Page 50 of Heavy Is The Crown

The Airbnb’s living room had thinned out, a few cousins, some lingering, some packing up, the leftover charcuterie boards raided for snacks, wrapping up conversations, laughing over leftover drinks. Tyra, Jared, and few others were locked in a heated argument over spades, Meisha and Ray were already planning the next link-up with Sydnee and one of the younger aunties, Tamika.

Zahir had been still throwing glances all night, his jaw locked, always a drink in hand, but barely sipping. His whole vibe was off. He was upset and had to accept that he was no longer her main that when she needed something, when she wanted something, he was the one she called.

Showing up with someone else had really thrown him off his square. She didn’t owe him an explanation. Didn’t owe him shit. But it was obvious Zahir clearly thought otherwise.

He had convinced himself he was irreplaceable. That no matter how much time passed, she’d still be back. That he was the standard. The blueprint. The one she needed.

He wasn’t. He never was.

Krys wasn’t apologetic about bringing Kenyatta. Wasn’t thinking twice about it. If Zahir had a problem, that was his problem.

Krys had been actively ignoring him all night. Not because she cared, but because she didn’t. Which was why when she caught him throwing side glances all night, jaw clenched, barely sipping his drink, she almost laughed.

Meisha, ever the instigator, leaned in with a knowing look. “Girl, why he been over there still tight about earlier?”

Krys didn’t even glance in his direction. “Who?”

Meisha twisted up her lips. “Oh, we being petty tonight?”

Krys took a slow sip of her drink. “What’s petty about peace?”

Meisha shook her head, still grinning. “I mean, itiskinda funny seeing him in his feelings over you, consideringhethe one who didn’t step up. What did he think was going to happen?”

Krys gave a disinterested shrug. “Well, that’s his business.”

Tyra snorted. “I ain’t never liked his corny ass for you anyway.”

It wasn’t lost on Krys that a few people were whispering, stealing glances between her and Kenyatta. The speculation was thick in the air, and she knew people were trying to figure out what this was. Her and Kenyatta. If it was real, if it was serious. Krys was eating it up and amazed that Kenyatta had pulled it off. More than pulled it off; he thrived.

He had improvised the perfect performance, witty when needed, smooth in every response, standing his ground when Zahir tested him.

She didn’t have to say a word. The body language, the casual touches, the familiarity spoke for itself. Let them assume.

And that’s what threw Krys off the most. He wasn’t supposed to play it this well. He wasn’t supposed to make it feel so real. Or was that her projecting?

She shook the thought off as she headed to the kitchen for another drink, but Kenyatta followed her.

She glanced over her shoulder. “You stalking me and keeping tabs on me now?”

Kenyatta smirked, leaning against the counter. “Gotta make sure my girl’s good.”

Krys rolled her eyes but grabbed a bottle of wine, pouring herself another glass. She didn’t bother offering to top his glass with any.

Kenyatta watched her, arms crossed. “Your lil buddy in his feelings, ain’t it?”

“I don’t care about Zahir,” Krys said quickly. Too quickly.

Kenyatta chuckled. “Right. But dude in there looking like he wanna get some mo’ shit off his chest, but ain’t got the heart.”

Krys rolled her eyes. “He wouldn’t dare.”

Kenyatta chuckled, shaking his head. “Man, these niggas be wildin’.”

Krys turned to face him, arching a brow. “What? You ain’t got a girl or two somewhere mad about you?”

Kenyatta gave her a slow, amused once-over. “If they mad, they just gon’ have to stay mad.”

Krys let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “See, you say that now—”

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