Page 86 of Heavy Is The Crown

Pam grinned, standing fully. “Mmhmm. You can bring Krys too.”

And with that, she walked off, leaving him sitting there with more thoughts than he knew what to do with.

Chapter 22

The house was still. Quiet. The only sounds were the faint hum of the central air and the rhythmic crash of waves outside, filling the space with a calm that should’ve settled her. It didn’t.

Krys was curled up in bed, silk robe draped over her skin, phone in hand; but she wasn’t reading. She wasn’t processing. The notifications, the messages, the endless scroll of texts from the group chat…none of it was sinking in. Her thoughts were too loud, and they were all about him.

Him and Kaliyah, tucked away in two of her guest rooms. Him, in her house, down the hall. Him, under her roof.

She had been the one to insist. It had been too late, Kaliyah was out cold, and it made sense for them to stay. She told herself it was just practicality. Just being considerate. But that wasn’t the whole truth.

Truth was…she wasn’t ready for the night to be over.

Krys exhaled sharply, pressing a palm to her forehead. She needed to get a grip. This was pretend. A game. A business arrangement. That’s all.

Then why was she losing her grip on what was real and what wasn’t?

Then her mind wandered to earlier, when the sun had started to set, the music had gotten smoother, and the atmosphere had turned loose and warm with alcohol and laughter. It started innocent enough.

Somewhere in the mix, she found herself in his arms. It wasn’t intentional. But it felt organically right.

His hand resting low on her back, his breath against her temple as they swayed. It should’ve been just another move for the crowd, another piece of the performance. But the second his fingers started tracing slow, absentminded circles against the small of her back?

The second his grip tightened, not possessive, but secure, she felt safe. And before all this, that had been something unfathomable.

“I gotta admit,” Kenyatta murmured, voice deep and smooth in her ear. “We selling this shit a little too good.”

Krys chuckled softly, leaning slightly into his chest. “Or maybe we’re just that good.”

Kenyatta hummed. “Yeah…maybe.”

Silence had stretched between them. In that silence something had settled in. Something real. Something neither of them spoke on. But it was there, and it wasn’t going anywhere.

Krys rubbed her hands over her face, frustrated.

This was not part of the plan.

She wasn’t supposed to still feel the heat of his palm against her spine, the way his fingers had splayed firm and unrushed, like he had all the time in the world to hold her there.

She wasn’t supposed to be thinking about the way he smelled, how his cologne mixed with the scent of the night; clean, masculine, addictive.

And she definitely wasn’t supposed to keep picturing a world where Kaliyah’s tiny shoes sat by the door, or where Kenyatta walked through her kitchen like he belonged there.

She shook her head. Get it together, Krys.

But as much as she tried to shove it down, another thought snuck in, creeping through the cracks of her denial:

What was he thinking? Was he laying in bed, staring at the ceiling like she was? Did he feel it too? Or was he completely unbothered, completely in control, not the least bit affected the way she was?

She chewed the inside of her cheek. She needed to stop this now. She needed distance. Boundaries. Space.

Yet…

She glanced at the door. Just down the hall, Kenyatta was there. Sleeping in her house. No matter how much she tried to convince herself otherwise, that fact made her feel a way she wasn’t ready to name.

A noise jerked her from her thoughts.

---