Page 73 of All's Fair In Love & War

“It’s nice to meet you, Don Tatum,” Felicity said, her voice steady, respectful.

“You too—but call me Tatum,” she replied with a soft smile, before easing back into her seat like the throne it was.

Felicity glanced up at me, and the look on her face said it all. She hadn’t expected kindness to come with the crown. However, that was Tatum’s gift. She could disarm a room without ever laying down her power, and judging by Felicity’s expression, she wasn’t just taking mental notes. She was reevaluating the whole damn chessboard.

After a few minutes of silence, conversations carried on, but there was a subtle shift around our section. It was a brief lull as everyone settled back into comfort. I wasn’t fully tapped into the noise around me, though. My attention stayed locked on Felicity, watching how she moved, how she carried herself, and how she handled every interaction.

“Since nobody thought to introduce me, I guess I’ll do it myself,” Kenya said, trying to pass Felicity a glass. “Hi, I’m Kenya—Bats’ wife. Want something to drink?”

Her tone was friendly and playful, with not even the slightest hint of shadiness. Still, I opened my mouth to shut that down before Felicity got the wrong idea, but she beat me to it.

“I’m good. Thanks, though,” she replied politely.

My chest seized, not from fear, but relief mixed with the bitter taste of my own doubt. I turned to look at her to make sure I heard her right. She hadn't touched a drop since we got here, hadn't even looked at the bottles twice. I'd been watching.Closely. Waiting for her to crack or slip up, but she didn't. Not tonight.

For a heartbeat, I caught her thumb worrying against her ring finger. That was the only tell that this wasn't as easy as she made it look. Then our eyes met. Hers held something I hadn't seen before: a quiet plea for me to notice, really notice, not just surveil.

Her outfit was part of her rebellion, and her attitude lurked right beneath the surface. But the way she turned that drink down with her head high and no shame in her tone? That shit hit different. She moved like she wanted to be better… or at least wanted me to think she was trying.

Didn’t mean I trusted her.

But for a second, she made me want to.

Young Dolph came blaring through the speakers, his Memphis drawl rattling the walls, and Felicity matched every bar like she lived in the booth with him.

“This is my shit!” she shouted out of nowhere, her voice slicing through the bass as she stood, hips catching the rhythm before the words were even out.

She tossed a glance over her shoulder at me, then turned back around and walked toward the open floor like she ran the damn place. Her water bottle was in one hand, but the way she moved, one would think it was a shot of something stronger.

She was feeling herself. Hair bouncing around her shoulders and jewelry catching the lights as she hit every beat. Her hips popped, body rolled, and before I knew it, she was bent over with her hands on her knees, rapping along like the whole damn track was about her.

Next thing I knew, Riley was out of her seat, hyping her up like a proud big sister. “Go 'head, Fee! Show that nigga what it do!”

Sophia kicked off her heels without missing a beat, her gold anklet catching the light as she spun into the center of it all. Bottle of Henny in one hand, her other thrown in the air, she started moving like the music lived in her bones. Ass bouncing, smile wide, hair wild, she, too, made the floor hers without even trying.

As for Kenya, she was on one too, being loud, loose, and dancing like her rent was due. Her laugh rang out over the music as she threw her hands up, moving with zero shame and even less coordination, but somehow still making it look good. She hyped the others up, talking shit, spilling liquor, and living like she didn’t have to answer to a damn soul—not even her husband.

She pointed at Riley, eyes glazed and wild. “If Bats saw me now... that man wouldcry! And I mean cry! Do you hear me? That man thinks I’m an angel. It would break his heart to know I was that girl!”

The whole section cracked up while Kenya twirled like she was on the Soul Train dance floor, absolutely living her best life with not a single ounce of remorse.

Thank God for her, Bats had left about thirty minutes ago to check on things upstairs. He knew I didn’t trust leaving Felicity alone, especially not with temptation on every table. He told me he’d take the weight tonight so I could keep my focus on her.

When I removed my eyes from Felicity, I noticed Kenya was putting on another damn show. Her shoes were gone, lace front slightly sliding, and one titty wasthisclose to popping out of her dress. She climbed on top of the marble table like it was a stripper pole, dropped into a shaky-ass split, and turned that mess into a slow twerk that had the whole room yelling.

Naeem was crying, laughing, Riley almost dropped her drink, and Sophia was recording and screaming, “Y’all ain’tready for Kenya Casamigo!” That shit had me laughing because Sophia had named the damn woman after her drink of choice.

Tatum was off to the side, drink in hand, watching with a smirk on her lips and a quiet heat in her eyes. She wasn't one to act up, at least not with her new title hanging over her head, but even she loosened up for a minute. I saw her do a little two-step and sing along to Megan’s verse with a grin. However, when she started swaying her hips to the beat, Naeem whispered in her ear with that look he always gave her when he was two seconds from dragging her out of the room.

Felicity doubled over, laughing so hard her mascara smudged. She looked good like that—free, glowing, and soft. That laugh was real, not one of those fake ones she put on when she was trying to work me. Nah, this one came from her gut.

I leaned back in my seat, drink still in hand but untouched. The chaos around me barely registered because my attention was locked on her. Even in a room full of wild energy and bad decisions, she was the only one I saw.

As if she felt my eyes on her, Felicity turned around and met my gaze head-on, her lips curving into a slow, knowing smirk—the kind that said she knew exactly what to do with me… and she wasn’t afraid to prove it.

Without breaking stride, she slowly made her way back toward me, her hips swaying like Aaliyah's in Queen of the Damned. That was a movie I'd watched alone at seventeen, constantly rewinding that scene until the DVD scratched. Back then, I thought I was just horny. Now I realized I'd been starving for the kind of connection that made you forget how empty your bed felt every night

Every step screamed confidence. She was pure sex and seduction wrapped in soft skin and gold jewelry, and she didn’t just tempt, she commanded.

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