Page 37 of Set me Free

“Averi and Egypt were about to go see the horses.”

“Horses?” Trent and Donovan said before looking at each other.

“Yeah, let me call Juliette and let her know to get one of the golf carts ready. I know it’s cold, y’all might want to go get coats.” Reluctantly, I removed myself from Creed’s embrace going over to the intercom near the front door.

“Yes.” Juliette answered.

“Hey, can we get Gene to bring a golf cart and take some people to view the grounds and see the horses?”

“Of course.” She replied. “Also, the food should be here within an hour. Should I set up in the theater?”

“Yes, thank you.” I ended the intercom and turned back towards my friends, all of which were looking at me crazy. “If y’all tryna go, y’all better go get y’all coats.”

I laughed when they all rushed towards the steps. Shaking my head, I turned back towards Creed whose eyes hadn’t seemed to leave me.

“Give me a tour?” he asked, smirking. I smiled at him, admiring how fucking good he looked in an effortless kind of way. His hair was freshly cut, sporting black joggers, a white t-shirt and black and white retro Jordan 12s.

I grabbed his hand, pulling him along. “Come on.”

Hand in hand, I led Creed through the halls of the home, our footsteps echoing off the walls with each step we walked on the polished floors.

I pointed out the formal dining room where my family had, had many Thanksgiving and Christmas dinners, the great room where my grandparents hosted parties and where my Poppi, daddy and Uncle Leo hosted business associates, and my favorite—the conservatory—where my grandmother, Ari and Iwould sip tea in the morning watching the sun come up over the estate.

Everywhere we went, the subtle scent of nutmeg and even a hint of crisp apple filled the air, and I couldn’t help but smile.

"She really went all out," I mused running my fingers over a garland wrapped around the staircase.

"Your grandma?" Creed asked, watching me.

I nodded. "She knew we were coming. The decorations, the smell, the way everything is set up? This is her way of making sure it feels like home."

Creed’s fingers squeezed mine gently. "It worked."

I turned to him, eyes softening, but before I could say anything, we reached the theater room—one of my favorite rooms on the estate. Often times our family would gather in here watching Christmas movies.

Creed walked ahead of me, taking in the rows of luxurious leather seats and the massive projector screen. "Okay, now this is dope." he admitted, dropping into one of the plush chairs.

I chuckled, walking toward him, but before I could reach the next row, he grabbed my wrist and pulled me down onto his lap.

A gasp of surprise left my lips, but I didn’t fight him. Instead, I relaxed into him, my arms looping around his neck. His hand rested on my thigh, thumb tracing lazy circles against the exposed skin on my distressed jeans. “How was practice?”

“Shit, it was practice.” He chuckled. “We still got some work to do. I got an axe to grind after we didn’t make it to the third round last year at the tournament. Not only do we gotta get there, but I’m tryna take it all the way this year before I announce I’m entering the draft.”

“So, that’s a done deal? You’re going to enter?”

I worried about him, making this decision. I knew why he was doing it, but also I wanted him to finish his education. To me, there was nothing sexier than an educated black man. AndCreed, he was smart as hell. Instead of picking something easy he was majoring in Engineering of all things.

When he first told me, I thought it was a joke but it wasn’t. The more I got to know him, the more I realized he was one of the smartest people I knew. Honestly, if basketball didn’t work out for him, he had a bright future regardless.

“Yeah. I spoke to Nas again before I came here and I don’t know it just sounds like he’s into some shit he don’t need to be in. He keep saying shit about not having no other way out, but he trippin. Nasseem is talented as fuck in the ring.”

“In the ring? He’s a fighter?”

“Yeah. He been boxing since middle school. He’s done some amateur fights locally, hasn’t lost a fight yet. Once I make it, I’m gon have the means to get him the training he needs, the attention he needs.”

I listened to the words he was saying, having a ready solution but not knowing if he would be willing to accept my help.

“You know my dad used to fight?”

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