Untitled

💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛💛

(Sinners)

Meet The Moores🎄

You Stayin’ pt 1🇧🇷

Annie Moore…💙

You Stayin’ pt 2🇧🇷

Sunday 👧🏽

Plans Change🛒🤰🏽

Just Me For You💙⚜️ (⏸️)

What’s Good For Ya🎶

Just Need Ya Time🏝️

Just Need Ya Time pt2🏝️⏰

⚡️Power Trip⚡️ (coming soon…)

A03

🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻🌻

(Queen Of The South🖤🤍)

-All QOTS fics are on A03.

⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️⚜️

About Me🌻, Me again💛 , and Me again

Thank you for reading! Bye! 🫶🏼

💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙

“What you got planned today, woman?” Smoke asked as he entered their bathroom shirtless.

“Ion know yet but I do know your children eatin’ up my whole house, Lijah. I don’t know what to cook next. “

“That’s all good, mama. Them some growing kids and that’s why I make the money I make so they can have all that shit and some more. You too.” The sound of Smoke palming then smacking her ass echoed through their en-suite.

Annie playfully rolled her big brown eyes at her husband and feigned annoyance though grateful for everything he’s done for their growing family.

She was almost finished styling her hair when the box of hair ties fell to the floor. Seven months into this pregnancy made simple tasks harder than ever as the days progressed. Annie dropped into a small squat to retrieve the hair ties as she held on to the bathroom counter top for support. Just as quickly as she got down, she tried to come back up, her swollen belly making it even more difficult than she anticipated.
If Elijah saw her like this, she’d never hear the end of it.

“Make some of that etouffee” Elijah yelled over the sound of the shower.

———————————————————————————

It was a calm weekday morning of grocery and retail shopping for Annie, who’d managed to sneak in a pedicure in between calls with her husband and her friend, Tiffany. Both Tiffany and Smoke took alternate turns checking on her wellbeing. Though she was appreciative, she’d wish someone would ask her about anything else.

“Shit,” she whispered through gritted teeth before gripping the wheel of the new mom car that appeared in her driveway quite literally overnight. Smoke simply put left the car keys on her nightstand with a handwritten Thank You note from himself and their kids. Despite spending close to an hour in the store, she managed to forget her celery and bell peppers. Her Holy Trinity of seasonings that she needed for tonight’s dinner of crawfish etoufee.

“If yeen got ya Trinity, then ya aint got no meal, Annie.” Echoes of grandmother Adela reminding her.
She briefly looked at her car dashboard noting the weather temperature. 99 degrees but the humidity made it feel like the closest thing to hell.

Annie approached the newly built grocery store for the second time today. She wasn’t one to complain as she was grateful this location was now near her home in lieu of driving over forty five minutes away to the other one. Four years ago, Smoke woke her up from a deep slumber telling her to put on shoes so they could go see their new home. He’d told her the condo wouldn’t have been enough space for what he had planned for them. He was right. Unbeknownst to Annie, she was newly pregnant with their first child. Tiffany frequently joked that Smoke moved them into the middle of nowhere with their own zipcode.

That was by design. During the day, Smoke and Stack were businessmen. A total of six nightclubs across the southern regions under their belt. During a late night conversation with his wife once, he’d said that he and Stack would anything under the sun to keep the club life separate from their personal lives.
So living in a twenty four hour guard gated community filled with retirees? That was on purpose.

One of the outside greeters welcomed her back as it was hard to forget her face and round belly.
She dug into the pocket of her emerald green sundress in attempt to get her phone out for her grocery list. Only then it dawned on her that she had forgotten her phone inside of the center console.
She was gonna be in and out of the store anyway, she thought to herself and strolled her cart along to the produce section.
Small droplets of sweat started to form beads on her forehead, little by little. Annie grabbed her electric handheld fan from her Louis Vuitton purse and quickly powered it on. But it didn’t work, not like usual. Still, she pushed her cart forward. The quicker she retrieved her items, the quicker she could be on her way back to her bed and kids.
Just as she grabbed the second bell pepper to bag, dizziness kicked in. An elderly black couple had been watching her since she appeared through the double doors of the grocery store. They were conversing about her resemblance to their younger niece but paused when they took inventory of how she was a little unsteady on her feet when she first approached the produce aisle. They didn’t want to crowd her at first so they remained a few steps back but within her range… just in case.

Smoke grumbled at his phone every time it rang and it wasn’t his wife calling. It’d been a few hours since they last spoke, which ended with him promising to be home early tonight to prepare for Annie and the baby’s doctor’s appointment in the morning.

He’d called her three times now with no answer, which was rare.

“Aye, come here real quick” Smoke signaled to Stack, whom was chatting it up with one of the part time bartenders Smoke told him to stay away from. Her name was Dominique. Long hair, full face, thick thighs, and brown skin, his brother’s favorite. Too preoccupied with Annie’s whereabouts to reimprand Stack this time around.

“Let me see you for a second, fool.” Both of the men filed into Smoke’s office with Stack closing the door with a barely heard click.

“Aye, dial Annie from your phone real quick.” Smoke demanded as he leaned against his desk, cigarette unsteady in his hands.

“She block you again, nigga? You fucked up aint it?” Stack began with a smirk but it soon fell flat as he noticed the tremors in his brother’s hands.

The two made eye contact that concluded with a silent knowing. Before the phone rang for the third time, Smoke was out of the office and headed to his SUV with Stack following in his footsteps.
Dominique opened her mouth to bid the men a farewell but quickly took note of the way in which both of the men stormed out with their jaws clenched. Silence filled the air.
“Above my pay grade”, she whispered to herself.

———————————————————————————
“You need some help my baby?” The elderly woman approached Annie with her husband in tow.

“Oh no, I’m okay” She feigned a smile but the elderly lady was no fool. Those grey hairs weren’t there for nothing.
Within seconds, her body involuntarily rocked to one side then rocked forward as she tried to grip the cart to steady herself.

The couple rushed to Annie’s side to anchor her.

“I’m Delores and this is my husband Ronald. We gon’ get you some help.”

———————————————————————————

The all black Escalade pulled into the grocery store’s parking lot with it’s engine roaring.
The sounds of the sirens blaring loudly over the radio that Stack had set on a lower volume. The men surveyed the surroundings as Smoke held his phone in his shaky hands, verifying the location matched up and that his wife was here without any doubt. He gripped the cellular device as if he’d been able to summon Annie.
“Look”, Stack pointed to Annie’s vehicle.

———————————————————————————

Annie fanned herself while her blood pressure was being checked. The paramedic had been a younger woman, twenty-six at the oldest with faux locs in a lazy bun. She took inventory of Annie’s wedding ring that shined under the lights of the store manager’s office, which they’d turn into a temporary triage room. From her observation of the ring, Annie’s demeanor and outside appearance, she’d concluded the woman was well taken care of….by herself or someone else.

“You got somebody you wanna call?” She asked of Annie while taking the pregnant woman’s temperature for the third time.
Before Annie could respond, Ms. Delores handed Annie her cellphone to use. Annie hadn’t seen a flip phone in ages but it made sense and was practical just for the woman.

The dialpad made a few sounds as the numbers appeared on the screen in an almost obnixousky large font. He answered on the second ring.
Annie was taken aback because she knew he never answered for unknown numbers. At least not anymore. They were done with that life.

“Yeah?” He picked up with his typical southern drawl mixed with something else that Annie couldn’t decipher at the moment.

“Lijah. I need-”

“Baby, where ya at?” He interrupted her as he and Stack entered through the very same doors Annie walked through only an hour ago.

“I’m inside of the Rouses. I’m-“

“What happened? Tell me right now.” Smoke interrupted again and Annie only let it slide because she now sensed the urgency and worry in his voice.

Annie went on to quickly explain how she was overheated when she heard Stack speaking over an announcement from the store’s intercom, the same announcement she’s currently hearing in the office.
“I’m on the way to ya right now baby. Just stay right where ya at.”

“I’m not goin nowhere, Lijah.” Great. Her husband would now be added to the group of worried people in the small office. Annie shook her head in defeat. Appreciation hummed low in her belly but what floated up to the top was a slight annoyance mixed with a feeling of being overwhelmed. All she wanted now was a cool shower and her California King sized bed.

The dark green door of the office opened and Smoke walked right through without invitation, heading straight to Annie’s side. Stack walked in right after his older brother but clung to the nearby wall. The men sucked the air out of the room.
He kneeled down next to his wife’s side while searching her eyes. A few tears slowly formed in the corners of her eyes.
Smoke looked over at Stack and the men both shared a nod.

“Scuse me. My sister thank yall for everything but she gon’ need a minute”, Stack commanded the room and everyone seemed to fall in line without any protest. Though the Moore men weren’t their former selves, some things still don’t need to be tested.

———————————————————————————
“You wanna go see the doctor, baby?” Smoke questioned as he smoothed down a few strands of Annie’s hair.

“No, I just need to rest. I wanna go home, papa.”
Elijah flashed a half smile in a futile attempt to calm her… or himself.
He searched her eyes again for an uncertainty but there was none and he knew better than to push. This was their third pregnancy which meant that they certainly weren’t amateurs. Annie’s OBGYN quipped that the couple were keeping her office practice in business with them well on their way to having three kids in under four years.

“Her temperature came down a bit and her blood pressure is normal. I’d recommend that we take her in just to be sure, but it is her choice.” The male paramedic who’d been standing in the background finally spoke.

Elijah helped his wife to her feet as Stack grabbed her purse and her grocery bags. Mrs. Delores’ husband had been so kind to purchase the items in Annie’s cart and silently brought the two bags in during the commotion.

“Thank you, Ms. Delores, for everything.” Annie nodded while she and the elderly woman held hands for a brief moment.

“You take care of yaself, suga. Having a baby in ya mean ya got one foot in the grave and the other one out. Be careful and rest.”

Annie heeded the woman’s warning. Her grandmother used to say the same thing to the women she’d help with her herbs and roots. The two women hugged each other, with Delores patting Annie’s back one final time.
Smoke reached into his back pocket and attempted to hand Ms. Delores $2,000 but she smacked his hand away.
“Boy if you don’t put that away!” She brought Smoke in for a small brief hug that he didn’t pull away from.

Stack opened the passenger side of Annie’s blue SUV in preparation of her entrance then immediately opened the back door to place her personal items down on the floor.
The couple were a few steps behind him, with Smoke guiding Annie into the car as she grabbed on to the passenger assist handle while cradling her belly.

The SUVs pulled out of the parking lot in a small procession, with Elijah using his free hand to send a quick text to someone.

The sound of Annie’s cellphone ringing ripped through the car cabin just a few moments later. It was Dr. Broussard calling to check in per the office receptionist before conferencing in the well meaning doctor. Apparently, Annie’s doctor had been informed on the day’s events already.

“Hi, Dr. Broussard. How you doin?” Annie asked casually but anticipated what was coming next.
She and Elijah were two minutes away from arriving to the guard gate of their community.

“Mrs. Moore, I should be asking you. A little birdie told me that we had an incident.”

“We did but we just fine now. I’m on my way home to rest. I’m gon’ tell you all about it tomorrow morning at our appointment.” Smoke drew small circles into Annie’s thigh while he eavesdropped. He snapped out of it once he heard Annie’s exasperated after hanging up the call.

“I gotta go in for a check up” She rolled her eyes while adjusting the seatbelt. Smoke grabbed her hand again, bringing it up to his mouth to place gentle kisses.
He adjusted himself in the driver’s seat, not meeting Annie’s eyes. Her brows furrowed.

Something’s off.

A small pause passed before it registered. She removed her hand from her husband’s grip and backhanded him in his chest.

“What you done did?!” She hissed.
They were stopped at a red-light one minute from their home when Smoke turned to face her. A small rare grin tugged at his lips.
“I aint do nothin’,woman. Stack did.”

“Lijah if ya black ass-“ Annie began but quickly stopped when her daughter decided that she was a gymnast, kicking her in the ribs.
A small wince escaped her lips. It was at that moment she decided to deal with Smoke later.

The monitors beeped steadily as Dr. Broussard and hospital nurses treated the door like a revolving door. To Annie’s dismay, she’d been poked and prodded everywhere. Now she lay in bed with a fetal monitor wrapped around her swell belly and an automatic blood pressure monitor cuff squeezing the life out of her every ten minutes or so.
Tiffany had just called Smoke a few minutes ago to inform him that their kids were both down for a nap.
“I’m ready to get outta here. I got things to do.” The buttons of hospital beeped with every adjustment Annie made to her resting position.

“You need to relax.” There was a casualness in his tone but underneath it held a hidden sternness.
Just as she was about to form a pout on her lips, the door opened. Dr. Broussard walked in with a chart to her side.

“Everything looks good. I just need you to stay hydrated and out of the sun. It’s too hot out there for anyone right now, especially you. Minimal activity these last few weeks. Should I make you pinky promise or no?” The doctor asked while rubbing Annie’s ankle through the hospital blanket.


“Mm-hmm” she smiled back. It wasn’t over just yet. Annie wanted answers. That stubbornness that Elijah claimed to dislike, shining through, brighter than the sunlight coming through the blinds of the hospital room. The feeling filled the room, sealing every gap and opening.

Dr. Broussard advised the couple that she’d like to see Annie for a follow up the following week and excused herself when her hospital pager beeped. The heavily pregnant woman turned her gaze to meet her husband’s, whom already had his brown eyes on her. Smoke set up straight in the loveseat before rising to his feet. He padded over to her bedside, confession at the tip of his tongue.

-2 Hours Ago-

“Call 504-654-3459. That’s our baby’s doctor. Pretend to be me nigga and tell them what just happened.”

Smoke had texted Stack. The younger twin proceeded without any questions.

Annie listened as Elijah recounted his plan. If she hadn’t been so weary from the day’s events, she would’ve read Smoke his last rights. Or she would’ve reached into her purse, the one he’d gifted her, and pull out her blade.

An hour went by since Smoke’s admission. He’d been helping her put on her shoes back on. The nurse came in twenty minutes ago to present them with the discharge papers in a clear folder. Annie felt Smoke’s gentle ministrations on her lower leg after he’d gotten her final sandal on her left foot.

“Ima get you back, Lijah Moore.” She whispered into his mouth before their lips crashed into each other.

“Mm-hmm. I’m already knowin,” Smoke responded in between kisses.

THE END.

Pronunciations:

Broussard= Brew-Sard

Rouses= Rwow-sis

Etouffee = Aye-too-faye

Inspo Pics:

By the time Annie realized they had spent twenty-three minutes arguing about funnel cake, she was beginning to regret volunteering to chair the carnival committee herself. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust her sorority sisters.

She did.

Mostly.

But the Phi Upsilon Chapter of Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated had a way of turning even the smallest decision into something that required testimony, rebuttal, side commentary, and at least one person loudly insisting that everybody else was missing the point.

“This is exactly why we should’ve just done food,” Nia said from the second row, one hand lifted like she was addressing Congress instead of twenty-seven women packed into a classroom on the third floor of the student union. “Everybody buys food at a carnival.”

“Everybody sells food at a carnival,” Jasmine shot back.

“Not funnel cake.” “There are three funnel cake booths already.” “Three?”

Annie looked down at the sheet clipped to the front of her binder. “Four, actually.”

That earned a chorus of groans. She leaned one hip against the desk at the front of the room and adjusted the pink-and-green pen tucked between her fingers. The meeting had started ten minutes late because half the chapter had come in carrying iced coffees and apologies. They had already handled service-hour updates, next month’s scholarship luncheon, new-member mentoring assignments, and a reminder that nobody was to leave the storage closet looking like it had been hit by a tornado again. The spring carnival booth should have taken fifteen minutes. Maybe twenty. Instead, they were nearing forty, and Annie could feel the beginning of a headache forming right behind her left eye.

“Okay,” she said, lifting her voice just enough to cut through the overlapping conversation. “Can we please remember the actual problem?”

The room gradually quieted. Somewhat. Someone in the back was still whispering. Annie waited until the whispering stopped.

“Thank you.” She glanced at the paper again. “Student Activities is approving booths in the order they’re submitted, and we’re already behind. The Kappas turned theirs in yesterday.”

That immediately got somebody’s attention. “What they doin’?”

Annie’s mouth twitched. “Some kind of challenge booth.”

“What does that mean?” “It means Stack helped plan it.”

The room erupted.

“Chile…” “What he propose? A who-can-eat-it-better challenge?” “Danielle!”

Danielle lifted her hands sheepishly. “Just askin’.”

Annie laughed despite herself. “Basketball, dominoes, whatever else they can convince people to pay to compete in. They’re calling it Beat a Nupe.”

“Corny as fuck.” “Very.” “Still gonna make money.” “Unfortunately.”

Annie made a note beside their name. “The Alphas are doin’ a dunk tank.”

That got a different reaction. Heads came up. Brows lifted. A few smiles appeared that Annie did not trust at all.

“A dunk tank?” “Yes.” “With who sittin’ in it?” “I don’t know.” “Which Alphas?” “I said I don’t know.” “Is Smoke doin’ it?”

Annie looked up slowly.

The room broke apart before she even answered.

“Oh, she mad.” “She is answerin’ that.” “President Landry, this is relevant information.” “It’s not relevant information.” “It is to attendance.”

Annie pointed her pen at them. “Y’all ain’t about to turn my boyfriend into a marketing strategy.”

“Too late.” “Girl, if Smoke gets in that tank, the Alphas hittin’ their goal by noon.”“Exactly.”

Annie pressed her lips together. She hated that they might be right. Elijah had the unfortunate problem of attracting attention without ever seeming to notice it. Or maybe he noticed and simply didn’t care. Annie had never figured out which one was worse. He could walk across campus in gray sweats and an old fraternity hoodie and somehow have women finding reasons to look twice. He barely smiled at anybody. Rarely flirted. Usually looked like he would rather be left alone.

It didn't matter.

Apparently mystery was a public service.

“Anyway,” Annie said pointedly, dragging the conversation back before somebody suggested ticket presales for throwing balls at her man. “The Deltas are doing a sweet shop.”

“Of course they are.” “Red velvet?”

Annie checked the sheet. “Red velvet, strawberry shortcake cups, candy apples, lemonade.”

“Okay, so they came to win.”

“Exactly. Which is why we need to decide.” Annie continued. “Zetas haven’t submitted yet. Omegas are doing a step challenge. Student Government has the photo booth. The international student association has games. Nursing is doing blood-pressure checks, which is somehow very on brand and also deeply boring.”

“They doin’ blood pressures at a carnival?” “Apparently.” “Who gettin’ their blood pressure checked after eating fried Oreos?”“Somebody’s mama.”

That made Annie laugh again. She capped her pen and set it across the binder. “So. We need something that actually makes money, doesn’t require us buyin’ five hundred dollars’ worth of supplies, and isn’t already taken.”

Nia raised her hand.

“No funnel cake,” Annie deadpanned.

“No funnel cake.” “Bake sale?”

“No,” Jasmine stated flatly.

“We did that last year.” “And barely broke even.” “We broke even because Monique ate half the brownies.” “I was stressed!” “You was hungry!”

Laughter moved through the room.

Annie pinched the bridge of her nose. “Next.”

“Ring toss?” “Taken.” “Face painting?” “Fine, but who in here can paint?”

Several people looked at Jasmine.

Jasmine recoiled. “Why everybody lookin’ at me?”

“You did that mural.” “That was lettering. I cannot draw on nobody’s face.” “Car wash.” “No.” “Why?” “‘Cause I ain’t washin’ anybody’s car in April humidity.” “You live in Mississippi.” “That doesn’t mean I have accepted it.”

Another round of laughter.

Annie let them go for a few seconds before checking the clock again. They really did need to decide. She had promised the chapter advisor the form would be submitted tonight, and Annie hated missing deadlines almost as much as she hated people who responded to group emails with questions that had already been answered in the original email.

“All right,” she said. “Other options.”

A hand rose from the back.

Annie recognized the expression before the words even came. “No.” “You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.” “Yes, I do.”

