Page 86 of Love's Free Will

His eyes locked with mine, sharp and dark, cutting straight through the bullshit I kept trying to feed myself then he stepped closer.

“I’m not doin’ this back and forth, no more Averi. Either you want me, or you don’t. But I’m not gon’ keep playin’ these games with you. You want me—act like it. If you don’t… tell me so I can move the fuck on.”

His words punched the air out of my chest.

“I—” But I couldn’t get the rest out, because he was right. I didn’t want him to move on. I didn’t want this to be over. So why couldn’t I just say that?

Instead, I stood there, lips parted, eyes hot, fighting a war between my pride and my heart. “Say something,” he murmured, softer now. He was vulnerable, nearly broken in front of me. Long gone was the hood nigga Royal, the one that was hella disrespectful, the one that didn’t like nobody outsidehis circle. He was softer, pleading, so far open it made my heart hurt. I wanted to comfort him, protect his feelings even if it meant I had to protect them from me.

I stepped into him and let my fingers tangle in his shirt pulling him down to me. And my mouth found his. The kiss was soft, tender, loving. It was everything I’d been trying to pretend I didn’t want since the last time he touched me. My body curved into his like muscle memory, like instinct.

It wasn’t long before clothes started being peeled away. There were soft gasps, low groans, skin on skin. And before I knew it, I was under him, back arched, mouth open, breathing his name like a prayer. This was softer than last night, way more intimate. There was love in this, real fuckin’ love. I felt the love in the way he carefully handled me, gently grazing his finger along my skin. I felt it in the way his lips gently trailed kisses from my lips down my neck, over every inch of my body.

It's not like I hadn’t felt this before, I had in fact, quite a few times. It was the same feelings I experienced the first time I knew I was in love with him. Royal made love to me, made me feel like I was precious cargo; not one, not twice but three times throughout the day. He didn’t leave. We stayed in bed for the rest of the day, both of us ignoring calls, only leaving to go to the bathroom, get water or food.

If we weren’t wrapped in each other, we were laughing, joking, catching up on our lives while we’d been apart. He told me he wanted to reach out when Princess told him the show wouldn’t be continuing past this season, it had gotten officially announced to the world a week after our meeting even though Lipstick Confidential announced it the same damn day; but he wasn’t ready still very much grieving King’s loss.

We talked about King, reminiscing on the times we both had with him. I learned so much more about King from before I’d come into their lives. And I shared some moments King and Ihad in the studio when he and Zay went on food runs, where King told me how happy he was I was there to help Royal. How proud he was of Royal and thinking back on it how much those conversations increased around the time Royal and I were too scared to act on our feelings.

I held Royal while he cried and admitted he was still trying to process his grief. I cried with him, consoling him in his grief hoping to shield him. That night, we fell asleep in each other’s arms.

After that night, something shifted. We never said it out loud, but we both fell into this rhythm that neither of us dared define. I guess you could call it…friends with benefits. Except I didn’t feel like his friend half the time. And the benefits came with strings I pretended didn’t exist.

Some nights, he’d pull up to my place with food and a blunt, and we’d eat on the couch while watching whatever was trending. Other nights, I’d sneak over to his rental in the Hills after long studio sessions just to feel his arms wrapped around me.

We never talked about what we were. Which meant I couldn’t be mad when he didn’t answer my texts right away. Or when I was sitting in my trailer and saw a picture of him at a brunch party with a girl who definitely wasn’t me. I couldn’t say anything. Even though I was mad, even though I was fuckin’ livid.

Still, if someone had told me three months ago that I’d be sitting courtside at a Clippers game next to Royal Teegan—in public again—I probably would’ve rolled my eyes and laughed. Not because I couldn’t picture it. But because I wouldn’t have believed I’d let him this close again.

Yet here we were. My black, oversized leather jacket was draped across my lap while I sipped from a branded courtside drink, trying to act like I wasn’t lowkey matching Royal’s all-black fit. He was in black Amiri jeans, a designer tee, his signature iced-out chain gleaming under the stadium lights, and a fresh pair of black-and-white Jordan 1s. I wore a sleek black bodysuit with flared leather pants and dunks, my hair was bone straight with a middle part, gold hoops dangling. We looked like a unit. I hated how good we looked together.

“You good?” Royal leaned over, his voice low in my ear.

“Yeah.” I nodded, trying not to smile too much.

“You ain’t gotta act like you not havin’ fun.”

I shot him a side-eye. “I’m chillin’.”

He grinned, resting his elbow on the armrest between us, brushing mine. “We’re sittin’ courtside, Ave. Creed out here showin’ out, the crowd lit… What else you need?”

I sipped my drink again. “Maybe a win?”

As if on cue, Creed caught a fast break and slammed it home, causing the whole arena to erupt. The Jumbotron flashed to our section, but I leaned in just enough for my face to stay off-screen. Royal didn’t care. He grinned and threw up two fingers, soaking in the moment like the star rapper he wasn’t trying to be tonight. He was just Royal. My headache. My comfort zone. My chaos and calm all in one.

When the game ended, Creed came over to dap us up and thank us for coming through. Serenity and the kids had gone home early, but we had been able to see him finish the game, made sure he had the support he needed from his people and not just his fans. Now that the energy was dying down, I expected Royal to drive us back to my place or his.

Instead, he asked, “You hungry?”

“I could eat.” I shrugged.

He nodded. “Cool. Let’s hit Giorgio Baldi.”

I blinked. “That fancy ass Italian spot?

He smirked. “What, you ain’t tryna have a lil pasta and wine? Those are two of your favorite things and I’m in a celebratory mood.”

“Celebrating what exactly?”

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