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“I can keep an eye on him if you want,” I volunteered.
The last two days had taught me that it wouldn’t be long before my boyfriend’s attention would be split between keeping a controlling eye on me and the adoring sycophants who desperately wanted his attention.
It took him even less time to hunt me down after I grew tired of watching them dick-ride and did my own thing. Why not save him the trouble and stay where Rowdy knew he could find me later?
“Hell nah. Where the fuck is Jada?” he asked no one in particular.
My heart dropped, and my ears started ringing at the sound of that familiar name.
Jada.
Could this be the same girl from the photo? Could Jada be Unrequited? I’d already figured out that the sender had to be someone who knew the Kings personally—someone who knew all their secrets. Who better than the girl who’d been their centerpiece for so long?
“I’m here,” a lilting voice purred a moment later.
I followed the sound, something in my chest tugging me toward it until my eyes landed on the statuesque beauty strutting toward us in gold heels.
The sexy red halter one-piece she wore was cut out on the sides to show off her flat belly and golden skin tone. The curly copper hair I remembered from the photo was now bone straight, not a strand out of place, making it clear the bathing suit was for show only.
After our hair had been freshly pressed, sweat, water, or moisture of any kind was an absolute no-no for Black women.
The humidity in the south was so bad that I didn’t even bother during the summer months, preferring to wear my hair naturally or protected by braids. I’d tried wearing extensions once but hadn’t lasted more than a week before cutting them out.
“What’s the problem, Owen?” she asked as she stopped in front of us.
Jealousy as green as Rowdy’s eyes reared its ugly head at the casual way she stood so close to him and uttered the name his mother had given him. The fact that Rowdy hadn’t corrected her as he was known to do only fed the monster awakening inside of me. Not even his friends called him Owen, preferring O or Rowdy instead.
I took a deep breath, reminding myself that Jada had known him longer than I had even existed. Averylong time. Probably years before he’d earned his moniker.
“What else?” Rowdy returned sarcastically, gesturing to a passed-out Joren.
Jada’s gaze barely flicked in his direction before she waved Rowdy off. “He’ll be fine. Let him sleep it off, and he should be awake in a couple of hours.” Her attention shifted to me, and she smiled. “You must be Atlas. I’ve heard a lot about you. I’m Jada. Joren’s wife.”
My smile wavered.
Wife.
I’d known Joren was married, but I hadn’t known it was to the girl in the photo. He barely mentioned her—none of them did—and she never came by the shop. She hadn’t even shown her face all weekend until now.
“Nice to meet you,” I forced out with a strained smile. It wasn’t a lie per se. There were just too many warring emotions rioting inside my head to focus on anything but quieting them.
Even now, I could see the curiosity in Jada’s gaze as she tried to keep her own polite smile on her face.
For fuck’s sake.
I hoped Rowdy hadn’t fucked her too.
No.
That would be too trifling—even for him.
I started to excuse myself under the guise of getting a drink when an argument nearby delayed my quick exit.
“How many times do I have to tell you? Stop following me, stalker.”
I spotted Demi strutting through the sliding door with Halo riding her hip and Roc hot on her heels like a puppy eager for any ounce of affection from its owner. He was wearing one of those plastic crowns on his head and a T-shirt that read Birthday Boy on the front.
Roc sucked his teeth at Demi and threw his arms up in mock defeat. “How you gonna tell me I can’t follow you when you got my damn daughter, Demetria? Anywhere she goes, I’m going.”