Kiki smiled. “Kissing booth.”

The room exploded. Half the chapter started talking at once. Annie immediately shook her head. “Nope.”

“Why not?” “Because.” “Because why?” “Because no.” “That’s not very presidential.” “It is when I’m the president.” “You just abusin’ power now.”

Annie laughed and crossed her arms. “I ain’t havin’ y’all out there lettin’ random dudes kiss you.”

“They wouldn’t kiss us.”

Annie looked at Kiki.

Kiki shrugged. “We kiss them.”

“And that’s better?” “It kind of is.” “How?” “Control.”

A few women nodded solemnly like this was a serious business proposal. Annie stared at them. “You cannot be serious.”

Jasmine leaned forward. “Wait. She got a point.”

“No.” “Listen.” “I don’t want to listen.” “Annie.”

She sighed.

Jasmine sat straighter. “Not on the mouth.”

“Obviously.” “Cheeks only.” “Still.” “And we set levels.”

That slowed Annie down. “Levels?”

“Yeah. Like five dollars gets you a lipstick kiss on a paper heart.”

Nia snapped her fingers. “That’s cute.”

“Ten gets a kiss on the hand.” “Okay.” “Twenty gets cheek.”

The room went quiet for half a second. Then someone said, “Twenty-five.”

Another woman immediately shook her head. “Too high.”

“Men are stupid as hell.” “That don’t mean they have money.” “Twenty.” “Twenty is perfect.”

Annie opened her mouth. Nobody noticed. They were building the entire booth without her.

“We can decorate it pink and green.” “Of course.” “Little paper hearts everywhere.” “Disposable lipstick applicators.” “Sanitizer.” “Sanitizer is a must.”

“And rules,” Annie cut in. That finally brought several faces back to her. She hated that she was already participating in the planning.

Kiki smiled slowly. “Oh, so we considerin’ it now?”

“I didn’t say that.” “You asked about rules.” “Because if y’all are goin’ to keep talkin’ about it, somebody needs to inject common sense into the conversation.” “Same thing.”

“No, it ain’t.” Annie uncrossed her arms and picked up the pen again. “If this were even somethin’ we entertained, nobody gets to touch anybody. Period.”

“Agreed.” “No arms around waists.” “Yep.” “No grabbing faces.” “Obviously.” “No trying to turn your head at the last second.”

That earned immediate disgust.

“Ooh, yeah.” “Absolutely not.”

“They do that and they’re done.”

“Security.” “We don’t need security.” “We got Alphas.”

The room went suspiciously quiet. Annie looked up. Every face was innocent. Her eyes narrowed. “Don’t.”

Nobody said anything.

“That includes Smoke.”

That made them laugh.

“He ain’t security?” “He ain’t standin’ beside our booth intimidating customers.” “He wouldn’t have to say nothin’.” “Exactly.”

Annie tried not to smile. That was unfortunately true too. She wrote another note. “Every sister chooses whether she wants to participate. Nobody has to do cheek kisses if they’re not comfortable. Nobody has to work the booth at all if they’re not comfortable.”

Heads nodded.

“And nobody does anything beyond what’s on the sign because somebody offers more money.”

That earned a louder round of agreement.

“We fundraisin’. We not out here sellin’ ass.”

Nia covered her mouth. “Annie!”

“What?” “Sellin’ ass, really?” “I said what I said.”

They all were still laughing when Annie checked the clock again. “Okay. Enough. We’ve officially spent too much time on this.”

“But it would make money.” “I know.” “A lot of money.” “I know.” “People would come just because it’s us.” “That right there is why nobody likes us.” “You a damn lie. Everybody loves us.” “Pretty girls.”

A few women answered automatically. “Wear Twenty Pearls.”

“Period.”

The room broke into smiles. Annie shook her head. This was why meetings took forever. She looked down at the list they had built on the whiteboard. Bake sale. Ring toss. Face painting. Trivia wheel. Kissing booth. Not one option had unanimous support. And she could already feel another debate trying to start.

“Okay.” Nobody heard her. “Okay.” Still talking.

Annie picked up the wooden gavel their advisor had given her as a joke at the beginning of the semester and knocked it once against the desk. The crack snapped through the room. Every head turned.

She smiled sweetly. “Thank you.”

Someone muttered, “She been waiting all semester to use that.”

Annie ignored her. “We’re voting.”

Groans and cheers came at the same time.

“No more arguments. No more speeches. No more trying to convince people that funnel cake is somehow innovative.”

Nia sucked her teeth.

“Let it go.” “I’m tryin’.”

Annie began reading the options one by one, hands going up around the room as votes were counted. Bake sale disappeared quickly. Face painting did better than expected. Trivia almost won. Then Annie reached the final option. She looked at the room. Several women were already grinning.

Annie sighed. “Kissing booth.”

Hands shot into the air. Too many. Far too many. She counted once. Then again because she hoped she had somehow gotten it wrong. She hadn’t.

A cheer broke out. Annie closed her eyes. “Y’all get on my nerves.”

“We’re gonna make money!” “We better.” “Wait till the Kappas hear.” “Why the Kappas?” “You know why.” “They better bring cash.” “They will.”

Annie wrote the final tally beside the option and circled it. “Fine. Kissing booth wins.”

The cheering got louder.

She pointed the pen at them again. “With rules.”

“Yes, Madam President.” “With a schedule.” “Yes, Madam President.” “And if anybody act stupid, I am shutting the whole thing down.” “Yes, Madam President.”

Annie stared at them until the smiles widened. She already knew she was going to regret this. Not because of the booth. Not even because half the campus was going to enjoy this far more than necessary. No. The problem was that in approximately two hours she was going to have to tell Smoke. And while Annie loved her boyfriend deeply, completely, and with a level of patience that had been tested by everything from his habit of answering serious questions with one word to his conviction that folded laundry could remain in a basket indefinitely as long as it was technically clean, she knew one thing with absolute certainty.

Elijah “Smoke” Moore was going to say he was fine. He was going to mean it too.

At first.

He was at the kitchen table when she told him. Smoke’s apartment always felt quieter when Stack wasn’t home. Not actually quiet—the old refrigerator hummed, somebody upstairs dropped something heavy every fifteen minutes, and music from a passing car occasionally rattled the windows—but quieter in the way any room became quieter when Elias Moore wasn’t occupying it.

Annie sat cross-legged in one of the dining chairs with her laptop open in front of her, though she had stopped pretending to work almost ten minutes ago. Smoke was across from her. Economics textbook open. Notebook beside it. Black T-shirt. Gray sweats. One hand resting against his jaw while he read something on the page with the same concentration he brought to everything, as though the textbook had personally challenged him.

She had been waiting for a natural opening. None came. Smoke could sit in silence for an unreasonable amount of time and consider that companionship. She loved that about him. Usually. Tonight it was inconvenient. She tapped one fingernail against the edge of her laptop. He didn’t look up. She did it again. Still nothing.

“Smoke.” “What’s up.” “We picked our carnival booth.”

His eyes stayed on the page. “What y’all doin’?”

There it was. An opening. Annie drew a breath. “Kissing booth.”

His pen stopped. Just once. Barely noticeable. Then continued.

Annie watched him write something in the margin and waited.

Nothing.

“Elijah.” “What?” “You heard me?” “Yeah.” “And?”

He finally looked up. “And what?”

Annie stared at him. His expression was completely neutral.

Too neutral.

“We’re doin’ a kissing booth.” “I heard you.” “And you okay with that?”

One eyebrow lifted. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Annie leaned back. She had prepared for at least a look. A question. A pause longer than half a second. Something. Instead, Smoke lowered his eyes to the textbook again.

She narrowed hers. “You actin’ weird.”

“I’m readin’.” “No, before that.” “I was readin’ then too.” “Smoke.”

His mouth moved faintly at one corner. That almost-smile irritated her more than an argument would have.

“You think this is funny?” “A little.” “Why?” “’Cause you waitin’ on me to be mad.” “I’m not waitin’ on you to be mad.”

He looked at her. Annie held his gaze for three seconds. “Okay. Maybe a little.”

“Mhm.”

She closed the laptop halfway. “Well, I just wanted to tell you before the carnival. Because I didn’t want you showin’ up Saturday and seein’ it and thinkin’ I hid it from you.”

“You ain’t hide it.” “Nope.” “So we good.” “We good?” “Yeah.”

Annie studied him. He looked genuinely unbothered. That should have relieved her. Instead, it made her suspicious. “You want to know how it works?”

He shrugged. “If you wanna tell me.”

She ignored the casualness. “Five dollars is a lipstick kiss on a paper heart.”

Nothing.

“Ten is a kiss on the hand.”

Still nothing.

“Twenty is a kiss on the cheek.”

His eyes lifted. “Twenty?”

Annie smiled. “See!”

He frowned. “What?” “You do care.” “I asked how much.” “‘Cause you care.” “I asked ’cause twenty dollars for a kiss on the cheek is fuckin’ crazy.” “It’s for charity.” “Still crazy.” “Apparently your brothers think women are going to pay money to throw baseballs at y’all, so maybe don’t judge.” “That ain’t my booth.” “It’s literally the Alpha booth.” “I ain’t plan it.” “You participatin’.”

Smoke looked back down. “Maybe.”

Annie sat straighter. “Maybe?”

He had been deliberately vague about that all week.

“Elijah.” “What?” “Are you gettin’ in the dunk tank?” “Don’t know.” “Who knows?” “Chapter.” “You are chapter.”

He shrugged.

Annie stared. “You get on my nerves.”

“Mhm.”

She pushed her laptop aside and got out of the chair. Smoke glanced up as she walked around the table. She stopped beside him and leaned one hip against the edge.

“So let me understand this.”

He looked at her.

“You’re completely fine with me kissin’ other men.”

His expression changed. Not much. But enough to where Annie caught it instantly..

Smoke leaned back in the chair. “On the cheek.”

“Right.” “That’s what you said.” “Yes.” “So.” “So you fine.” “Yeah.”

Annie nodded slowly. Then smiled. “Wow.”

His eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Nothin’. I’m impressed.” “By what?” “How mature you are.”

He stared at her. “Don’t do that.” “Do what?” “Whatever that is.”

Annie laughed. “I’m serious.”

“No, you ain’t.” “I am. You are secure. Confident. Emotionally evolved.” “Bro.” “My man has grown up.”

He caught her wrist when she tried to step away. She laughed again as he pulled her between his knees.

“You play too much, bruh.” “I’m proud of you.” “You gon’ be proud somewhere else in a minute.” “No, I like it right here.”

His hands found her hips. Annie rested hers on his shoulders. She liked him like this. Relaxed. At home. No fraternity obligations. No classes. No work-study shift. No Stack barging into conversations with commentary nobody requested. Just Elijah. She bent and kissed his forehead. His hands tightened lightly against her sides.

“You really okay?” she asked, quieter now.

His eyes lifted to hers. “Yes, woman.”

She searched his face. “You would tell me if you weren’t?”

“Yeah.”

That answer came too easily. Annie gave him a look. “Elijah.”

He sighed. “I would.”

“Okay.”

She accepted it— Mostly. Then she smiled again. “Besides, it’s not like they kissin’ me.”

His brows drew together. “What?”

Annie slid her fingers along the back of his neck. “I’m kissin’ them.”

He went still. She felt it immediately. Not enough that anyone else would have noticed. But Annie knew him. She knew the smallest pauses. The barely there changes in his breathing. The way his eyes became more focused when something had landed differently than expected.

She bit the inside of her cheek. “Elijah?”

He stared at her. “That’s different.”

Annie burst out laughing. “How?”

“I thought they was kissin’ your cheek.” “No.” “So you leanin’ over kissin’ niggas?” “They’re cheeks.” “Still.” “Oh my God.” “You made it sound different." “I told you it was a kissing booth!” “Yeah, but—” “But what?”

He stopped. Annie waited. His mouth pressed into a line.

She laughed harder. “Smoke.” “Ain’t shit funny.” “It’s a little funny.”

His hands slid away from her hips. “Go finish your work.”

“No.” “Annie.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “You said you were emotionally evolved.”

“I ain’t say that. You said that.” “And now?” “Now you annoyin’ me.”

She kissed his cheek. Once. Soft. Quick. Exactly the kind of kiss they were talking about.

Smoke looked at her.

Annie smiled innocently. “That one was free.”

His eyes narrowed.

She kissed the other cheek. “Another freebie.”

“Keep playin’.” “Twenty dollars each on Saturday.”

He reached for her. Annie squealed and slipped away before he could catch her, circling the table while he looked at her like he was deciding whether standing up was worth it.

She grabbed her laptop. “Study, baby.”

“Yeah.” “I love you.” “Mhm.” “You love me too?”

He looked down at his book again. “Sometimes.”

Annie smiled all the way back to the couch. For the rest of the night, Smoke didn’t mention the kissing booth again. Not once. He finished reading. Closed his textbook. Helped her with a statistics problem she had been pretending not to struggle with. Ordered food. Argued with Stack over the phone about who had eaten the last of something in the refrigerator. And made love.

He walked Annie to her car close to midnight and stood beside the driver’s door while she dug through her purse for her keys. Everything was normal. When Annie rose onto her toes and kissed him goodnight, Smoke caught her at the waist and pulled her closer. The kiss lasted longer than she expected. Not enough to make her late getting home. Enough to make her smile against his mouth.

When they separated, she looked up at him. “What was that for?”

He opened her car door. “Nothin’.”

She laughed. “Goodnight, Smoke.”

“Text me when you get home.” “I always do.”

He waited until she pulled out of the lot before heading back upstairs. The apartment was empty when he walked in. Stack still wasn’t home. Smoke locked the door behind himself, went into his room, changed, turned off the light, and got into bed. For several minutes, he stared at the ceiling. There was nothing wrong with a kissing booth. It was a fundraiser. For charity. Annie had explained the rules. Nobody was touching her. Nobody was kissing her.

She was kissing— His eyes opened. He rolled onto his side. Closed them again. Random ass niggas sittin’ in front of her face. Smiling. Waiting. Annie leaning down. Those full pillow soft lips touching their faces— Smoke opened his eyes again. His mouth flattened.

Saturday suddenly felt very far away. And for the first time since Annie had told him about the carnival, a thought arrived with perfect, irritating clarity.

Fuck nah.

By 11:30 Saturday morning, Annie had already changed her mind about the kissing booth twice. The first time was while taping a strand of paper hearts across the front of the table and realizing that every single one had been cut slightly crooked. The second was when Kiki showed up carrying a plastic storage bin filled with lipsticks, glosses, disposable applicators, blotting sheets, hand sanitizer, mints, baby wipes, and what appeared to be enough pink tissue paper to wrap a small car.

Annie stared into the bin. “Why do we have this much stuff?”

Kiki set it on the folding table with a satisfied thump. “Because we are professionals.”

“At what?” “Fundraising.” “This looks like a backstage dressing room.” “Exactly.”

Annie shook her head and reached for the laminated price sign propped against one of the chairs. They had spent most of Thursday night making it. Actually, they had spent most of Thursday night arguing about fonts. Annie had wanted something simple. Nia had insisted simple was boring. Jasmine had somehow introduced rhinestones into the discussion. By the time they were done, the sign had a pink border, green lettering, lipstick marks in every corner, and enough glitter sealed beneath the laminate to catch sunlight from halfway across the quad.

At the top, in bold cursive letters, it read:

KISSES FOR A CAUSE

Underneath: $5 — Lipstick Kiss on a Paper Heart $10 — Kiss on the Hand $20 — Kiss on the Cheek

And beneath that, in smaller but extremely deliberate print: NO TOUCHING. NO TURNING YOUR HEAD. NO EXCEPTIONS.

Annie had added the last line herself. Jasmine had added a tiny heart beside it. Annie had removed the heart. Jasmine had put it back. Some battles were not worth fighting.

The carnival stretched across nearly the entire center of campus. White tents lined the walkways between the student union and the library. Bright banners snapped softly in the warm breeze, and music rolled from speakers near the main stage, mixing with bursts of laughter, fraternity chants, children shrieking from somewhere near the inflatable obstacle course, and the occasional amplified announcement from Student Activities reminding everybody that parking behind the science building was not, in fact, carnival parking. The air smelled like sugar, grease, sunscreen, and grass already warming beneath the noon sun.

Annie loved it. She always did. Spring carnival had been one of her favorite campus traditions since freshman year, partly because everybody seemed to emerge from whatever cave midterms had shoved them into and remember that college could actually be fun.

Professors brought their families. Students wore organization shirts and Greek letters. People wandered from booth to booth carrying lemonade, fried Oreos, funnel cake, snow cones, and paper plates stacked with things no one should reasonably eat before dinner.

The Divine Nine had taken over the east side of the quad. The Omegas were already yelling about something near their step challenge. The Deltas had a line for their sweet shop before they had even officially opened. The Kappas had taken up an obnoxious amount of space near the basketball court for Beat a Nupe, complete with a handmade scoreboard and a microphone that Annie already regretted them having access to.

She had heard Stack over it twice. The carnival hadn’t even started. The Alphas were directly across the quad from them. Which Annie had tried not to think too much about. Tried being the important word.

“Girl.”

Annie looked up. Nia was standing beside her with both hands on her hips.

“What?” “You have been starin’ over there for like thirty seconds.” “I have not.” “You have.” “I was checkin’ setup.” “Whose setup?”

Annie gave her a look.

Nia smiled. “Exactly.”

Annie turned back to the table. “I’m literally the president. I’m supposed to know what’s going on.”

“With the Alphas?” “With everybody.” “Mhm.”

Annie ignored her.

Across the quad, several Alpha brothers were dragging a long folding table into place beside the dunk tank. Their setup was simpler than theirs. Black-and-gold banner. Ticket bucket. Hand-painted sign.

DUNK AN ALPHA. Five dollars for three throws. Ten dollars for seven.

Annie could already hear women laughing around the booth. Of course. She leaned farther to the side. Smoke wasn’t in the tank. Good. Not that she cared. She was simply observing. As president. For organizational purposes.

“Still looking.” “Go put the paper hearts out.”

Nia laughed and did as she was told. Annie busied herself arranging the table. She had decided on a pale pink AKA T-shirt tucked into high-waisted denim shorts, white sneakers, gold hoops, and her hair pulled away from her face in a high curly ponytail. Most of the chapter had coordinated around some version of pink, green, denim, and white, which made the booth look even more put together than Annie had expected.

They had six sisters assigned to the first shift. Three would handle the actual kisses. One would take money. One would manage the paper hearts. One would stand nearby pretending not to be crowd control. Annie had assigned herself wherever she was needed. Because she was president. And because she did not trust half of them to remember to replenish sanitizer.

“Madam President!”

Annie turned. Jasmine was coming toward them carrying a large pink poster board over her head. “What is that?”

“Our goal.”

She lowered it: $2,500.

Annie stared. “Two thousand five hundred dollars?”

“Yes.” “We said fifteen hundred.” “That was before we saw how fine as fuck we look today.”

Annie closed her eyes. “Jaz.”

“What?” “You can’t create a fundraisin’ goal based on attractiveness.” “Why not?” “‘Cause that’s not a metric.” “It is today.”

Kiki leaned around Annie. “Twenty-five hundred is doable.”

“With what math?” “Twenty dollars a cheek.” “That’s not math.” “Girl math.”

Annie laughed despite herself. “Y’all exhaust me.” “Leadership is sacrifice.” “Apparently.”

A voice came through the Kappa microphone across the lawn.

“GOOD MORNING, GOOD PEOPLE—”

Annie groaned.

Stack.

His voice carried across half the quad. “Beat a Nupe is officially open for business! Think you can shoot? Think you can play dominoes? Think you can embarrass one of these handsome men in public?”

Several women screamed.

Stack paused. “See? They get it.”

Annie shook her head.

Nia cupped her hands around her mouth. “BOOOOO!”

Stack heard her. Somehow. His head turned. He spotted the AKA booth and lifted the microphone. “Hold on now. Was that hostility comin’ from the Pretty Girls from Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority? Can’t be.”

