now?”

Musa blinked. Silent judgment.

Krys laughed as she slid into the passenger seat, crossing her toned, glossed-up legs.

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