Page 143 of Loving the Legend
“Ty! Come over here and weigh in. Arnaz lost his damn mind,” Sid says, waving me over.
“Go ahead. I can handle it from here,” Phil says.
“You sure?”
He nods.
“Cool. Holla if you need me.” I jump up and dust the soil off of my knees. My charcoal grey joggers and white tee are filthy. I grin at the mess. Gardening is the best.
I walk over to Sid, whose tee is now off and stuffed in the back waistband of his low-slung joggers. His massive pecs and abs glisten with sweat. He’s wearing the sun hat I forced on him this morning. He looks like a porn star pretending to be a gardener. My gaze trails down his face, along his Adam's apple, his pecs and pierced nipple, over his abs and his V-shaped obliques. I have to stop myself from eyeing his crotch. I shift as my dick chubs up.
“What’s up?” I ask, finally meeting his gaze.
He smirks.
I squint my eyes and turn my lip up, slightly smirking back.
Yeah, I just eye fucked the shit out of you. So what?
“Could you put this debate to bed? King D’sPursuit of PeaceorKing of Outcasts. Which is the better album?” Arnaz asks, voice animated.
“King of Outcasts, hands down. I’d even argue it’s his magnum opus,” I reply without hesitation.
Sid throws up his hands. “What I say! Thank you!”
Arnaz shrieks in disbelief. “Y’all smokin’ rocks! ‘King Blues,’ ‘Dead on Arrival,’ ‘Face Off’—”
“All solid tracks, butKing of Outcastsis a masterpiece. I remember when I first read the lyrics for ‘Top Off,’ I felt chills. ‘Mars,’ ‘Grenades,’ and ‘Knock-Down-Drag-Out’ are all fire.”
“‘Mars’ still slaps! It’s one of the best love songs ever written,” Sid jumps in.
“Isn’t that your ringtone?” Arnaz asks.
“Something like that,” Sid replies.
I grin. It’s his ringtone for my calls.
“Oh, is the ringtone for someone special?” Arnaz teases.
I jump in, directing the conversation back to King D. “You get why the album resonates with each generation, right? He explores pain, addiction, and escapism with a radical level of vulnerability. And his commentary on the social and political structure of our society wasn’t just an astute reflection of the 90s. It still holds water today, making the album timeless.”
“Yo! My dude’s rolling out five-dollar words like astute,” Arnaz jokes.
“Told you he’s got a brain on him,” Sid boasts.
Sid talks about me to him?
I turn my head, pretending to look away, but my gaze flicks back to Sid, trying to read him. Despite our hot airplane sexting, he’s continued to be distant. No sex. Nada. Only wintry vibes at the King & Washington residence lately.
“Bro, there’s only one way to solve this debate,” Arnaz says.
“Oh god!” Sid groans, throwing his head back in agony.
“Karaoke!” Arnaz exclaims. “You spit King D’s bars, I’ll sing the chorus.”
Sid waves him off. “Nah, bruh, you’ve been pushing karaoke hard for months. Give it a rest. You just want to show off. We all know you have the singing voice of an angel.”
“How do you know he has a good voice?” I ask.