The booth erupted in boos.

Annie put both hands over her face. “No.”

“Oh, I know y’all not booin’ us when y’all out here selling pus—kisses!”

The girls around Annie screamed louder.

“STACK!”

He grinned from across the quad. “Respectfully.”

“Give me that microphone!”

Someone near him tried. Stack dodged. Annie was laughing harder now. This was exactly how the day was going to go. Loud. Messy. Fun. Probably exhausting. Then a shadow crossed the table.

“Y’all open yet?”

Annie looked up. A freshman boy stood there. She recognized him vaguely from one of the biology labs. He looked nervous. Too nervous. The carnival technically did not start for another seven minutes.

Annie glanced at the time. “Not yet.”

“Oh.”

His face fell.

One of the girls beside her whispered, “Damn.”

Annie elbowed her.

The boy looked at the sign again. Then at Annie. Then at the sign. “Can I come back?”

Kiki answered before Annie could. “Absolutely.”

He nodded too quickly and disappeared into the crowd. Annie watched him go. Then slowly turned toward her sisters.

“No.” “What?” “No.”

Kiki was already laughing. “That boy was sweet.”

“That boy looked like he was about to pass out.” “He probably was.” “This is goin’ to be a disaster.” “It’s goin’ to be profitable.”

Annie opened her mouth.

A hand touched the small of her back. She knew who it was before she turned. Smoke stood beside her. And just like that, every thought she had been having disappeared. He wore a black Alpha T-shirt with gold lettering across the chest, dark jeans, sneakers, and sunglasses on his head. Nothing special. Nothing he hadn’t worn a hundred times.

Still.

Annie hated men sometimes. Specifically this one. He looked good as hell without even trying, which felt disrespectful considering how much time she had spent deciding between two pairs of shorts that morning.

His hand stayed at her waist. “You good?”

Annie smiled. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

She leaned into him automatically. He bent and kissed her. Quick. Easy. Right on the mouth.

Nia made a dramatic choking sound behind them.

Annie pulled away and turned. “Do you need somethin’?”

“Nope.” “Then find somethin’ to do.”

Nia saluted. “Yes, Madam President.”

Smoke’s mouth twitched.

Annie looked back at him. “You’ve been here long?”

“Twenty minutes.” “And you didn’t come say hi?” “Was settin’ up.” “Mhm.”

His eyes moved over the booth. The decorations. The hearts. The sign. Then stopped.

Annie waited. His gaze stayed on the price list longer than necessary. She folded her arms. “You’ve seen this before.”

“Nah.” “Yes, you have. I told you everythin’ on it.” “Telling me ain’t seein’ it.”

He read the sign again. Then the rules. His expression relaxed by maybe half a degree.

Annie noticed. “You approve?”

He looked at her. “Of what?”

“The rules.” “I ain’t say nothin’.” “You don’t have to.”

Smoke glanced toward the crowd moving through the carnival. Then back at the booth. “How long you workin’?”

“First shift. Then I’m floatin’.” “How long is first shift?” “An hour and a half.”

His brows lifted.

“What?” “Nothin’.” “Why’d you make that face?” “What face?” “That one.” “I ain’t make a face.”

Annie smiled. There was something deeply satisfying about knowing a person well enough to catch lies nobody else would even recognize as lies.

“You look cute when you pretend not to care.”

His hand dropped from her waist. “Here you go.”

She laughed and caught his wrist before he could step away. “Where are you goin’?”

“Back to my booth.” “Are you gettin’ dunked?” “No.”

The answer came too fast. Annie’s smile widened. “Elijah.”

“No.” “Why not?” “Don’t feel like it.” “You told me maybe.” “Changed my mind.”

She looked over his shoulder. Several of his fraternity brothers were standing near the tank. One of them caught Annie’s eye. Smiled. Then pointed directly at Elijah. After that, he pointed at the dunk tank.

Annie looked back at her boyfriend. “Oh.”

Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

“You’re scheduled.” “No, I ain’t.” “Yes, you are.” “No.”

Behind him, one of the Alphas called out, “Smoke! One o’clock!”

Smoke closed his eyes.

Annie burst out laughing. “ONE O’CLOCK!”

“I heard you.” “You said you weren’t doin’ it.” “I’m not.”

His brother yelled again. “President said everybody takin’ a turn!”

Smoke slowly turned his head. “Mufucka, shut up.”

Annie laughed harder. “Oh, this is wonderful.”

“Ain’t shit funny.” “It is.”

His gaze dropped to her. “You got jokes now.” “I always have jokes.” “Mhm.”

She reached up and straightened the front of his shirt. “So one o’clock?”

“No.” “One.” “No.”

She smiled sweetly. “I’ll come watch.”

“That supposed to help?” “Absolutely not.”

Before he could answer, somebody called Annie’s name from behind the booth. She turned.

Jasmine was holding up the cash box. “We need you!”

Annie sighed. “Duty calls.”

Smoke looked past her toward the growing crowd. Then back down at her. “Text me if you need somethin’.”

“I will.”

He started to step away. Annie caught the front of his shirt. He looked down. She kissed him again. Longer this time. Not inappropriate. Just enough to make one of her sisters whistle behind them. Smoke’s hand came back to her waist.

When Annie pulled away, she smiled. “That should hold you.”

His eyes stayed on her mouth for a second. “From what?”

“Being emotionally unevolved.”

He stared.

She grinned. “Bye, baby.”

Smoke shook his head and walked away. Annie watched him cross the quad. His shoulders loose. Hands in his pockets. Completely calm. Totally fine. At least from the back. She smiled to herself and returned to the booth.

The carnival officially opened three minutes later. For the first ten minutes, things went smoothly. A few women bought paper kisses. Two little girls came by with their mother and paid five dollars each to get pink lipstick hearts for their scrapbooks. A professor donated twenty dollars and refused a kiss altogether.

Then a group of Kappas showed up. Of course they did. They came in a pack. Stack at the front. Sunglasses on. Kappa shirt. Confidence entirely undeserved.

Annie saw them coming and immediately pointed across the quad. “No.”

Stack looked offended. “We ain’t even done nothin’.”

“You about to.” “That’s profiling.” “That’s experience.”

He stopped in front of the sign and read it. Then nodded slowly. “Twenty dollars.”

Annie stared at him. “For what?”

“Cheek.” “No.”

His mouth fell open. “You can’t deny a donor.”

“I can.” “Your sign does not say that.” “It does now.”

Stack looked around. “Witnesses?”

Every sorority sister nearby was trying not to laugh.

He pressed a hand to his chest. “I came here to support my sisters.”

“You got the Deltas, Zetas, and the Sigmas over there, go support them.” “This is crazy.” “You have your own booth.” “My own booth don’t offer kisses.” “Sounds like a personal problem.”

Stack leaned closer. “What if I request somebody else?”

Annie waved toward Kiki. “Please do.”

Kiki recoiled. “Why me?”

“You wanted this booth. And…” Annie began in a teasing manner, “you should be very familiar with those cheeks.”

Kiki gasped.

Stack smiled wide. “I got twenty.”

Kiki narrowed her eyes. “You get cheek only.” “That’s what I paid for.” “Hands to yourself.” “I’m a gentleman.”

Every woman at the table laughed. Kiki kissed his cheek. Quick.

Stack touched the spot. “Worth every penny.”

Annie rolled her eyes.Then noticed Smoke across the quad. Watching. He stood near the Alpha booth talking to one of his fraternity brothers, body angled toward them, sunglasses on. But his head was turned. Just enough. Annie looked at him. He looked away. Her mouth twitched.

Interesting.

A few more customers came through. Mostly for paper hearts. A handful of hand kisses. Then the first man paid twenty dollars for Annie. She didn’t think anything of it. At least not at first. He was tall, probably a junior. She recognized him from around campus but couldn’t place his name.

He smiled. “You Annie?”

She blinked. “Yes.”

“Twenty.” He held out the bill.

Jasmine took it before Annie could.

“Cheek kiss?” “Yeah.”

Annie smiled politely. “All right.”

The guy leaned slightly toward her. Annie stepped closer, he turned his face, and she pressed a brief kiss to his cheek. Barely a second.

She stepped back. “Thank you for donating.”

He grinned. “Anytime.”

Annie laughed politely. He walked away. She reached for sanitizer. And then she felt it. A stare. Not from the customer. From across the quad. She looked up. Smoke was no longer pretending to be engaged in conversation. He was looking directly at her. Sunglasses pushed up again. Expression unreadable.

Annie froze for half a second. Then smiled. He didn’t smile back.

Oh. Oh, no.

Jasmine leaned beside her. “Why Smoke lookin’ over here like somebody stole somethin’?”

Annie bit the inside of her cheek. “He’s fine.”

“Is he?” “Yes.”

Across the quad, Smoke was still staring. Jasmine followed Annie’s gaze. Then slowly looked back at her. “Annie.”

“He said he was fine.” “Girl.” “He did.”

Jasmine’s eyes widened with delight. “Oh, this is about to be good.”

Annie tried not to laugh, because she loved Smoke. She did. And she would never intentionally make him uncomfortable. But there was something deeply, deeply funny about the fact that three nights ago he had sat across from her at his kitchen table acting like she was ridiculous for even asking whether this would bother him. Now one man had gotten a kiss on the cheek. ONE. And Smoke looked like he had just discovered an entirely new category of bullshit.

Annie picked up the hand sanitizer. “Don’t start.”

“I ain’t said nothin’.” “You thinkin’ loudly.”

Jasmine laughed. Another customer stepped forward. Twenty-dollar bill already in hand. Annie looked at him. Then, despite herself, looked across the quad. Smoke was still there. Watching. Her lips twitched.

Oh, this was absolutely going to be a problem.

The second customer was worse. Not because he did anything wrong. That was the irritating part. He walked up, paid his twenty dollars, read the sign, kept his hands to himself, and even asked Annie if she was comfortable before leaning in. Perfectly respectful. Smoke disliked him immediately.

He stood across the quad beside the Alpha booth with his arms folded, pretending to listen while one of his fraternity brothers argued about whether the dunk tank tickets should be sold in bundles. He had no idea what the answer was. Didn’t care. His attention was somewhere else. Again. Annie leaned in. Quick kiss. Cheek. Done. The guy smiled. Too much. Smoke’s eyes narrowed.

“Smoke.”

Nothing.

“Smoke.”

Still nothing.

A hand snapped in front of his face. He looked over. Brandon stared at him. “You hear anythin’ I just said?”

“Yeah.” “What I say?”

Elijah looked at him.

Brandon laughed. “That’s what I thought.”

Smoke ignored him and looked back toward the AKA booth. The guy was gone. Good. Another one was walking up. Bad. He exhaled through his nose. He had known what a kissing booth was. He understood the concept. He had sat right there at his kitchen table while Annie explained the whole thing to him in unnecessary detail.

Five dollars—Paper. Ten—Hand. Twenty—Cheek. Easy. Harmless. He had agreed. Because what kind of man got worked up over somebody getting a peck on the cheek at a charity fundraiser?

Apparently him. The third guy was wearing a basketball jersey. Smoke already hated that. Couldn’t have said why. Just did. Jersey walked up smiling. Annie smiled back. Not flirting. Smoke knew the difference. He knew Annie. She was friendly. Warm. The kind of person who made strangers feel like they had known her longer than five minutes. It was one of the things he loved about her. Today, however, he was finding it deeply inconvenient. Jersey handed over twenty dollars. Annie leaned in. Smoke looked away. He lasted maybe two seconds, then looked back. She was already stepping away. Fine—Whatever. He could do this.

“Nigga.”

Smoke closed his eyes.

Stack.

He didn’t bother turning around. “I know you heard me.”

“What, nigga.”

Stack came up beside him carrying a paper tray loaded with fries and enough ketchup to qualify as soup. He followed Smoke’s line of sight. Then looked at him. Then looked back across the quad.

His face slowly changed. “Ah.”

Smoke said nothing.

Stack smiled. “No.”

“Don’t.” “I ain’t even said nothin’ yet.” “Then keep it that way.”

Stack ate a fry. They stood there together. Another guy approached the kissing booth. Stack chewed. Watched. Looked at Smoke. Smoke’s mouth flattened.

Stack swallowed. “You sick.”

“Shut the fuck up.” “I knew it.” “Knew what?” “You was gonna get over here and start actin’ crazy.” “I’m standin’ here.” “Exactly.”

Smoke turned toward him. “What that mean?” “It mean you ain’t moved in twenty minutes.” “I’m helpin’.” “With what?”

Smoke looked around. The Alpha booth was fully staffed. Nobody needed him. Brandon had apparently solved the ticket crisis without his input. The dunk tank was already open. Two brothers were laughing beside it. One was wet. Everything was fine.

Stack nodded. “Right.”

Smoke looked away. “Go back to your booth.”

“I’m on break.” “You need a shorter one.”

Stack laughed. Across the quad, another twenty-dollar customer stepped forward. Smoke watched Annie glance up. Not at the guy. At him. Their eyes met and then she smiled. Not the polite booth smile. A different one. Small. Knowing. Smoke stared. She knew. Annie knew his moods before he had finished deciding whether he had one.

The guy leaned toward her. Smoke’s attention went right back to him. Quick kiss. Done. Stack made a noise beside him.

Smoke didn’t look. “What.”

“You countin’?” “No.” “That was four.”

Smoke turned slowly.

Stack grinned. “I wasn’t countin’ before, but now I am.”

“I’m about to knock that plate out yo’ mufuckin’ hand.” “You jealous.” “No.” “Smoke.” “No.” “Yo’ whole forehead mad.”

Smoke rubbed a hand over his face. “I ain’t jealous.”

Stack ate another fry. “Bruh.”

“It’s weird.” “What’s weird?” “That.”

Stack looked toward the booth. “Charity?”

“Her kissin’ random ass niggas.” “On the cheek.” “I know where.” “Then whatchu mad for?” “I ain’t mad.”

Stack looked at him for a long moment. Then started laughing. Hard. Smoke’s eyes narrowed. “What’s funny?”

“You sound just like Annie said you was gon’ sound.”

His head turned. “What she say?”

Stack stopped laughing. Too late.

“What she say?” “Nothin’.” “You just said—” “I’m just fuckin’ wit you, bro.”

Smoke took one step toward him. Stack backed up. “See, now you focused on the wrong thing.”

“What Annie say?” “She ain’t say nothin’ bad.” “What she say.”

Stack sighed. “Said you was actin’ all cool about it.”

Smoke stared. “And?”

“And she knew you wasn’t.” “I was.” “Was?”

Smoke said nothing.

Stack nodded slowly. “Right.”

Across the quad, the line got longer. Smoke noticed that too. It had been maybe eight people earlier. Now it was closer to fifteen. Mostly men. His entire expression changed.

Stack followed his gaze. “Oh, shit.”

“What?” “That line gettin’ serious.” “I can see.” “Your girl popular.”

Smoke looked at him.

Stack raised both hands. “Compliment.”

“You enjoyin’ this shit too much.” “Absolutely.”

Smoke looked back at the booth. Another guy stepped up—this one sprayed cologne. Actually sprayed it. Right there, from a little travel bottle. Smoke’s head tilted.

Stack saw it at the same time. “Ah, hell nah.”

Smoke pointed. “You saw that shit?”

Stack started laughing again. “Nigga just sprayed himself, bruh.”

“For a cheek kiss.” “Maybe he wanted to smell nice.” “For who?”

Stack lost it. Smoke stared at the guy. Cologne Man ran a hand over his shirt. Smoothed his beard, then approached the table like he was going on a date.

Smoke’s mouth opened slightly. “Mane, what the fuck.”

Stack bent forward, laughing into his fries. “You cannot be serious.”

“He freshenin’ up.” “So?” “So why?” “Maybe Annie got standards.”

Smoke looked at him.

Stack immediately straightened. “Bad joke, my bad bruh.”

Annie spotted Cologne Man, then she spotted Smoke. Then, to his complete annoyance, her shoulders started shaking. She was laughing. At him.

Smoke pressed his tongue against the inside of his cheek. “Yeah.”

Stack followed his gaze. “Oh, she got you.”

“Go away.” “She know you mad.” “I’m not mad.” “Jealous.” “No.” “Possessive?”

Smoke looked at him.

Stack thought about it. “Concerned citizen?”

“Elias.” “Aight.”

Cologne Man paid. Annie took the kiss. Quick. Polite. He walked away smiling. Smoke watched him go.

Stack did too. Then Stack looked back at Elijah. “That one hurt.”

“I hate you, bruh.” “I love you too, bro.”

Smoke unfolded his arms. He could leave. That was the smart thing. Go work his own booth. Walk around. Get food. Do literally anything besides stand across the quad watching men hand over twenty dollars for access to his girlfriend’s lips. He took one step. Then another customer approached. Smoke stopped.

Stack looked at him. “Bro.”

“What.” “You ain’t goin’ nowhere.” “Shut up, nigga.”

He stayed watching for another ten minutes. By then, Stack had started keeping an actual tally on a napkin. Smoke noticed on number seven.

“What is that?” “Data.” “Give me that.”

Stack pulled it away. “Scientific observation.”

“You got seven marks on there.” “Eight now.”

Smoke looked across the quad. Sure enough, another cheek kiss. He exhaled.

Stack made the eighth mark. “Current estimate, your girl has raised one-sixty on cheeks alone.”

“I know math.” “Clearly not, because you standin’ here watchin’ instead of investin’.”

Smoke looked at him. “What?”

Stack shrugged. “You got money.”

Smoke stared. Then looked toward the booth. Then back. “Nah.”

Stack smiled. “Didn’t say nothin’.”

“You said invest.” “Charity.” “I’m not payin’ my own girlfriend to kiss me.” “Why not?” “‘Cause she’s my girlfriend.” “Exactly. Discount.”

Smoke shook his head. “That’s stupid.”

“Less stupid than standin’ here mean muggin’ her and them niggas.” “I’m not mean muggin’.” “Riiiight.”

Stack ate another fry. Smoke ignored him for about three minutes. Then another man walked up. Twenty. Cheek. Smile. Smoke’s hand went into his pocket.

Stack froze. Slowly. Very slowly. A grin spread across his face.

Smoke looked at him. “Don’t.”

“I ain’t sayin’ shit.” “You look like you about to.” “Nope.”

Smoke pulled out his wallet. Stack turned away. His shoulders were shaking. “Elias.”

“I’m mindin’ my business.” “You laughin’.” “Quietly.”

Smoke took out a twenty.

Stack made a strangled sound. “Man.”

Smoke pointed at him. “One word.”

Stack bit his lips together. Smoke started across the quad. The closer he got, the more ridiculous the idea felt. He could just walk up to Annie, kiss her and leave. No money required, but that wasn’t the point. Actually, he wasn’t sure what the point was. He only knew that he was tired of watching everybody else step up to that table. And it was for charity. That part mattered. Probably. The line stretched farther than he had realized. Smoke stopped at the back.

A guy in front of him glanced over his shoulder. Then did a double take. Smoke ignored him. The guy looked at the booth. Then at Smoke. Then back again. “You in line?”

Smoke looked at him. “What it look like?”

The guy nodded. “Aight.”

He faced forward. Two seconds passed, then he turned again. “Ain’t that yo’ girl?”

Smoke stared. “Yeah.”

The guy frowned. “So why you—”

“It’s for charity.”

“Oh.” He turned around.

Smoke could practically feel Stack laughing from across the lawn. The line moved. Slowly. Too slowly. By the time Smoke reached the front, Annie had already seen him. Of course she had. Her eyes found him somewhere around fourth place. They widened. Then narrowed. Then lit with so much amusement that Smoke immediately regretted coming over. Not enough to leave. But enough.

Jasmine saw him next. Her mouth dropped open. “No.”

Annie looked at her. “Don’t.”

“Is he—” “Jaz.” “He is!”

Every woman at the table started looking. Smoke kept his expression neutral. The guy ahead of him paid for a paper heart. Five dollars. Smart man. He moved aside. Smoke stepped forward.

Annie folded her arms. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

Her eyes dropped to the twenty in his hand. Then back up. “What are you doing?”

“Donatin’.”

Behind her, somebody choked on a laugh. Annie’s lips twitched. “You know you can just donate without getting anything.”

“I know.” “Okay.”

Smoke put the twenty on the table. “Cheek.”

That did it. The entire booth erupted. Annie closed her eyes. “Y’all are so embarrassin’.”

Jasmine grabbed the money. “No refunds!”

Smoke looked at her. “Ain’t ask for one.”

Annie stared at him. He stared back. She tried to keep a straight face. Failed.

“You really are somethin’.” “It’s twenty dollars.” “To kiss me.” “For charity.” “I kiss you for free.” “I know.” “Every day.” “I know.” “On the mouth.”

His eyes dropped briefly to her lips. Then he licked his own. “I know.”

Annie’s stomach flipped. Then she stepped closer. Smoke leaned down slightly. She pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. Exactly like all the others. Except it didn’t feel like all the others. Maybe because her hand brushed lightly against his wrist. Maybe because she smiled against his skin. Maybe because she murmured, “Thank you for your donation, sir,” just loud enough for him to hear.

Smoke looked at her when she stepped back. Her eyes were sparkling. He shook his head. “Funny.”

“Very.”

He turned to leave.

Jasmine called after him. “Come again!”

Annie whipped around. “Jasmine!”

“What? We need money!”

Smoke walked away. Stack was waiting halfway across the quad. Smiling. Smoke stopped in front of him. “Say it.”

Stack shook his head. “No, I respect it.”

“Say what you wanna say.” “I respect a man who supports the cause.”

Smoke stared. Stack broke, bent over, and started laughing so hard he nearly dropped his fries. Smoke walked past him.

“One-twenty left in your wallet!” Stack called.

Smoke stopped and turned. “What?”

Stack held up the napkin. “You had seven twenties when we got here.”

“How the fuck you know that?” “I pay attention.” “Stop countin’ my money, mufucka.” “Just sayin’.”

Smoke walked away. He lasted six minutes. The next guy paid twenty. He tried to ignore it. Couldn’t. His hand went back into his pocket.

Stack looked up from his food. “No.”

Smoke said nothing.

“No fuckin’ way.”

Smoke pulled out another twenty.

Stack started laughing before he even moved. “You just went!”

Smoke headed back across the quad.

“Smoke!”

He kept walking.

“You was literally just there!”

Smoke got back in line. Same spot. Same expression. Different twenty. This time Annie saw him almost immediately. She stared. He stared back. Then she covered her mouth.

One of her sorority sisters leaned over. “What?”

Annie pointed subtly. Her sister looked, then doubled over laughing. Smoke waited. He could handle it. Probably. The guy ahead of him turned around. Same guy from before. He looked at Smoke. Then at the booth. Then at Elijah again.

“Bro.”

Smoke already knew. “Don’t.”

“You just—” “I know.” “Ain’t that—” “Yeah.”

The man nodded slowly. Then smiled. “Respect.”

Smoke looked away. By the time he reached the front, Annie had tears in her eyes. Actual tears.

“Elijah.”

He placed the twenty down. “Cheek.”

She laughed. “You were just here.”

“I got twenty more dollars.” “That ain’t how this works.”

Jasmine immediately leaned in. “That is exactly how this works.”

“Stay out of it.” “Fundraisin’ goal.”

Annie looked back at him. “You can’t keep payin’ me.”

“Why not?” “Because.” “That ain’t a reason.” “You my boyfriend.” “Still got money.” “That makes it worse.” “How?” Annie looked around at her sisters. No help. Every single one of them wanted his cash. Traitors. She turned back to him. “You know what? Fine.” Smoke raised his brows. Annie stepped forward and kissed his cheek. Quick. Then she pointed away from the booth. “Go.” He looked at her. “Go where?” “Anywhere but here.” “Thought this was open to everybody.” “Not to you.” The women behind her booed. Smoke’s mouth twitched. Annie caught it. “There.” “What?” “You think this is funny.” “Nah.” “Yes, you do.” He stepped back. “See you in a minute.” Annie’s eyes widened. “No.” Elijah walked away. “ELIJAH!” He didn’t turn. Across the quad, Stack was already marking something on the napkin. Annie put both hands over her face. Jasmine leaned against her shoulder. “I love your relationship.” “I hate all of you.” “Forty dollars." “I know.” “From one man.” “I know.” “Your man.” “Jasmine.” “Two thousand four-sixty to go.” Annie lowered her hands. “We already had money before him.” “Still.” Across the quad, Smoke was back beside Stack. Pretending nothing had happened. Annie watched him. Then watched Stack say something. Smoke shoved him lightly. Stack nearly fell over laughing. A fresh customer stepped forward. Annie turned back. Twenty-dollar bill “Cheek?” she asked. “Yeah.” She smiled. “Okay.” The kiss lasted less than a second. When Annie looked across the quad again, Elijah’s hand was already in his pocket. She pointed at him from fifty feet away. “No!” He stopped. Stack looked between them. Annie shook her head hard. Smoke slowly pulled his empty hand back out. The whole booth started laughing. Even he smiled this time. Barely, but enough. Annie laughed too. Then the line moved again. And for the next twenty minutes, Smoke somehow managed to stay away. Mostly. Then the Alpha president clapped Smoke on the shoulder. “Your turn. Smoke looked over. “What?” “One o’clock.” His face changed. Across the quad, Annie saw it. She checked the time. 12:58. Her smile spread. Oh. She had almost forgotten. The dunk tank. Jasmine followed her gaze. “What?” Annie slowly set the sanitizer down. “My man has an appointment “Where?” She pointed. The Alpha brothers were already steering Smoke toward the tank. He was protesting. Not loudly. Smoke did very little loudly. But his body language was clear. No. Absolutely not. One of his brothers grabbed the hem of his shirt. Smoke slapped his hand away. Annie laughed, then grabbed her purse. Nia looked at her. “Where you going?” “Taking a break.” “For what?” Annie pulled out a five-dollar bill. Across the quad, Smoke looked up. Their eyes met. He saw the money. Then saw her smile. His expression went completely flat.Annie nearly skipped across the grass, because jealous Smoke had been entertaining. But wet Elijah Moore sitting over a dunk tank while half the women on campus lined up to throw balls at him? That might be even better.

By the time Annie reached the Alpha booth, Smoke was sitting above the dunk tank looking like a man serving a sentence. His shoes were gone, so were his socks. And, apparently, his shirt.Annie slowed.

Oh. She hadn’t known about that part. Smoke sat on the narrow platform in nothing but black athletic shorts that hit just above his knees, forearms braced against his thighs, broad shoulders bare beneath the afternoon sun. The Alpha shirt he had been wearing all morning was nowhere in sight, likely surrendered somewhere between his brothers steering him toward the tank and whichever one had finally convinced him that climbing into several feet of water fully dressed was stupid. Annie stopped several feet away. Well. This had been a terrible idea. Not putting Smoke in the dunk tank. That was an excellent idea. Coming over here to watch it? That was where she had made her mistake. Because the booth had a line. A long one. Annie looked at it. Then looked at Smoke. Then back at the line. Women. A few men from other frats who were clearly there for the pleasure of knocking an Alpha into a tank of water, but mostly women. Annie’s smile faded. Beside the tank, Brandon was taking money. “Five dollars, three throws! Ten dollars, seven! Step right up!” A girl Annie recognized from one of her sociology classes handed him ten. Annie folded her arms. The girl stepped toward the throwing line. Smoke sat above the tank staring straight ahead, looking profoundly uninterested in the fact that he was half naked in front of what appeared to be an increasingly enthusiastic section of the female student body. “Smoke!" He looked over. The girl smiled. Smoke gave her a polite nod. Annie’s eyes narrowed. Oh, now he knew how to acknowledge people. Interesting... The first throw missed. Badly. The girl laughed. “So close!” It had not been close. The second missed too. By the fourth, Annie started wondering if the girl was intentionally throwing badly to stay there longer. That was ridiculous. Probably… Maybe. The fifth ball hit the edge of the target. Smoke looked bored. The sixth missed, but the seventh—Bullseye. The seat dropped. Smoke disappeared. The splash sent water over the side of the tank. The entire line screamed. Annie laughed before she could stop herself. He surfaced. Water streamed down his face and shoulders as he pushed both hands over his head, wiping it from his eyes before swimming toward the platform. Annie stopped laughing. Oh, hell no. Apparently a dry, shirtless Elijah had been one problem. A soaking-wet, shirtless Elijah was another entirely. Water gleamed across his shoulders and ran in thin trails down his chest as he hauled himself back onto the platform. He wiped a hand over his face, completely oblivious—or pretending to be—to the sudden increase in noise from the women waiting in line. Annie heard somebody behind her say, “Damn.” Her lips pressed together. Yes. She was aware. Smoke looked toward the line. Then toward Annie. Their eyes met. He saw her face. His mouth twitched. Annie immediately frowned. Don’t. His smile grew. Not much, but enough. She knew exactly what he was thinking. He had caught her. Annie lifted the five-dollar bill in her hand. His smile disappeared. Better. She got in line. A white girl ahead of her turned around. “Oh my God, he is sooo hot.” Annie blinked. The girl smiled and continued. “I've been waiting all morning for his turn.” Have you? Annie smiled. “That right?” “Yes! Girl, look at him.” Annie looked. Unfortunately. Smoke dragged both hands over his wet face, then swept one across his chest, brushing away the water still trailing down his skin. Her lips parted. Well. That was unnecessary. He glanced toward her. Annie looked away. Miss Been-Waiting-All-Morning sighed. “I don’t even care if I hit the target.” Annie looked back. “What?” “I mean, I want to hit it. But I just wanted to see him wet.” Annie stared. Miss Thirsty laughed. “You know what I mean.”

“I do.” Unfortunately. “Do you think he has a girlfriend?”

Annie’s eyebrows rose. Oh. So we goin’ there? She looked Miss Do-He-Got-a-Girlfriend up and down, every polite answer disappearing from her mind as something considerably less charitable rose to take its place. “Actually—”

“Next!” Brandon shouted.

Miss Wanna-See-Him-Wet brightened. “That’s me!” She hurried toward the throwing line. Annie stood there with her mouth still slightly open. Oh, no. Bitch, come back here. Because now she had something to say. 

Her gaze followed Miss Five-Dollars-and-a-Dream toward the tank before sliding to Elijah. He was already looking at her. Annie narrowed her eyes. His brows lifted. She stared. 

Your little fan club, that’s what. Something in her face must have translated because the corner of his mouth started to rise. Annie pointed at him. Don’t. His smile grew anyway. Fine. Let him enjoy himself. Miss Front-of-the-Line had three throws coming—first throw missed. Annie watched her. Then looked at Smoke. He was still looking at her. She mouthed one word. Girlfriend? He frowned. Annie pointed to herself. His eyes narrowed like he had no idea what she was talking about. She shook her head. Men. Miss He-So-Hot threw again. Missed. Annie stood there with her arms folded.  Miss I-Been-Waiting-Since-Breakfast tried one more. Missed again. Not even close. Annie’s mouth twitched. Miss All-That-Thirst-and-No-Aim laughed it off and stepped away from the throwing line.  Annie watched her go. Mm-hmm. All that carrying on about seeing somebody else’s man wet and couldn’t hit a damn target to save her sunburnt life! Tragic. “Next!” Brandon looked up and noticed Annie. His entire face lit up. “Oh, shit. Smoke followed his gaze. Annie smiled sweetly. Brandon laughed. “Smoke, you in trouble.”

Smoke looked at Annie.

She held up her five. “Just supportin’ my brothers.”

Brandon nearly dropped the cash box. Smoke stared. Annie stepped forward when it was her turn.

Brandon took her money. “Three throws.” “I only need one.” The people around them reacted immediately. “OHHHH!” Smoke leaned back on the seat. “You talkin’ big.” Annie picked up the ball. “You scared?” “Nah.” “You should be.” “Throw it then.” She smiled. He knew that smile. She could tell by the way his expression changed. Annie drew her arm back. Threw. The ball smacked the center of the target. Smoke dropped. Splash. The Alpha booth erupted. Annie threw both hands in the air. “Yes!” Brandon doubled over. “FIRST THROW!” Smoke came up wiping water from his face. Annie walked closer to the tank. “Five dollars well spent.” He looked at her. “You practiced.” “What?” “You practiced.” “Why you hatin’?” He hauled himself back onto the platform, water streaming from his shoulders and down his chest. He pushed a hand over his face, then shook the excess from his head. Annie tried not to look. Failed. Her gaze dipped before she could stop it, following a bead of water as it slipped down the center of his chest and disappeared at the waistband of his shorts. When she looked up again, Smoke was watching her. His brows lifted. Annie immediately frowned. “What?” His mouth curved. “Ain’t say nothin’.”

“You were about to.”

“Nah.”

“Yes, you were.”He leaned forward slightly. “You good?” Her eyes narrowed. “Fine.” “Mhm.” That smug little sound irritated her more than an actual comment would have. She pointed the remaining two balls at him. “Keep playing with me and I’ll use both of these.” Smoke leaned back onto the seat, entirely too pleased with himself now. “Thought you only needed one?” Annie stared at him. Oh, she hated him. Brandon called the next person forward before she could come up with a response that wouldn’t embarrass both of them in public. Annie started to walk away. “Smoke!” He looked at her. She pointed at him. “Put a towel on.” The Alpha brothers lost their minds. Smoke laughed. Actually laughed. Head dropping for a second before he looked back at her. Annie walked away before he could say anything. She heard Brandon behind her. “Not a towel!" The Alpha brothers lost their minds. Smoke laughed. Actually laughed. Head dropping for a second before he looked back at her. Annie walked away before he could say anything. She heard Brandon behind her. “Not a towel!” Another voice joined in. “President Landry said cover up!” “Shut up, nigga!”

She was still smiling when she reached her booth.

Jasmine saw her coming. “Well?”

Annie picked up the sanitizer. “Well what?”

“Did you dunk him?” “First throw.”

Her sisters cheered. Annie accepted the praise she deserved.

Then Nia leaned closer. “Why you look mad then?”

“I don’t.” “You do.” Jasmine looked across the quad. “Oh.”

Annie followed her gaze. Another woman was stepping up to throw. “Stop.”

Jasmine started laughing. “Look at you.”

“I said stop.” “All mornin’ you been laughin’ at that man.” “And?” “And now you over here lookin’ like you wanna fight a line.” “I don’t.” “Ok.”

Annie reached for the cash box. “Where are we?”

Jasmine was still smiling when she checked. “Little over sixteen hundred.”

Annie blinked. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

That pulled her attention back immediately. They had been open less than two hours. “Paper hearts are doing way better than I thought.”

“Told you.” “And cheeks?” “Better.”

Annie looked at the line. Still long. She sighed. “Okay. Let’s keep it moving.” For the next forty minutes, they did.“I do not.”

The carnival grew more crowded as the afternoon wore on. Music got louder. Lines stretched farther. The smell of funnel cake seemed to cover the entire campus. Annie rotated out twice to handle chapter business, helped one of her sisters deal with a customer who thought offering fifty dollars meant the rules no longer applied, refilled the paper hearts, found more change, answered three questions from Student Activities, and somehow acquired half a lemonade she could not remember buying. 

By 2:30, her feet hurt. Her lipstick needed touching up. And they were closing in on two thousand dollars. Smoke hadn’t returned. She told herself she hadn’t been looking for him, but she had. Every now and then, she looked toward the Alpha booth. He was there. Dry now. Back in jeans, talking to his brothers and helping. Being normal. She should’ve been relieved. Instead, a tiny part of her wondered if she had embarrassed him earlier. Maybe she had pushed the joke too far. She was considering texting him when a twenty-dollar bill appeared on the table. Annie looked down. Then up.

Elijah.

She stared. He stared back. “No.”

His brows lifted. “I ain’t said nothin’.” “You don’t have to.”

Jasmine appeared beside Annie like she had been summoned by money. “Welcome back!”

Annie turned. “Go away.”

“I work here.”

Smoke placed the twenty flat on the table. “Cheek.”

Annie crossed her arms. “You already had two.”

“I know.” “Then why are you back?” “Got another twenty.” “You done.” “How?” “You’ve had two.” “Sign don’t say there’s a limit.”

Annie looked at the sign. Damn it. Smoke followed her gaze. “Exactly.”

She looked back at him. “You ain’t about to keep doin’ this.”

“Doin’ what?” “Payin’ twenty dollars every time somebody else gets a kiss.” His face became blank. Jasmine made a sound.

Annie’s eyes widened. “Oh my God.”

“I ain’t doin’ that.” “Yes, you are.” “No.” “You are!” “Annie.” “That’s why you came back?”

He looked away. That was all the confirmation she needed.

Her mouth fell open. “Elijah!”

“Keep your voice down, woman.”

She started laughing.

He frowned. “Ain’t funny.”

“It is!” “Here you go.” “You jealous.” “I ain’t jealous.”

“You have spent—” She looked at Jasmine. “How much?”

“Forty.”

“Sixty,” Smoke corrected.

Annie turned slowly. “Sixty dollars?”

He shrugged.

Jasmine looked delighted. “Thank you for supporting our philanthropic efforts.”

Annie covered her face. “Lijahhh.”

“What?” “You have spent sixty dollars kissin’ your own girlfriend.” “For charity.” “Stop sayin’ that!”

He almost smiled. Almost. Then another guy stepped into line. Smoke noticed. Annie saw him notice.

She looked between them. “No.” Smoke reached for his wallet. “No!” Her sisters started screaming. He pulled out another twenty.

“ELIJAH.” “What?” “You ain’t payin’ again.” “Why?” “Because this is crazy!”

Jasmine grabbed Annie’s arm. “Let that man support education!”

“Whose side are you on?” “The scholarship fund’s!”

Smoke held out the twenty.

Annie refused to take it.

He looked at Jasmine.

Jasmine took it immediately. “Thank you.”

“Traitor!”

Smoke stepped closer. “Cheek.”

Annie stared at him. He waited. The guy behind him waited. Her sisters waited. Annie leaned forward and kissed his cheek. Quick. Then she turned his face and kissed the other. Quick.

Then she whispered near his ear, “You’ve lost yo’ damn mind.”

Smoke turned his head slightly. “No touching.”

She jerked back. He smiled.

Annie gasped. “You—”

“Rules.”

He walked away. Her sisters collapsed.

Annie stood there staring after him. “Did he just use my own rule against me?”

“Yes.” “I hate him.” “No, you don’t.” “No, I don’t.”

She reached for the sanitizer. Then stopped. Smoke hadn’t gone far. He was standing beside Stack. Stack looked at him. Looked at the booth. Looked at the twenty Jasmine was putting into the cash box. Then pulled something from his pocket.

A napkin.

Annie narrowed her eyes. “What is he doin’?”

Jasmine followed her gaze. “Who?”

“Stack.”

Across the quad, Stack made a mark on the napkin.

Annie’s eyes widened. “He’s keepin’ count.”

Jasmine laughed. “Of what?”

“Elijah.” “No.” “Yes.”

Annie left the booth.

“Where are you going?” “I need answers.”

She crossed the grass. Stack saw her coming and immediately hid the napkin behind his back.

Too late.

“Give it.” “Hey, Annie.” “Give me the napkin.” “What napkin?” “The one behind your back.”

Smoke looked between them. “Don’t give her that.”

Annie’s head snapped toward him. “Oh, now I definitely want it.”

Stack backed away. “See, this between y’all.”

“Elias.” “Why y’all usin’ my government name today?” “Napkin.”

He sighed and handed it over. Annie looked down. There were marks. Far too many marks. And numbers. And dollar signs.

She looked at Smoke. “What is this?”

He looked at Stack.

Stack pointed at him. “Don’t look at me like that. You knew I was documentin’.”

“You a whole weirdo, nigga.” “Weirdo? Mufucka you the one buyin’ subscriptions to your own girlfriend.”

Annie choked.

Stack continued. “Eighty dollars.”

Annie looked down. Then at Smoke. “Eighty?”

“Apparently.” “You spent eighty dollars?”

Smoke shrugged.

Stack leaned toward Annie. “He got another hundred forty in his wallet.”

Smoke shoved him. “Stop countin’ my money.”

Annie laughed so hard she had to bend forward. Smoke waited. Arms folded. Expression annoyed. She tried to stop. Couldn’t.

“Smoke, baby.”

“Don’t.” “Eighty dollars?” “It’s goin’ to somethin’ good.” “You somethin’ good!”

Stack made a sound that might have been a laugh or a cough.

Annie wiped beneath her eyes. “You could’ve taken me to dinner.”

“I do.” “You could’ve bought me flowers.”

“I have.” “You could’ve kissed me for free.” “I did that this morning.” “Then why are you payin’?”

Smoke stared at her. For a second, Annie thought he might actually answer. Then his eyes moved past her. Toward the booth. The line. Back to her. He said nothing. He didn’t need to. Annie’s laughter softened. There. Under all the stubbornness. Under the denial. Her ridiculous, quiet boyfriend who had spent the entire morning trying to convince himself that he didn’t care about something he very clearly cared about.

Annie stepped closer. “You really hated it that much?”

Smoke’s gaze returned to hers. “Didn’t say hate.”

“You’ve spent eighty dollars.” “That don’t mean I hated it.” “It kind of does.”

Stack nodded. “It really does.”

Smoke looked at him. “Go away.”

“Gladly.”

Stack took two steps. Then stopped. “Wait.”

Neither of them liked his tone. Stack looked toward the booth. Then at Elijah. A slow smile spread across his face. “How much y’all tryna raise?”

Annie froze. “No.”

Smoke looked at her. “How much?”

“No.” “Annie.” “No!”

Stack started laughing. “How much?”

She pointed at him. “You shut up.”

Smoke looked toward the pink poster board beside the booth. He could probably see the number from where they stood.

His eyes narrowed. “Twenty-five hundred?”

“No.” “You almost there?” “That’s none of your business.” “You got how much?” “Smoke.”

Stack leaned in. “Little over two thousand last I heard.”

Annie whipped around. “How do you know?”

“I got sources.” “You ain’t a source. You a disease.”

Smoke reached for his wallet.

Annie slapped her hand over it. “No.”

He looked down at her hand. Then at her. “What?”

“You ain’t buyin’ out the kissing booth.” “I ain’t buyin’ it out.” “What are you doin’, then?” “Donatin’.” “Enough to close it?”

He paused. Stack made a strangled noise behind them. Annie’s mouth fell open. “Smoke!”

“What?” “No!” “Why?” “‘Cause you can’t solve jealousy by fundin’ it!” “I told you I ain’t jealous.” “Then why are you tryin’ to shut down my booth?” “I ain’t shuttin’ it down.” “With money!” “Still counts towards the goal.” “That’s not the point!” “Seems like the point.”

Stack was openly crying with laughter now.

From the AKA booth, Jasmine yelled across the quad, “STOP BLOCKIN' BLESSINGS, ANNIE!”

Every head turned. Annie closed her eyes. “No.”

Another sister joined in. “WE ACCEPT CASH!”

“STOP HELPING!”“VENMO TOO!”

Smoke’s shoulders moved. Annie opened her eyes. He was laughing. Quietly and trying not to. That broke her. She laughed too. “Y’all are terrible.”

Stack wiped his eyes. “This the best carnival we ever had.”

Annie shook her head. Then looked at Smoke. “No buyin’ out the booth.”

He sighed.

“Elijah.” “Aight.” “Promise.” “I ain’t promisin’.”

She stared. He smiled.

“I’m going back to work.” “You better.”

He bent and kissed her forehead. Free. Annie caught his shirt before he could move away. “You owe us twenty dollars for that.”

Smoke looked at her. Stack screamed. Annie released him and walked back toward the booth laughing.

She heard Smoke behind her. “That’s not even on the sign!”

“New rule!”

Smoke didn’t try to buy out the booth. He did, however, appear in Annie’s line again before the afternoon was over. Twenty in hand. Annie was in the middle of answering Jasmine, checking the cash total, and trying to figure out where half their paper hearts had disappeared to when he reached the front.

She looked at the bill. Then at him. “Seriously?”

“Last one.” “You said that before.” “Never said that.”

Fuck him.

Jasmine took the twenty.

Annie kissed his cheek and pointed toward the Alphas without another word. Smoke left looking entirely too satisfied with himself. Annie went right back to counting money. What she didn't see was him slip into the line once more later, while she was across the quad dealing with Student Activities. Kiki had been working her spot, and when Smoke finally reached the front and realized Annie wasn't there, he should have walked away. Instead, he handed Jasmine the twenty anyway.

“For when she get back.”

Jasmine stared at him. “You prepayin’ for kisses now?”

Smoke looked at her.

She snatched the bill. “Never mind. We accept advance donations.”

He got his cheek kiss when Annie returned ten minutes later, sandwiched between her asking where the extra paper hearts had gone and Jasmine telling her somebody needed more change. Annie never even saw the money change hands. And Elijah didn't volunteer the information either.

They passed twenty-five hundred dollars at four-twelve. Jasmine screamed so loudly that people at the Delta booth turned to look. Someone rang a little handbell Annie had not known they possessed. Her sisters hugged each other. Nia changed the number on the goal board while Kiki announced to everyone within earshot that they had officially exceeded their carnival goal. Annie stood behind the table smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. They kept the booth open another forty-five minutes. By five, the crowd had started thinning. Families headed home. Music lowered. Organizations began packing decorations into plastic bins. The inflatable obstacle course sagged slowly toward the grass. 

Annie’s feet hurt so badly she had stopped pretending otherwise. She kicked off her sneakers beneath the table and stood in her socks while counting the final cash total with Jasmine.

“Twenty-eight sixty-five.”

Annie looked up. “What?”

Jasmine turned the calculator around. $2,865.

Annie stared. Then smiled. “Seriously?”

“Seriously.”

They had almost doubled the original goal. Annie leaned back in her chair. “Oh my God.”

“Worth it?”

She looked at the remnants of their booth. Paper hearts everywhere. Lipstick tubes scattered across the table. Half-empty sanitizer bottles. Glitter somehow on everything. “Ask me tomorrow.”

Jasmine laughed.

One by one, the sisters began carrying supplies toward the student union. Annie stayed behind with the money box and paperwork. By the time she finished, the quad looked completely different. Quieter. Open. The late-afternoon sun stretched shadows across the grass. Somebody had turned the music down to something soft enough that Annie could finally hear herself think. She was trying to peel tape from the front of the table when a hand reached past hers.

Elijah.

He pulled the tape free. “Got it.”

Annie looked up. “Hi.”

“Hey.”

He had changed back into the black Alpha shirt from earlier. His hair was still slightly wet from the dunk tank. Annie smiled at the sight.

“Don’t.” “I didn’t say anything.” “You was about to.” “I was goin’ to say you look handsome.” “Mhm.”

He folded the paper-heart banner and set it in the bin. Annie watched him. “You don’t have to help.”

“I know.”

He picked up another decoration. Annie didn’t ask again. They worked beside each other for a while. He folded tables. She gathered supplies. He carried the heavier bins. She organized what needed to go back to the chapter storage room. By the time they finished, most of the carnival had disappeared. Annie sat on the edge of the last table.

Smoke stood in front of her. “Tired?”

“My feet are dead.”

He looked down. “You ain’t got shoes on.”

“They betrayed me.”

He shook his head, then reached for one of her feet.

Annie blinked. “What are you doin’?”

Smoke lifted it into his hand like the answer should’ve been obvious. His thumb pressed into the aching center of her arch. A groan slipped out before Annie could stop it. “Oh gawddd.”

“That bad?” “Yes.”

He moved closer, resting her heel against his thigh as his thumbs worked slowly over the bottom of her foot. Annie nearly melted right there on the table.

“You could’ve told me your feet was hurtin’.” “I was busy.” “Right.” “And I didn’t know they were goin’ to hurt this bad.”

“You been standin’ all day in them little-ass shoes.”

Annie looked down at the white sneakers abandoned beneath the table. “They normal-sized shoes.”

“For who?”

She kicked lightly at his thigh with her other foot. “Shut up.”

Smoke caught that one too. Annie laughed as he switched feet without being asked, settling her heel against him and pressing his thumb into another sore spot.

Her eyes closed. “Okay, I forgive you.”

“For what?” “Being annoyin’ all day.” “I ain’t do nothin’.”

Her eyes opened. “You spent a hundred dollars at a kissin’ booth where your own girlfriend was workin’.”

“For charity.” “Smoke.”

His mouth twitched, but his attention stayed on her foot. Annie watched him for a moment, some of her amusement softening around the edges. That was Elijah. He could spend half the day stubbornly refusing to admit he was jealous, then notice her bare feet beneath a table and start rubbing them without her having to ask. She reached down and brushed her fingers over the back of his neck. “You know you could’ve just told me.”

He glanced up. “Told you what?”

“That you was jealous.”

He sighed. “Here we go.”

“I’m serious.” “So am I.” “You were jealous.” “I ain’t like it.”

Annie smiled. “That’s jealousy.”

“Nah.” “What is it, then?”

Smoke worked his thumb slowly along her arch before answering. “Not likin’ niggas kissin’ on my girl.”

Annie’s eyebrows rose. “Elijah.”

“What?” “They weren’t kissin’ me.”

His hand stopped. Annie knew immediately what she had done. She bit her lip. “I was kissin’ them.”

He stared at her. She burst out laughing.

“See, that’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about.” “I’m sorry!” “You keep makin’ it worse.” “I didn’t mean—” “First you leanin’ over kissin’ niggas, now—” “Cheeks!” “Still using yo’ mouth.”

Annie was laughing hard enough now that she had to brace one hand against his shoulder. “Okay. Okay.”

Smoke shook his head and went back to rubbing her foot, though his expression had soured all over again.

That only made her laugh harder. “You know what I mean.”

“Mhm.” “And I would’ve stopped if you really wanted me to.”

That changed something. His hands slowed.

Annie’s laughter faded. “I would’ve,” she repeated.

“I know.” “You know that, right?”

His gaze lifted to hers. “Yeah.”

She studied him. “You could’ve told me it bothered you.”

Smoke looked away for a second. “I told you it didn’t.”

“Before you saw it.” “Yeah.” “And then?”

His gaze returned to hers. He shrugged. “Then I saw it.”

Annie smiled. There was something so simple about the admission that it touched her more than she expected. He hadn’t asked her to stop. Hadn’t embarrassed her. Hadn’t interfered with the booth. He had stood across the quad and suffered through every ridiculous feeling until his solution became repeatedly handing her sorority twenty-dollar bills. A hundred dollars’ worth, apparently. All because he didn’t like watching her kiss somebody else on the cheek. Ridiculous man. Sweet man.

Her man.

Annie curled her toes lightly against his palm. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.” “And jealous.” “Nope.” “And very charitable.” “Y’all welcome.”

She laughed softly. Smoke gave her foot one final squeeze before lowering it carefully to the ground. Annie immediately missed his hands.

“Guess how much we made.” “Twenty-eight sixty-five.”

Her mouth opened. “How you know?”

“Stack.” “Why Stack know everythin’?” “Nosy.” “He knew exactly how much money you had in your wallet too.” “Right, nosy.”

Annie laughed. Smoke moved between her knees now, his hands settling against her thighs. She looked up at him. “You know what the crazy part is?”

“What?” “I think you genuinely believed you were gonna be okay with it.” “I was okay with it.”

Annie stared at him. “For how long?”

He thought about it. “Till the first one.”

She burst out laughing. Smoke’s mouth twitched.

“One man.” “Mhm.” “One little kiss on the cheek.” “Didn’t like him.” “You didn’t know him.” “Didn’t need to.”

Annie shook her head. “What was wrong with him?”

“Smiled too much.”

Her mouth dropped open. “Elijah!”

“What?” “He donated twenty dollars!” “Could’ve donated and kept movin’.” “He did!” “Eventually.”

Annie laughed and wrapped her arms around his neck. Elijah’s hands slid farther around her thighs, drawing her closer to the edge. “And what about the one with the cologne?”

His expression changed immediately. “That nigga was weird.”

She lost it.

“He put on cologne, Annie.” “I know!” “At the booth.” “I was there!” “For a cheek kiss.” “You never lettin’ that go, are you?” “Nah.”

She tucked her face briefly against his shoulder, laughing. Elijah let her. For a second. Then, “You done?”

Annie lifted her head. “With what?”

“Talkin’ shit.”

Her smile widened. “About you being jealous? Never.”

“Aight, bruh.”

Something about that made her eyes narrow. Smoke was looking at her now, the faintest smirk pulling at one corner of his mouth.

“What?” “Nothin’.” “Elijah.”

He shrugged. “Just funny.”

“What’s funny?”

His thumbs moved lazily against her thighs. “You thought I ain’t notice.”

Annie went still. “Notice what?”

His smirk deepened. Oh, shit.

“That girl at the dunk tank.”

Annie blinked. “What girl?”

Smoke laughed under his breath.

“I don’t know what you talkin’ about.” “Sure.” “There were a lot of girls over there.” “Was only one you looked ready to fight.”

Annie’s mouth fell open. “I did not look ready to fight that girl.”

“Aight.” “I didn’t!” “You was pointin’ at me and shit.” “Because she asked if you had a girlfriend!”

Smoke’s brows lifted.

Annie stopped. Fuck. His smile spread.

“Oh, fuck you.” “There it is.” “That was different.” “How?” “Because.” “Because what?”

Annie opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Smoke waited.

“She was bein’ disrespectful.” “How?” “She said she’d been waiting all morning to see you.” “So?” “Then she said she wanted to see you wet.” “And?”

Annie stared at him. “And then she asked me if you had a girlfriend!”

Smoke nodded slowly. “So you was jealous.”

“No.”

His eyebrows went up.

“I was irritated.” “Oh.” “Yes.”

“That what we callin’ it?”

Annie narrowed her eyes. “You don’t get to do this.”

“Do what?” “Turn this around on me.” “Ain’t turnin’ nothin’ around.”

“You spent a hundred dollars!” “You got in line.”

Annie stared at him. “To support the fundraiser!”

“Mhm.” “I had five dollars!” “Mhm.” “And I wanted to dunk you!” “After you stood there mean-muggin’ that girl.” “I was not mean-mugging her!”

Smoke laughed. Annie shoved his shoulder. “Shut up.”

He caught her hand. “Jealous.”

“Was not.” “Possessive?”

Annie’s eyes narrowed.

Smoke’s smile grew. “Concerned citizen?”

Her mouth dropped open. “Did Stack tell you to say that?”

He laughed.She tucked her face briefly against his shoulder, laughing. When she lifted her head again, Smoke was watching her. The laughter slowly eased from her face. The carnival was almost gone around them now. No line. No sign. No sisters taking money. Nobody waiting for their turn. Just Smoke standing between her knees.

Annie brushed her fingers over his cheek. “This one’s free.” Then she kissed him there.

Smoke looked at her when she pulled away. “Just that one?”

She smiled and kissed his other cheek. “That one too.”

“Good.”

His hands moved to her waist. Annie’s smile softened. She touched his face. “And this one.”

Then she kissed him. Not his cheek. His mouth. Smoke’s arm slid around her back and pulled her closer. Annie smiled against his lips before the kiss deepened. All day she had been giving away little pieces of affection that meant nothing. Quick. Playful. For a cause.

This wasn’t that.

Smoke kissed her like he had been waiting for the entire carnival to disappear. Like he had spent hours watching and pretending and denying and counting twenty-dollar bills while telling himself he was fine. Annie’s fingers slipped to the back of his head. Somewhere behind them, a plastic bin hit the ground.

Then—

“AYE!”

They broke apart. Jasmine stood twenty feet away holding another box. Annie closed her eyes.

Jasmine pointed at them. “That one ain’t on the menu!”

Annie laughed and buried her face against Smoke’s shoulder. He didn’t move.

Jasmine cupped a hand around her mouth. “THAT’S FIFTY DOLLARS, SMOKE!”

Smoke’s hand left Annie’s waist. She felt him reach toward his back pocket.

Her head snapped up. “Boy, if you don’t—”

He was already pulling out his wallet.

Annie grabbed his wrist. “Elijah!”

“What?”

Jasmine doubled over laughing. “Put your money away!”

“It’s for charity.” “The booth is closed!” “Still take donations.”

Annie stared at him. His mouth finally broke into a full smile. She snatched the wallet from his hand. “No. You have lost financial privileges.”

“Give me my wallet, man.” “No.” “Annie.” “You spent a hundred dollars kissing me.” “One-twenty.”

Her mouth fell open. Smoke froze. Behind them, Jasmine screamed. 

Annie narrowed her eyes. “One-twenty?”

He reached for his wallet. “Give me that.”

“No, no, no.” Annie held it behind her back. “You went back again?”

“Annie.” “When?” “Ain’t important.” “It’s extremely important!” “Give me my wallet.” “Elijah Alexander Moore!”

He caught her around the waist when she tried to slide off the table, laughing as she shoved at his chest.

“You went back again!” “Was for charity.” “You a liar!” “How?” “You had me thinkin’ it was a hundred!” “I never said it was a hundred.”

Annie stopped. Her eyes narrowed. Damn him. He hadn’t.

“You let me think it.” “That ain’t lyin’.” “That is lyin’ adjacent.”

Behind them, Jasmine was barely holding herself together. Smoke reached around Annie for his wallet. She twisted away. “Nope.”

“Annie.” “No. Financial privileges revoked.” “Give me my shit.”

She laughed. “No!”

He caught her around the waist again, and this time Annie squealed as he pulled her against him.

“You crazy,” she said.

“I know.” “And jealous.” “Nah.” “And one hundred and twenty dollars poorer.” “For a good cause.” “I hate you.” “Nah.”

He kissed her before she could argue. Annie tried to hold on to her outrage. She really did. Then his hand settled against her back and his mouth softened over hers, and somewhere between one heartbeat and the next, she started smiling.

Jasmine groaned behind them. “Okay! Now y’all just stealin’!”

Annie pulled away just enough to laugh.

Smoke kept her close. “You done?”

“No.” “Whatever, man.” “I want my hundred and twenty dollars back.” “Your sorority got it.” “You stupid.” “Probably.”

She smiled. Then kissed him again. 

Behind them, Jasmine started carrying the box away. “I’m adding fifty to the total!”

Annie lifted one hand without turning around. “Do it!”

Smoke pulled back. “Hold on—”

Annie laughed into his mouth. Because maybe the kissing booth had been ridiculous. Maybe her sisters were never going to let her live this down. Maybe Stack had documented enough of Smoke’s descent into jealousy to torment him for the remainder of their natural lives. But Alpha Kappa Alpha Sorority, Incorporated had raised nearly three thousand dollars.

Her boyfriend had discovered that he was considerably less emotionally evolved than he thought. And Annie had learned that watching a shirtless Elijah Moore get dropped into a tank of water was worth every penny. All things considered, the carnival had been a success.

Even if one Alpha had personally financed a suspicious percentage of it. End Note: So...what did y'all think. Remember this was off the top of my head and may or may not be based off of true events. But I hope y'all liked it. 😁

Tag List:

The last lick of Sammie’s guitar echoed like a ghost in the rafters. The crowd erupted. Cheers and hoots and drunken applause filled the cabaret thick. Someone let out a sharp whistle. Another slapped the top of the upright piano hollering, “That’s the blues, boy! That’s the blues!” 

Delta Slim hollered behind Sammie, laughing so hard he almost fell off the bench. Sammie lowered his guitar, his chest rising fast with adrenaline and sweat. And joy. Real joy. To be seen, heard, and appreciated. His fingers tingled from the strings. 

And then…he saw her. 

Evangeline. 

Not far from the bar, standing between two other girls who clapped and hollered with the rest of the room. She wasn’t hiding now. Her chin was up, dress pressed just right against the lines of her body, dark curls pinned back with a silver clip. 

She waved. Shy-like. 

It hit Sammie like a second solo. 

He stepped off the stage and cut through the crowd toward her. Voices called at him as he passed—praises, back slaps, someone offering him a smoke and another a glass of rye, but Sammie barely heard them. 

“You came,” he said, voice still a little breathless. 

Evangeline folded her arms, pretending not to be impressed. “I did,” she said, slow and honeyed. “You gon’ get me and my girls a drink, Preacher Boy?” 

Sammie grinned. “‘Course.” 

Evangeline smiled back, pleased, then turned and ushered her girls toward the bar like royalty leading her court. 

They made their way through bodies pressed close, past a man in suspenders slow-dancing with a girl in nothing but beads and a feather boa, past women draped across velvet chairs with slits up their thighs and men watching from the shadows. 

“Pippy,” Sammie called once they reached the bar, “make them what you made me earlier.” 

Pippy—brown-skinned and quick-handed with a gold tooth in her grin—saluted him with a muddler already in motion. “Comin’ up, sugar.” 

The drinks slid across the bar, cold and fizzy with dark liquor and citrus. The girls giggled and sipped, their eyes wide at the debauchery happening all around them. 

“Lord,” one whisperered, “that man got his whole hand up her skirt.”

The other covered her mouth and said, “This place ain’t no juke joint. It’s a damn brothel!” 

Evangeline didn’t say a word. She sipped her drink, eyes fixed on Sammie’s profile. 

“You ain’t from around here,” she spoke eventually, her voice low enough for his ears only. “How you know the Smokestack Twins?” 

Sammie leaned on the bar, close. “They my cousins. Blood.” 

That caught her attention. Her gaze sharpened. 

“Oh,” she said, tilting her head. “You must be bad just like them, huh?” 

Sammie laughed. “Nah, I’m a college boy, not a gangster.” 

“That’s alright.” Her lips curled slow. “I like ‘em smart. Means you can talk to me while you in it.” 

Sammie blinked. Froze. Didn’t breathe. 

The sentence struck him dead-center.

Evangeline giggled, bold and pretty. Then, before he could recover, she reached for his wrist. 

“Put that guitar down, Preacher Boy,” she said, tugging gently. “Come dance with me.” 

Sammie set the guitar behind the bar and let her pull him through the crowd. The music was faster. Dirty and grinding. Bodies were pressed like sweat and sugar. Evangeline didn’t care that everyone was watching. She turned to face him, arms draped over his shoulders, hips moving in time with the bass. Sammie swallowed hard and let his hands rest at her waist. She smelled like night jasmine and pink peppermint. 

“I been watchin’ you since you stepped on stage,” she whispered, lips just at his ear. “Thought you was shy. But now?” Evangeline rolled her hips into his. “I think you just needed somebody to make you move.” 

The bass was thick as syrup, the snare drum snapping like a belt in the dark. A woman moaned on the record, low and drawn out. Evangeline’s hips circled in slow figure-eights, dragging Sammie into her gravity. She turned around without warning, her back pressing to his front like it had always belonged there. And then, she rolled her ass against him. 

Sammie’s hands froze mid-air, unsure where to stand. She didn’t give him time to figure it out. Evangeline dipped lower, grinding back with a smooth, steady push, the curves of her body dragging over the front of his slacks. She kept one hand lifted in the air, the other sliding down the slope of her own hip, guiding the movement like music was pouring through her fingers. 

Sammie inhaled hard through his nose. His eye were wide, palms sweating, heat galloping. He gripped her waist before he even knew he’d done it. 

That made her smile. 

Evangeline leaned her head back against his shoulder. Her voice was honeyed, the words teasing the shell of his ear. 

“Mmm,” she hummed, “you still sure you ain’t bad?” 

Sammie swallowed. “Not like them.”

“Then you might wanna let go of my hips,” she whispered, rotating even deeper against him, “cause you holdin’ me like you tryna get me pregnant.” 

Sammie damn near stopped breathing. 

Behind him, the crowd blurred into heat and howling. Somewhere to the left, a woman cackled as she poured moonshine down her chest for a man to lick. Over by the piano, Delta Slim was laid back with his mouth open, watching them with a lazy grin and one lifted brow like well damn. 

Evangeline kept winding. Kept moving slow, dragging her ass over Sammie’s growing hard-on like she meant to mold him right there on the floor. 

Sammie leaned in, lips barely brushing the curve of her neck. “You tryna get me in trouble?”

She smiled without looking back. “You already in it, Preacher Boy.” 

Then, she backed it up again but harder this time. Sammie groaned under his breath, low and shaken. 

“Damn.” 

Evangeline laughed, swaying her hips. “You cussin’ now?” 

“I’m thinkin’ ‘bout worse.” 

“That so?” She turned her head enough to meet his eyes. “Like what?” 

 Sammie answered with his hands gripping her tighter. The look in his eyes told him everything. Evangeline—sweet little thing in a Sunday-best silhouette and soul made of trouble—just kept on grinding. 

The blues got nasty. 

A woman’s voice crawled through the speakers, half growl, half sigh. 

🎶 He left me achin’, legs still wide…put his name where I used to cry…ooh, I ain’t never touched the floor since then… 🎶 

The crowd whooped. A man slapped the table and hollered. Someone popped a garter off a thigh and twirled it like a lasso. But Sammie Moore wasn’t paying attention to none of that. His world had narrowed to Evangeline. To the rhythm of her body. To the scene of her skin—like shea butter and girlhood wrapped into one big naught bow. To the way she ground slow and deep, like every roll of her hips was a scripture only he was allowed to read. 

Sammie was hard now. There wasn’t no denying it. 

And Evangeline felt it. 

Pressed flush against her backside. And she didn’t shy from it or stiffen or pull away. She simply pushed back into it. Danced deeper. Dipped lower. Her ass dragged slow over the length of him like she was tracing her name into his lap. Her fingers reached behind to brush his thigh, soft and slick, like she wanted to feel how hard she was making him. Sammie clenched his jaw, sweat beaded at his temple. 

“You feelin’ okay back there, college boy?” She teased, voice coy.

“You gon’ kill me,” Sammie breathed.

Evangeline tilted her head just enough to look up at him, lips parted, lashes heavy, “then die real slow.” 

Her girl friends at the bar were too caught up to notice. One was perched on a man’s lap, laughing with her mouth open and a whiskey shot in her hand. The other was tucked into a booth corner, letting a smooth-talking Kat reed her peach slices from the peach cobbler Aunt Pearl and Minnie cooked up. Nobody was paying Evangeline any mind. 

And that was just how she liked it. 

Sammie’s hands started to roam a little. His palms slid from her waist to her hips, then back again. His fingers flexed against the curve of her lower belly like he wanted to hold the heat she was working into him. 

🎶 Told him baby slow down, let it burn…now I beg just to take my turn… 🎶 

“You ever been dry-humprd in front a crowd before?” 

Sammie choked a laugh. “No ma’am.” 

“Well…” she rolled again, this time extra slow, her ass fitting into his lap like a final puzzle piece. “You bein’ real polite about it.” 

Sammie growled. Actually growled. 

His hands gripped tighter. More bold. More needy. He pressed his mouth to her shoulder, just breathing, trying to hold himself together. Trying not to rut against her like every man in the room wasn’t watching. But Evangeline? She ended him right on the fucking edge. Teeterin’. Drenched in sweat. She liked the way his fingers twitched every time she bent deeper. The way his voice got stuck in his throat. The way he kept whispering her name. 

“Evangeline…”

She turned around. Face to face with him now. Arms loose around his neck. Sammie’s lips were parted and his eyes were dark with desire. 

“You alright?” She asked, syrup-sweet.

Sammie nodded once. Then again. “Yeah. I just…”

He trailed off, breath catching as her hips gave one last grind, barely there, slow as molasses sliding down a glass. 

She smiled. “You thinkin’ ‘bout what I said earlier?” 

Sammie blinked. “W-What?”

“That you could talk me through.” Evangeline said, voice soft and teasing. 

Sammie’s throat bobbed. 

“I been listenin’,” she whispered, pulling him a fraction closer by the lapels of his jacket. “ her fingers brushed his. “I bet you could make me cry out without even fuckin’ me.” 

Sammie sucked in a breath so sharp it made his shoulders rise. 

Evangeline just smiled like the devil knew her name. 

Sammie’s heart was beatin’ like a snare drum. Fast. Irregular. Hot behind his ribs. Evangeline’s lips were so close to his he could count each lash hair. 

“You okay, Preacher Boy?” she whispered, tilting her chin up so her lips brushed his cheek.

“I’m fine,” he lied.

She hummed. “You don’t look fine.”

He didn’t. His jaw was tight. His hands had started trembling just a little. And his dick? Still stiff and pressed against her hip beggin’ for relief. Evangeline dragged one perfectly manicured finger down the middle of his chest, slow like a match being struck.

“Let’s go somewhere quiet,” she said, like she was asking him what time it was. Like it wasn’t laced with temptation. “Just to cool off. Ain’t tryna get you in trouble.”

“Cool off,” he repeated.

She nodded. Innocent smile. But her eyes? They were anything but.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Sammie hesitated. Swallowed hard. Then nodded. “Yeah.”

“Good.”

She turned, grabbed his hand, and started walking past the laughing girls at the bar, past Stack’s piano man and the clapping crowd, past the booth with folks too deep in their own pleasures to notice. And Sammie followed like a lamb led not to slaughter but to something just as dangerous. They moved through the hallway behind the bar, where the walls were painted burgundy and the air smelled like cedarwood and spilled liquor. One of the girls working the floor raised a brow as they passed and smirked, turning back to her client.

When they reached the back stairs, Evangeline paused, looking at him over her shoulder. “You sure you can behave, college boy?”

Sammie looked at her.

At those eyes.

At those lips.

At the slight shake of her shoulders as she laughed softly and took another step up.

“No,” he said. “Not even a little.”

And that made her smile even wider.

“Good.”

She opened the doo and slipped inside.

The room she led him to wasn’t much, just a tucked-away dressing suite with soft lighting, a velvet chaise, and not enough ventilation. The window was cracked, letting in the humidity of the Delta night and the scent of magnolia from the trees outside. There was a mirror on one wall and a half-empty wine glass on the vanity, left behind by someone who wasn’t coming back anytime soon.

Evangeline clicked the door shut behind them.

Sammie stood still. Back straight. Breath tight. Hands in fists like he didn’t trust ‘em. Like if he so much as blinked wrong, he’d ruin it all.

“C’mere,” she said.

He did.

She stepped close, right into his space. Slipped one hand up his chest. Took her time smoothing his collar down with her fingers, like she was just straightening him up. But it wasn’t that. She looked at him the whole time and when she reached the middle of his chest, she pressed her palm flat and said, “You nervous.”

“I ain’t,” he lied again, voice low.

She tilted her head, smiling like she didn’t believe a word.

“You been watchin’ me since I walked in.”

“Maybe.”

“You hard as a rock down there, preacher boy.”

He exhaled sharp through his nose, lips parting. Sammie didn’t deny it.

Evangeline leaned up slow and kissed him. Full on the lips like heat curling from a matchbook, low and steady. Sammie didn’t move at first, too stunned by the feel of her lips—warm, plush, with a hint of cherry gloss and something wilder underneath. But then his hands found her waist. And she moaned just a little into his mouth, and that cracked him wide open. Sammie kissed back with everything he’d been holding in since the moment he first saw her. Their mouths worked slow but deep, open-mouthed, breath mingling between them. He gripped her tighter at the waist, pulled her in flush and she melted, curling her fingers around his neck, her thigh slipping between his legs. Evangeline smiled when she felt him twitch before she broke the kiss and looked at him, her eyes half-lidded, lips wet, voice like honey over a flame.

“You gon’ let me touch you?”

Sammie nodded, throat thick.

“Words, preacher boy.”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

“Yes…you can touch me.”

She kissed him again, but this time her hands roamed—curious, unhurried, exploring his chest through his shirt, then slipping lower, fingertips brushing the waistband of his trousers.

“You ever been touched by a girl like me?” she whispered, lips brushing the shell of his ear.

He swallowed. “No.”

Her hand moved over the bulge pressing desperate and heavy beneath his slacks. “You ever cum from just a hand?”

“Not like this.”

She grinned. “Then hush.”

And her hand dipped slow—no rush, no shame—just a girl and a boy in the dark, heat blooming between them, her fingers wrapping gentle around the part of him that throbbed with every pulse. She stroked him through the fabric.

Up. Down. Slow.

His eyes fluttered shut.

Evangeline leaned into his ear. “Breathe.”

And he did. Heavy. Wanting.

All for her.

Her hand moved slow, fingers easing over the outline of him like she was memorizing the shape and weight of it. Not stroking hard. Just…learning.

Sammie’s eyes fluttered open at her question.

“If you ain’t been touched like this…” Her voice was low, almost teasing. “That must mean you a virgin?”

His breath caught.

She didn’t say it loud. Didn’t laugh or pull back. Just let it hang there between them, soft and smoky. Sammie hesitated. His jaw tensed like he might lie again. But then her thumb brushed just beneath the head, right through the fabric, and he exhaled hard. Honest.

“Yeah.”

Evangeline blinked once, gaze searching his face. Then she smiled. Slow and pretty.

“Mm. That why you act so shy with me?”

“I ain’t shy wit’ you girl.” 

“No?”

“I just—” He paused, swallowed. “I just ain’t done this before.”

She leaned in, mouth brushing his. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that.”

She kissed him again, more mouth than tongue. It was the kind of kiss that could teach a lesson without saying a word. His hands slid to her hips. Gripped like he didn’t want her to float away.

“You want me to stop?” she asked against his lips.

He shook his head. “Hell no.”

“Tell me what you want then.”

He opened his eyes—dark, wide, and vulnerable in a way that tugged at something low in her belly.

“I don’t know. Everything, baby.”

Evangeline grinned. “That’s alright. I do.”

She took his hand and slid it up under the hem of her dress. No panties. Warm skin. The swell of her thigh, the dip between.

His breath hitched.

“You wanna learn?” she whispered.

His voice was a rasp. “Yeah.”

She guided his fingers between her folds, helped him find that soft, wet place he’d only dreamed of. 

“That’s me,” she whispered. “That’s what you do to me.”

His fingers twitched.

“You feel how warm I am?” she asked.

He nodded, entranced.

Her hips rolled slow into his hand, showing him how she liked it, how to follow her rhythm.

“Don’t rush. Just feel me.”

And so he did.

Evangeline moaned low, soft and breathy, her forehead pressing to his. They stayed like that for a long while, hands exploring, lips brushing, breath mingling. Her hips moving gentle over his fingers, and his dick straining in his pants like it could feel everything she felt.

She nuzzled his jaw, whispering, “Preacher boy got his hands baptized tonight.”

And he let out a broken little laugh. Aroused. In awe.

“Say it,” she murmured, teasing his earlobe with her teeth. “Tell me this feel good.”

“It feel…real good. Better than my mama’s black eyed peas.” he breathed.

Evangeline smiled, then kissed his throat. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t done with you.”

Evangeline pulled away from him suddenly. She backed up a step, then turned and climbed onto the low table beside them, perching there like she knew exactly what she was doing. The hem of her dress slid higher as she settled, knees parting just enough to make Sammie’s breath stutter.

“You think they gon’ find us in here?” she asked, tone lazy, almost bored.

He swallowed. “No.”

She smiled at that.

Her hands went to her thighs, thumbs hooking the fabric, lifting it just enough to show him what she wanted him to imagine—dark curls and wet pussy. 

Sammie froze.

He’d never seen a woman offer herself like that. Not with confidence. Not with curiosity instead of fear.

Her legs opened wider. “Look,” she said softly.

His chest rose and fell like he’d just run a mile. She placed both feet up into the low table, causing her knees to spread wider. There was enough light shining in that room to see what she was offering up to him. A deep plum-colored pussy with lips that resembled a wishbone and a little button. Tight coils matted with her essence. 

“Here it is. All open for you. Look at it...it’s gettin’ wet just ‘cause you lookin’. I can feel myself achin’ for you. You see how it’s twitchin’? That’s ‘cause I want you inside me so bad I can hardly breathe. Come on, baby, touch it. See how soft it is…”

“Evangeline…”

She tilted her head. “You gon’ show me just what Preacher Boy been wantin’ since he saw me?”

He nodded, honest. “Fuck Yes.”

That pleased her.

She leaned back on her palms, unbothered, completely aware of the effect she was having.

“Good,” she said. “Means you still listenin’.”

His eyes dragged back up to her face, like he was afraid if he kept looking he’d lose himself completely. He saw the way she was offering herself to him. She looked confident and sultry and the sight of her pussy—pink, plump, and glistening with a dew that smelled like wild honey and musk—made his blood roar in his ears.

Without a word, he sank to his knees. The movement was like a man approaching an altar. Sammie wanted her to feel every second of the anticipation, to feel the heat radiating off his body as he settled between her legs. He gripped her thighs, his fingers calloused from strumming his guitar digging into her soft skin, anchoring her in place.

Then, he leaned in and pressed his face directly into her.

Evangeline let out a soft moan, her hips jerking upward. She hadn’t expected the suddenness of it. Sammie didn’t start with a kiss, he started with a long, slow lap of his tongue, starting from the very bottom of her opening and dragging it all the way up to her clit.

“Oh! Oh, shit!” she damn near cried, her fingers digging into his shoulders. "What you doin’? What you...oh, Preacher Boy!” 

Sammie was too busy tasting her. She tasted like the earth after a summer rain—sweet, salty, and intoxicating. He groaned deep in his throat, a primal sound that vibrated against her flesh, and then he dove back in. 

He began to eat her with a hunger that shocked her. He wasn't just licking, he was devouring that sweet pussy. He used his tongue like a muscle, swirling it in tight, heavy circles around her clit, pressing hard enough to make her vision blur. Then, he flicked his tongue rapidly, a rhythmic, drumming sensation that sent electric shocks straight to her belly.

The sounds filled the secluded space with a wet, sloppy noise of his tongue sliding over her drenched folds, the rhythmic slurp-slurp of him drinking her in, and the desperate, broken moans escaping her throat.

“You...you ain’t never...how you do that?” she sobbed, her head tossing from side to side. “It feel too good! Stop...no, don’t stop! Please, baby, don’t you dare stop!”

He responded by burying his face deeper, his nose pressing into her soft mound while his tongue pushed deep inside her, mimicking the motion of a dick. He sucked her clit right into his mouth, pulling on it with a firm, steady suction that made her back arch. 

“Lord have mercy!” she moaned, her voice cracking. “Y-You eatin’ me up! You eatin’ m-me right out my skin, baby! I can’t…I can’t take it! It's too much!”

Sammie came up for air enough to look her dead in the eyes with her pussy juice all over his face.

“You came here askin’ fa’ me to tear ya’ ass up now you can’t take it?” 

She stared down at him with a perplexed expression. Pussy pulsing in his face.

“Thought you was stronger than that Evangeline. This tongue too much, darlin’?” 

Evangeline released a shuttering breath “I—”

“Don’t talk. Just keep your legs open and get this pussy ate.” 

Sammie buried his face again, pushing Evangeline’s legs up by the backs of her thighs. She gasped and with nowhere to run she could only sit there with her legs spread open like the fast tail gal she is. 

Sammie could feel her pulsing against his lips, her pussy twitching and clamping down on his tongue in waves whenever he stuck his tongue in her. He didn’tlet up. He increased the pace, his tongue working with a disciplined, brutal precision, swirling and flicking, sucking and licking until she was nothing but a shaking mess of nerves. 

“Sammie, FUCK,” Evangeline melted against his mouth, staring down at the top of his head with blurry eyes. “W-Why you ain’t t-tell me you eat pussy l-like this?” 

He shoved her legs back in response. So far back her knees touched her shoulders. Evangeline whimpered, watching Sammie eat her pussy like he’d been out of a meal for days. He puckered his lips and kissed her lips, sealing his lips around her clit and giving it a nice wet kiss that forced her to beg. 

“Sammie, PLEASE—”

Sammie could taste the climax building in her, the flavor of her juices changing, becoming sharper and sweeter. He let out a muffled growl against her skin and gave one final, powerful suction on her clit, holding it there until she finally broke.

Evangeline let out a long, guttural moan, her thighs attempting to lock around his head and squeeze him tight as her orgasm ripped through her. She sobbed his name, her body shuddering in violent peaks, while he stayed right there, refusing to move, licking every last drop of her sweetness from her skin until she finally slumped back, breathless and ruined. It was as if the noise of The Blackline returned. Evangeline had to blink to focus. Remember where she was. 

Sammie lingered for a moment, his face still glistening with the sweetness of her, before he looked up at Evangeline. His eyes were dark, heavy with a hunger that hadn’t been fully sated just because she’d come. He leaned in, his mouth crashing against hers in a kiss that was greedy and desperate, tasting himself on her lips. It wasn’t a gentle kiss. It was a claim, his tongue pushing deep into her mouth, swirling against hers as if he wanted to swallow her whole.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, Sammie rested his forehead against hers. His voice was a low, rough rumble thick with lust.

“Tell me the truth, Eva,” he whispered, his breath hot against her skin. “Did I eat that pussy good? I mean...I was the only man to ever do it right for you, wasn’t I?”

Evangeline let out a soft, airy giggle, her chest heaving as she looked up at him with eyes that were wide and glazed. “Yes, Sammie...oh, yes you did.” She reached up, tracing the line of his jaw with a trembling finger. “I swear, the minute my pussy came out, you turned into a different man. I ain’t know you had that kind of devilry in you.” She shifted beneath him, her legs still draped loosely over his shoulders, a playful, daring glint entering her eyes. “Maybe next time...your cousin could join in.”

Sammie froze, his expression shifting to one of pure perplexity. He pulled back just an inch, frowning. “My what?”

“Stack,” she whispered, the name sounding like a sin on her tongue. “I bet he’s the one who taught you how to eat pussy that good. He look like the type of man who knows exactly where to put his tongue.”

Sammie stiffened, the thought of sharing her—of having Stack’s eyes, lips, tongue on her wet, open folds—sent a jolt of possessiveness through him. He ain’t like the idea. Not one bit. He shifted his weight, his voice turning gruff.

“Stack?” Sammie scoffed, shaking his head. “Baby, Stack got a whole house full of women. He got more pussy than he know what to do with. Why you can’t just have me and be satisfied?”

Evangeline didn’t shrink back. Instead, she arched her back, pressing her chest toward him, her voice growing firm, laced with a newfound rebellion. 

“‘Cause I’m tired, Sammie,” she said, her voice ringing with a sudden clarity. “I’m a sheltered church girl. I done had folks tellin’ me how to sit, how to speak, and what I should and shouldn’t  be doin’ with my own body. I’m done with it.” She looked him dead in the eye, her gaze hungry and defiant. “If I wanna get my pussy ate by two men at once, I can. If I wanna get fucked blind by two men in some smoky back room after a dice game, I can. If I wanna get down to the nastiest, filthiest blues there is...then that’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

Sammie stared at her for a long beat. The distant sound of a harmonica drifting through the walls. Slowly, a smirk spread across his face, and he let out a low, knowing chuckle.

“I hear you, Eva,” he said, his eyes softening with a shared understanding. “Lord knows I can relate. Bein’ the son of a preacher...I been pretendin’ I ain’t got a taste for the sin.”

Sammie’s expression hardened, a flash of that raw, possessive instinct crossing his face. He pinned Evangeline more firmly against the surface beneath her, his voice dropping an octave into a warning growl. 

“But you ain’t gettin’ your pussy ate by Stack. No,” Sammie stated firmly, the finality in his tone leaving no room for argument. “I don’t care how much of a rebel you feelin’ like. That part of you is off-limits to him.” 

Evangeline let out a melodic, teasing giggle, her chest heaving against his. She looked up at him, her eyes dancing with mischief as she felt the heat of his body pressing into her. “My, my…my. You only known me a day and already you claiming this pussy?” 

Sammie didn’t blink. Eyes intense and blazing with desire. He leaned down, lips brushing against hers, his voice a low, dangerous vibration. 

“You tellin’ me it ain’t mine? ‘Cause the way you was shakin’ while I was down there…felt like you belonged to me.” 

The tension snapped like the string on a guitar and they crashed together again this kiss was different—less about hunger and more about ownership. It was deep, wet, and demanding, their tongues tangling in a fierce battle for dominance. Sammie’s hand slid down, gripping her hip with. Force that would surely leave a mark, pulling her flush against his hardness. 

Just as Sammie began to move his hand back toward her wet pussy, the heavy wooden door swung open with a loud thud against the wall. A man and a woman stumbled in, practically falling over one another. They were locked in a desperate embrace, the man’s hands shoved deep up the woman’s dress, her head thrown back with a loud, needy moan of pure ecstasy. They were so blinded by their own lust that they didn’t even notice Evangeline and Sammie in the room for the first few seconds, their breathing heavy and synchronized. 

Sammie broke the kiss, blinking and letting out a sharp exhale. He looked at the newcomers, then back at Evangeline, who was breathless and flushed. A small, amused smile played on Sammie’s lips. He started to pull his clothes back together, helping Evangeline to stand and smooth out her dress. They both started to laugh—a low, shared chuckle at the absurdity of the timing. 

“Seem like the spirit of the blues is movin’ through folks tonight.” Sammie whispered in her ear, giving her backside a firm, possessive smack as he guided her toward the exit. 

Evangeline giggled, leaning into him as they slipped out the door, leaving the other couple to their own private sanctuary of sin. 

The music hit harder than before, drum and bass slick with sweat. The blues curled around bodies too caught in the night to care who watched. The Blackline had grown louder, hotter. No longer as immersing but boiling over. 

Sammie reached for Evangeline’s hand again as they walked along the shadowed hall and back into the chaos of the main floor. Sammie was still warm from their moment tucked away. Evangeline couldn’t help but grin just thinkin’ about it. 

“C’mon,” she whispered, leaning toward him. “Introduce me to them cousins of yours. The infamous gangsters.” 

Sammie laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “You really wanna meet them?” 

Evangeline raised a single brow. “‘Course I do. Maybe they can share some wild stories about Preacher Boy.” 

Sammie shook his head. “This the wildest thing I done did, Eva. Less you wanna hear about how Stack teased me growin’ up. And Smoke keepin’ an eye on me like he my daddy instead of my cousin.” 

Sammie started to guide her across the floor, weaving past hips and heels and slick backs, past the perfume of lust and liquor. Just as they approached the far side of the room, Evangeline caught sight of something that made her steps slow. Her body went still mid-stride and her eyes narrowed. 

There, in the corner booth veiled by beaded strings and red lamplight, sat Sister Marigold Baptiste. First Lady of the church. Preacher’s Wife. Purity Teacher. Her Mentor. 

She didn’t just sit—she perched. Relaxed and glowing in a satin-black dress that clung to every curve like it had been poured on her. She was angled on Stack Moore’s lap, his hand stroking the bare skin of her thigh like it belonged to him. His mouth brushed her neck slow and greedy. Marigold tipped her head to the side, sipping from the glass he’d offered, her lips painted the color of garnet wine. 

She looked…decadent. Drunk on something far deeper than bourbon. 

Evangeline was frozen. She stared with a shocked gaze 

And then, so did Marigold. 

Their eyes locked across the room like a shot fired. 

In an instant, Marigold froze mid-sip. Her lashes fluttered, lips parted in surprise and guilt as the glass hovered just beneath her mouth. The booth around her blurred. She was no longer in The Blackline, not in her lover’s lap or on his tongue. She was standing back in that purity classroom, bam in the rows of wide-eyed girls, speaking of obedience, respectability,  restraint. 

Evangeline’s gaze sliced through her. 

Sammie leaned in, confused. “You okay?” 

Evangeline didn’t respond. Her smile had vanished. The flirt gone out of her hips. The phantom sensation of Sammie’s tongue vanished. 

Sammie followed her gaze. 

“Oh, that’s Marigold. Stack says she’s a Preacher’s wife. You know her?” 

“Excuse me,” Evangeline said, already moving. 

She slipped away before he could follow, cutting through the crowded room with a sharp elegance that only made the sting worse. As if an invisible camera followed her every move, she brushed past patrons with hurried movements until she disappeared down another hall that led to more rooms. 

From the booth, Marigold slid stiffly off of Stack’s lap. Her heat raced. 

“Where you goin’, Goldie?” Stack asked, voice slick with curiosity, the imprint of her body still on his leg. 

“Bathroom,” she said without looking back. 

Her heels clicked quick on the wooden floor, fast enough to betray the panic under her ribs. The red lights pulsed overhead like they knew her name, like they saw everything. Marigold eased toward the guest hall, the narrow corridor just past the end of the bar. Her eyes scanned every corner, every face. Evangeline was nowhere in sight. 

That was, until she felt a pull. It wasn’t physical but unmistakable. A sensation of being watched. Not by strangers but by truth itself. 

She turned a corner and there it was. 

A hand reached out from the shadows, caught her wrist, and dragged her inside a narrow passage near the bathroom door.

Beneath the noise were the sounds of the trade. A muffled scream of pleasure echoed from a doorway they passed, followed by the wet, slapping sound of skin hitting skin. A woman’s voice, strained and needy, called out a man's name, her voice breaking into a high-pitched keen that signaled a climax. The scent of musk and sex clung to the wallpaper, a constant reminder that in this house, every shadow held a secret and every room was a playground for the flesh.

And Sister Marigold Baptiste was standing in it. Standing in the one place she’d sworn was Satan’s playground. 

Evangeline let go of her wrist with a shove that was more insult than force.

For several long seconds neither of them spoke.

Marigold stared at the young woman she’d known since she was a child. She remembered scraped knees after church picnics. Braiding her hair before Christmas pageants. Holding her tiny hands during altar prayer.

Now those same hands rested on hips full of defiance.

Evangeline looked at her as though she’d never seen her before.

“No.”

The word came out as a laugh.

A bitter one.

“No…no, I don’t believe this.”

Marigold swallowed.

“Evangeline—”

“No.” Another laugh. “You don’t get to start with my name.”

Marigold searched her face. “I know what this looks like.”

“What it looks like?” Evangeline’s eyebrows lifted. “It looks exactly like what it is.”

Her eyes traveled slowly over Marigold. The satin-black dress. The glossy finger waves. The wine-dark lipstick. The diamonds catching every sliver of light.

“You look beautiful.” The compliment wasn’t kind. It was sharpened into a blade. “So beautiful I almost didn’t recognize you.”

Marigold instinctively folded an arm across herself. Because suddenly, it felt as though it exposed everything.

“Evangeline…”

“You told us.” Her voice cracked. “You stood in front of all us girls every Wednesday and told us women who came here sold pieces of themselves.”

Marigold closed her eyes.

“You told us this place was the Devil’s playground!!!” Another step. “You told us if we respected ourselves, we’d never walk through these doors!!!” Another. “You looked me in my face and said purity wasn’t just what we did. It was who we were!!!”

Each sentence struck harder than the last.

Marigold felt every one.

“I believed you.”

That hurt most. Because it was true.

Marigold’s lips trembled. “I…I did believe it.”

Evangeline laughed again. “Oh, I know you did.” She gestured back toward the crowded room. “Then I see you sittin’ on Stack’s lap.”

Marigold flinched.

“I see him holdin’ you like you belong there.” Another step. “I see you drinkin’ from his glass.” Another. “And the way he was lookin’ at you…” She shook her head. “He wasn’t lookin’ at the First Lady.” The words hung between them. “He was lookin’ at his woman.”

Marigold’s throat tightened. “I never meant—”

“You never meant what?”

“For this to happen.”

Evangeline barked a laugh. “Hell already done broke loose in the both of us.”

Marigold stared at her.

“You just too scared to admit yours.”

Marigold reached for her gently. “Evangeline…listen to me.”

“NO!!”

“I need you to.” Marigold’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. 

“No.” Her eyes watered. “You don’t get to tell me what I need anymore.”

Marigold’s hand slowly fell back to her side. “You shouldn’t be here.”

“Says you? Really? Who the fuck are you to tell me where I ain’t outta be?!” Evangeline scowled. “Wait until they hear about this. Their precious First Lady committing adulterous acts and drinking the devil’s juice and sittin’ on a pimp’s lap.” 

Marigold shook her head. “Evangeline please don’t say anything! Promise me you won’t—I—I can explain—”

“That you been feeding us lies to make up for your own sins? Tellin’ us about how we shouldn’t fall into temptation and defile the Lord so you feel less guilty?”

Marigold looked toward the doorway. “This place. It changes people.”

Evangeline followed her gaze before looking back. “It changed you.”

The sentence landed like a slap.

Marigold couldn’t deny it.

She couldn’t.

Not after everything. Not after Stack. Not after discovering desire inside herself. Not after choosing to return.

Evangeline’s eyes softened for only a heartbeat. Then they hardened again.

“You know what hurts?”

Marigold looked up.

“I wasn’t shocked you were here.” She paused. “I was shocked you looked…happy.”

Marigold’s breath caught.

“I ain’t never seen you smile like that.” A long silence followed. Evangeline’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Now I know.”

Marigold felt tears prick her eyes. “Evangeline…”

“No.” She shook her head once. “I don’t know whether to hate you…” Her voice broke. “…or feel sorry for you.” Evangeline leaned in closer, her breath warm against Marigold's cheek. “So tell me, Sister...when Stack burying his dick deep inside you...which part of the scripture you reciting then? Or do you just save the prayers for the mornings after?”

Marigold flinched, her composure finally fracturing. Her hand flew up to push Evangeline away, but it wasn’t a strong push, it was a desperate, trembling gesture. “Stop it! You don’t understand the pressures I face. The things I have to do to keep that place runnin’, to keep the girls safe—”

“DON’T LIE TO ME!!” Evangeline shouted, the sudden volume echoing in the small space. “Don’t you dare wrap your lust in a cloak of sacrifice. You ain’t doing this for the girls. You doin’ it because you love the taste of the sin you tell everyone else to fear. You a fraud, Marigold. A beautiful, polished, lying fraud. And I hope Naomi stay far away from you. She told me about what happened.” 

Marigold shut her eyes. “Eva, let me explain—”

“YOU LET HIM PUT HIS HANDS ON HER! You let him hurt your niece! How could you?!—”

“I DIDN’T KNOW! Okay?” Marigold cried. “I didn’t know Obadiah struck her! I didn’t know ‘till it was too late—”

“Oh please, shut the fuck up. Save your tears, Sister. You and that husband of yours wanna preach about who’s worthy of making it to heaven? Look at ya! First your sister, then Naomi—”

“She told you about Esther?” 

“How the church got her institutionalized? How she lost custody of Naomi? ‘Course she did. I’m more family to her than you ever was.” 

As if a switch flicked in Marigold’s brain, her eyes turned cold. Resentful. 

“You don’t get to stand there and talk about my family. You don’t know the first thing about family, Eva.”

“Just like you don’t get to stand in a classroom and tell me what I should do wit’ my body when you in here every night getting torn a new hole by Stack Moore? Really? Least my family fight for me. Can’t say the same for you. Daddy ain’t love you, momma had no backbone. Niece hate you. Sister too strung out on whatever meds they feedin’ her up in Pline Buff. Husband won’t touch you.” 

“Shut up—”

“I rather be a whore who knows she a whore than a saint who just a liar in a fancy dress,” Evangeline countered, her voice dropping back to that lethal, quiet hiss.

The slap that came from Marigold’s hand was a sharp, wet crack that cut right through the muffled roar of the band playing in the main room. Evangeline’s head snapped to the side, her cheek instantly blooming into a hot, stinging bruise. For a heartbeat, the only sound was the ringing in her ears and the heavy, ragged breath coming from Marigold.

Marigold’s hand was trembling, her fingers splayed as if she could still feel the impact of Evangeline’s skin. The “First Lady” looked fractured. The wine-dark lipstick that usually defined her poised, authoritative mouth was slightly smudged, and her eyes—those wide, soulful eyes that had once looked at Evangeline with such sisterly warmth—were now swimming in a mixture of rage and absolute devastation.

Evangeline stayed frozen, her face turned away, a slow, jagged smile spreading across her lips. She could taste a copper tang of blood where her tooth had nicked the inside of her cheek. The pain was a grounding wire, pulling her deeper into the spite that had been festering in her gut for years.

Slowly, Evangeline turned her head back. She didn’t recoil. Instead, she leaned in, her voice dropping to a low, venomous hiss that barely carried over the sound of a trumpet.

“There she is,” Evangeline whispered, her eyes scanning Marigold’s satin-black dress, the way it clung to hips that had spent too many Sundays hidden beneath layers. "There’s the woman the church built. The one who knows exactly how to handle something she can’t control. A firm hand, right?” 

Marigold flinched as if she’d been struck. She stepped back, her heels clicking sharply on the hardwood floor, her chest heaving under the black fabric. “I–Eva I’m so sorry—please forgive me.” Marigold closes her first. “I thought I…I thought if I taught you to follow the path—”

"The path to where, Marigold?! To a pew in a church where you can preach purity while your pussy drip for a man who sell girls by the hour?!” Evangeline stepped forward, invading Marigold’s space, her presence aggressive and suffocating. “Go ‘head! HIT ME AGAIN!” 

“Stop it!” Marigold cried, the sound breaking into a sob. She reached out, perhaps to push Evangeline away or perhaps to grab her, but her grip was weak, her fingers clutching at the air. “You don’t know the weight I carry. You don’t know what it’s like to hold a whole community together while you falling apart inside!!” 

“I know what it’s like to be lied to,” Evangeline countered, her voice hardening. She reached up, slowly wiping the blood from her lip with her thumb, then looked at the red stain with a cold curiosity. “I know what it’s like to watch you tell us girls—sweet, naive sisters—that our bodies were temples, while you were treatin’ yours like a public house. And Naomi...god, Marigold. You let that girl run because she saw the rot in you. She saw the hypocrisy before any of us did. She warned me to get out.”

Marigold’s face went slack. The fire vanished, replaced by a hollow, haunting grief. She looked small, the glossy finger waves and the expensive dress feeling like a costume that no longer fit. She opened her mouth to speak, to defend herself or perhaps to beg, but no sound came out.

Evangeline saw the break. She felt the victory, but it tasted like ash. She leaned closer, her breath warm against Marigold’s ear, her tone shifting from rage to a cruel, intimate tenderness.

“You can slap me until my face is blue, Marigold. But every time you close your eyes, and every time you feel Stack hands on you, you gon’ see me. You gon’ remember that I know exactly who you are.”

Evangeline pulled back, giving Marigold one last, assessing look from the polished toes of her shoes to the trembling line of her jaw. Without another word, Evangeline turned her back on the First Lady and walked toward the noise of the party, leaving Marigold standing alone, shaking in her black satin, the silence of the corridor heavier than any scream.

For the first time in years, Marigold Baptiste realized something she had never allowed herself to imagine. The girls had been watching her every bit as closely as she’d been watching them. The First Lady had fallen from the pedestal she’d spent half her life standing on.

Marigold allowed her tears to fall freely. She placed both palms against the porcelain basin to steady herself. Finally staring at her reflection, she barely recognized the woman staring back. Her finger waves were still immaculate, each glossy curve resting exactly where Cordelia had pinned it. Garnet lips framed a mouth that had spent the evening smiling in ways she never thought possible. Diamonds winked beneath the light every time her breathing hitched.

She looked beautiful. But she had never felt uglier.

Her chest rose sharply as she reached for the towel hanging beside the washstand and dabbed beneath her eyes before any more tears could ruin the careful work Peaches had done.

“You weren’t teachin’ purity…”

She squeezed her eyes shut.

“You were teachin’ us how to become you.”

The words refused to leave.

She leaned forward, lowering her forehead until it nearly touched the mirror.

What had she become?

The question frightened her because she no longer knew whether it came from God…or from Obadiah.

A careful knock sounded against the door. Marigold straightened immediately, swallowing every ounce of grief she could force back down.

“I’m alright,” she called, though no one had asked.

The latch turned.

Stack eased inside, closing the door behind him quietly. He took one look at her, and that was all it took. His easy grin had disappeared. He stood within the doorway, not moving to rush or crowd her. The bourbon he’d been drinking was long forgotten. He tucked his hands into the pockets of his pressed trousers as he studied the woman before him. 

Marigold busied herself smoothing wrinkles that weren’t there.

“I’ll be out in just a minute.”

Stack remained silent, his eyes studying her. She reached up to fix one of the clips in her hair, though she didn’t need to because they were perfectly placed. Anything to keep her hands occupied. To keep from looking at him. 

“You ain’t gotta hide from me.” His voice was soft and gentle. 

That nearly undid her. 

She finally looked over.

“I’m not hiding.”

“No?” A small smile touched one corner of his mouth. “It must be somebody else standin’ in front of me then.”

Despite herself, the faintest breath of a laugh escaped her. It disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

“I’m fine.”

Stack held her gaze.

He knew. She could see it. He knew she wasn’t.

He crossed the room until only a step separated them.

“You cryin’?”

“No.”

“You mad?”

“No.”

“You scared?”

Her answer caught. “…No.”

He nodded once. “Alright.”

That surprised her. He didn’t argue or press or tease. It was just…alright. 

Marigold blinked. “Aren’t you going to ask me what happened?”

“I already did.”

“I didn’t tell you.”

“You didn’t.”

Stack looked at her the way he always did, not searching for perfection, not measuring her against a standard she could never reach.

Only seeing her.

“I ain’t gon’ make you talk before you ready, baby.” 

Her shoulders sagged. Marigold expected interrogation. Correction. To defend herself. Instead…she’s been given room. That almost felt foreign to her. 

“I failed somebody tonight.”

The confession slipped free before she could stop it.

Stack’s expression softened. “You think so.”

“I know so.”

He let those words rest where they landed. He didn’t chastise her. Tell her she was wrong. Tell her she was right. He stepped closer and reached up, gently straightening one diamond earring that had shifted during the evening, his fingertips barely brushed her skin.

“You still wearin’ the whole world on your shoulders.”

She looked down. “I don’t know how to stop.”

“I know.” His thumb lingered beneath her chin just long enough to lift her eyes back to his. “But you don’t gotta carry it by yourself.”

The tears threatened again. She blinked them back with stubborn determination.

“If I tell you…”

“You don’t have to.”

“What if it changes the way you look at me?”

A quiet chuckle escaped him. “Goldie.” He smiled then. Small. Certain. “I been lookin’ at you the same way since the first time you and them church biddies stood outside my do’ tellin’ me to repent.”

She smiled faint. Her lips quivered. She wanted to believe him. More than that…she wanted to believe herself worthy of it. Instead, she reached up and rested her hand over his just  for a second. Long enough to steady herself.

“I need another minute.”

“You got ten.” He tipped an imaginary hat. “I’ll keep ‘em from botherin’ you.” He turned toward the door. Before opening it, he glanced back once more. “You come back when you ready.”

Then, he was gone, the latch clicking softly behind his retreating frame. 

Marigold released the breath she’d been holding and closed her eyes once again. 

She never noticed the other pair of eyes watching from farther down the corridor. Hidden where the hallway bent into darkness, 

Mirabel remained perfectly still. Eavesdropping. 

She had seen Evangeline shove the First Lady against the wall.

Seen the slap.

Heard raised voices sharpened by hurt until they became impossible to untangle.

Now, she had watched Stack Moore walk into that bathroom after her. Watched him leave with tenderness written plainly across his face.

She stood there, hands folded neatly before her, committing every look, every silence, every secret to memory.

Some truths were far more useful…when nobody knew you were the one carrying them.

Evangeline stumbled a step, her senses reeling from the wreckage of her blow up with Marigold. As she stood there, the world she was born into. The one she was made to conform to. A world of starched collars, hushed prayers, and the suffocating expectation of purity. It all felt like a thin veil that had finally been ripped away. 

Around her, The Blackline was a riot of brown skin and perspiration. The blues weren’t just playing, they were vibrating through flesh and bone, a dirty, low-down moan of a saxophone that sounded like it was having an orgasm. Folks weren’t just dancin’. They was grindin’, hips locked, bodies sliding against one another with hungry friction. Evangeline saw a man with a wide grin and a gold tooth pull a woman’s skirt up to her waist, his large hand disappearing under the fabric to squeeze a heavy, rounded cheek with a possessive grip that made the woman throw her head back and howl with laughter. 

To her left, a card game was erupting. A man slammed his palm against the wooden table with a sound that cracked like a gunshot over the music, sending dice and coins scattering. The men around him weren’t fighting with hate but with a raw, boisterous energy, voices deep as they shouted insults and jokes that would have made a deacon faint. 

Then, there were the curtains. Heavy, velvet drapes that partitioned off small corners of the room. They ain’t hide much. Evangeline watched the silhouettes pressed against the fabric. The violent thrusting of a man’s hips. The arch of a woman’s back. The frantic movement of hands clutching at hair and skin. Wet, slapping noises, guttural moans, and the occasional sharp cry of pleasure that cut through the music. Blatant. Obscene. Honest.

The smell of the place wrapped around her. A heady, intoxicating cocktail of expensive pomade, pungent cigar smoke, and the mouth-watering scent of Aunt Pearl’s kitchen. Plates of fried catfish and collard greens piled high with smoked turkey were being passed around, the grease glistening on fingers and lips. Folks was eating with a primal intensity, laughing with their whole bodies, doubting over in fits of genuine, unburdened mirth. 

Evangeline felt strange, trembling sensation in her gut. Since she was a little girl, she’d been taught to walk the “right” path, a version of holiness that felt more like a cage every day. Been taught to look at people like this with pity. And to see Sister Marigold give into her hidden desires left her confused and angry. Looking at the raw, sweating, fucking, laughing chaos of The Blackline, she could see no judgement here. No one was pretending to be a saint while hiding a secret in the dark. The sin was out in the open, worn like a badge of honor, and in that openness, there was a terrifying, electric kind of peace. 

She watched a woman lean back in a chair, legs spread wide, laughing as she fed a piece of corn bread to a man who looked at her with pure, uncomplicated lust. 

This is it, Evangeline realized, the thought echoing in the hollow space where her faith used to be. This is what it looks like to actually be alive.

It wasn’t just a juke. Or a brothel. It was a sanctuary of the flesh. For the first time, the word ‘freedom’ didn’t feel like a Sunday school lesson. It felt like the heat of a stranger’s hand on a hip, the smell of grease and sex, and the courage to be exactly as broken and hungry as everyone else.

Sammie Moore stood near the edge of the stage with his guitar resting comfortably against his shoulder, still riding the rush of applause and his first taste of pussy that refused to leave his chest and his tongue. Every few seconds someone stopped him with a pat on the back. A handshake. A clap on his shoulder. 

“Damn, boy! You sure can play!” 

“You had Delta Slim grinnin’.” 

“That guitar talk back to you.” 

Sammie smiled through every compliment, thanked every stranger, but his eyes kept drifting over their shoulders. 

Searching. 

Soft-blue dress had been easy enough to find. 

But now…nothing.

Despite that, Sammie caught himself smiling anyway. She was probably making him wait on purpose. That seemed like something Evangeline Monroe would enjoy. Sammie finally excused himself and began weaving through the crowded room. Cards slapped against green felt. Dice bounced across polished wood. Women laughed and moaned with their heads thrown back. Someone carried two platters of fried catfish through the crowd while another hurried past balancing slices of sweet potato pie. 

Sammie circled once, then again. 

Still nothing.

His smile began to fade. 

Near the bar, he spotted the two young women who had arrived with her earlier. They stood shoulder to shoulder, wrapping light shawls around themselves while glancing nervously toward the front entrance. 

Sammie approached. “Evenin’ again, ladies.” 

The girls looked up. 

“Oh,” one of them said with relief. “Hi, Sammie.” 

“You seen Evangeline?” Sammie asked. 

“The girls exchanged a look. 

“We was just lookin’ for her ourselves.” 

“Thought she came back wit’ ya’ll.” Sammie said

“Naw. She wandered off after…somethin’.”

“After what?” Sammie questioned. 

“She shrugged. “Don’t know. She looked pretty upset. I tried to wave her over and she just kept on walkin’.” 

The second girl sighed, chewing the inside of her cheek. 

“We can’t stay much longer.” 

“Our mamas think we sleepin’ over at my auntie’s house. If we don’t get back ‘fore sunrise…” she winced. “Lord.” 

“The whole neighborhood gon’ know we snuck out.” The other friend said. 

Sammie glanced across the room again. “I’ll find her.” 

“You tell her we had to leave?” 

“We sure didn’t wanna but…we told Eva that we can’t stay too long.” 

“Our daddies…” one of them shook her head. “They’ll turn us black and blue if they find out.” 

Sammie cringed at that last part. But ultimately, he nodded his head with understanding.

“I’ll tell her. Ya’ll get home safe now.” 

The girls thanked him before hurrying toward the entrance, pulling their shawls tighter as one of the doormen quietly unlatched the door for them. For a second, Sammie simply stood there. He looked toward the stage. Toward the card tables. Toward Delta Slim and Aunt Pearl talking close. Toward the staircase where Violet stood, Smoke beside her puffing on a cigar like he was her watch dog. 

Still no Evangeline. 

Then, he saw her. 

Marigold.

She emerged from the hallway near the guest rooms, composed once more, though something about her expression seemed…heavier than before. Her lipstick had been touched up. Her shoulders were square. Only the faint puffiness under her eyes hinted that something heavy was on her mind. Sammie brightened immediately and walked toward her.

“Miss Marigold.” 

Marigold turned at the sound of her name. 

“I’m sorry to bother you.” 

“You aren’t a bother at all, Sammie.” 

Sammie glanced over his shoulder, still hoping to catch sight of dark-brown skin and a flirty grin. 

“I can’t seem to find Evangeline.” 

The name struck her like a pebble dropped into still water. Barely noticeable from the outside. Impossible to ignore beneath the surface. 

“Evangeline?”

“I done checked the dance floor. The bar. The stage. I ain’t checked none of the rooms down here but they seem to be occupied. Upstairs ain’t been checked. Her friend had to head home. They was lookin’ for her too.” 

Concern settled quietly across Marigold’s face. “When was the last time you saw her?” 

“A little while ago. We was supposed to meet back up.” Sammie rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish smile trying to return. “I reckon I might’ve got caught up wit’ folks tryna talk to me after I played.” 

Marigold looked across the crowded room. The celebration carried on without interruption. She could spot Stack laughing with Cornbread at the bar over a glass of bourbon. 

“I’ll help you.” 

Sammie’s shoulders relaxed. “You will?” 

“Of course. Evangeline is one of the youth at church. Her well bein’ is just as important to me as is to you, Sammie.” Marigold offered him a reassuring smile, though unease had already begun coiling inside her chest. “If she’s still here, we’ll find her.” 

Marigold grabbed Sammie by the hand as they stepped into the current of bodies moving through The Blackline. Sammie searched with hopeful eyes. Marigold searched with growing dread. Neither of them noticed that, across the room, someone else had quietly begun watching the search unfold. 

Someone only Liza June could see. 

Stack peeled himself away from the bar with the last swallow of bourbon still warm in his chest. His eyes drifted toward the hallway leading toward the bathrooms. 

Goldie should’ve been back by now. 

He frowned. 

As he crossed the floor, Peaches breezed past carrying a tray stacked with condoms and fresh drinks, hips rocking to the band without missing a step. 

“Peach.” 

She looked over one glistening shoulder. “Mhm?” 

“You see Goldie, tell her quit hidin’ from me and come on to my office.” 

Peaches smirked. “You done got needy.” 

“I been needy.” 

Peaches laughed. “I’ll tell her, baby. Maybe I should warn her you primmed and ready then, huh?” 

Stack shot her a lazy grin and kept walking. 

As he walked, the scent of fried catfish, greens, and fresh cornbread drifted from the kitchen. As he passed the swinging door, something caught the corner of his eye. Stack stopped and backed up. He pushed the kitchen door open just enough to peek inside. 

Delta Slim had Aunt Pearl backed against one of the prep tables, grinning from ear to ear while she cupped the old pianist’s face with both hands and kissed him like she’d been waiting all week to do it. Delta Slim chuckled into the kiss. Aunt Pear swatted his shoulder without ever pulling away. 

Stack pinched the bridge of his nose. “Lord have mercy.” 

Neither of them heard him. Stack pushed the door shut with a quick thump. 

“Ain’t nobody wanna see all that.” His head shook as a laugh escaped him. “Two old folks actin’ like they sixteen.” 

Still smiling to himself, he adjusted his jacket and continued down the hallway toward his office, unaware that before the night was over, laughter would be the last easy thing anyone remembered. 

Stack’s polished shoes stopped dead on the worn floorboards. There was a girl huddled in the corner. She wasn’t just any stray, Stack recognized her to be the girl Sammie been checking for since he showed up in Little Rock. Her shoulders were drawn tight like she was still trying to fold herself smaller, ended while her face told a different story. Split lip. Purple blooming under one eye. Marks that didn’t come from no fall. 

“You alright, sugar?” His voice came out low and careful. 

Evangeline dragged the heel of her hand across her wet cheeks, sniffling hard. “I’m fine. Just fine, Mr. Stack.” 

Stack stepped closer, the wall sconce from the hallway catching the damage. His jaw worked once. 

“Somebody put hands on you?” 

Evangeline remained silent. She looked past him like the wall might swallow her whole. 

“What’s your name?”

“Evangeline.” 

Stack studied her. “If you walk out them doors lookin’ like that, word gon’ travel faster than a rumor in a choir loft.” He said. “And if it gets back to your people that you was here…” he let the rest hang. They both knew what that meant.

“I’m not going back home.” She spoke, but it was so low Stack had to strain his ears to catch it. 

“Where my cousin at?” The question came out tight. Deep in his gut he knew Sammie wouldn’t raise a hand to a woman, he knew better than to do no shit like that. But the marks on her face made his fingers itch anyway. 

“I don’t know.” She whispered.

Stack exhaled through his nose and opened his office door, the hinges giving a soft groan. Warm lamplight spilled across a heavy desk cluttered with loose papers and an ashtray still smoking. 

He nodded inside. “Come on. ain’t nobody need to see you like this.” 

Evangeline hesitated, then stepped past him. Stack cracked the door behind them, cutting most of the noise from the hall. Stack stayed by the door a moment, watching her take in the room, her eyes darting over the velvet sofa, the half-empty bottle of whiskey, the coat rack heavy with his food jackets. 

“Go on, sit.” Stack said. “Ain’t gon’ bite.”

Evangeline lowered herself into the edge of the sofa, her fingers twisting in her lap. Stack crossed to the desk, poured himself a finger of whiskey into a glass, and took a sip. His gaze drifted back to that split lip. 

“You don’t gotta tell me what happened.” He said, after a beat. “But if somebody’s puttin’ hands in you, you best believe they gon’ answer for it.”

Evangeline’s wet eyes tracked him from head to toe before pulling away. 

Stack eased himself onto the edge of the heavy desk, one polished show braced against the floor, the other dangling. He watched her for a moment, finger tapping the glass, the wheels in his head turning. Hoping Sammie ain’t got nothing to do with her hurtin’. 

“Who hit you, Evangeline?” Stack’s voice stayed low, almost gentle. 

She kept her eyes on her lap, shoulders shaking, fresh tears sliding free. 

Stack let out a slow breath through his nose. He set his glass aside and pushed off the desk. The door to the back room creaked as he disappeared inside. When he came back, he carried a damp cloth and a small chunk of ice wrapped in it. He held it out without a word. 

Evangeline took them with trembling fingers and pressed the cold against her swollen cheek. Stack lowered himself onto the sofa beside her, close enough that the cushion dipped under his weight. 

“One of them boys out front?” he asked. “Say the word and I’ll handle it. Get you home safe, no questions asked.”

Her face crumpled again. The tears came harder, silent and hot. Stack reached over and laid his palm between her shoulder blades, rubbing slow circles through the thin fabric of her dress. Stack just stayed there, unsure of what to do other than go out and ask around. Surely, if an altercation did occur, he would have known. 

“Did some man try and come on to you?” Stack asked. 

Evangeline sniffled, rubbing her eyes. Eyes that kept betraying her as they swept over Stack’s body. The feeling of his hand making her feel fuzzy. 

“Wasn’t nothin’ like that. I…”

“Funny thing ‘bout nothin’. It usually leave folks lookin’ like somethin’ happened.” His voice never rises. “You ain’t gotta explain it to me.” Another pause. “Just don’t sit here thinkin’ somebody got the right to leave their fingerprints on your life. Folks’ll have you believin’ love always come with a hard hand. I should know.” 

Evangeline crumbled. She leaned her head against Stack’s shoulder, her tears soaking into the silk of his shirt. 

“Shhh, hey now…it’s alright. Listen, why don’t I go look for Sammie. See if we can sort this out—”

Her hand slid down between his legs, fingers closing around the softened outline of his dick through the fabric of his trousers. Stack shot to his feet so fast the sofa scraped back an inch. 

“What the hell you doin’, girl?”

She stayed where she was, eyes puffy, lips trembling. “I always wanted to know what it was like to be with one of the Smokestack Twins. You been so kind to me, Mr. Stack.”

Her fingers went to the buttons of her dress. She started working them open.

Stack’s voice came sharp. “Keep that dress on.”

“What? You don’t wanna make me feel better?” 

Stack looked away. He swiped at his nose and then made his way to the door. “Not like this. I ain’t who you think I am. I’m many things but not this. Button that dress back up.” 

Evangleine laughed, a bitter little sound that didn’t reach her eyes. “Since when does Stack Moore turn down some pussy?”

Stack was seeing red. He crossed the room in three strides and reached for the door, “I’m gettin’ Aunt Pearl to take you home—”

Before he could open the door it swung open. 

Sammie and Marigold stood right there in the hallway. Sammie’s eyes went straight to Evangeline’s open dress, skin showing beneath, the bruise on her face. His jaw clenched so hard the muscle jumped.

Marigold stepped inside first. “What’s going on in here?”

Stack looked from Sammie, to Marigold, to Evangeline. 

“Found her outside my office banged up. Somebody hit her—”

“Evangeline, everything alright?” 

Sammie crossed the room to her. Evangeline stood abruptly, turning away to fix herself. 

“Eva—”

“STOP! I’m fine. I ain’t fuck your cousin, Sammie. If that’s what you worried about.” 

Sammie frowned. “You think that’s what I care ‘bout right now? Your face—”

“Ask Sister Marigold why my face look like this.” 

Stack and Sammie turned their eyes onto Marigold. 

“I struck her.” Marigold confessed. “I ain’t mean to—”

“You meant to. Just like you meant to ruin our lives. Wait till I tell everyone that you fuckin’ a pimp in a pussy house. That image you worked so hard for gon’ burn so bright everybody in Little Rock gon’ see it.” 

Evangeline stormed past Sammie and bumped Marigold’s shoulder. Sammie grabbed her wrist but Evangeline wiggled her arm out of his grip and stormed out of the office. He was on her heels like a bloodhound with a fresh scent. Stack and Marigold stood frozen for a moment before following them. 

“Eva! Come on, now. We can talk about this—”

“Stop following me, Sammie!” 

“Listen, whatever happened, we can help. You ain’t gotta go through this alone—”

She turned as though she meant to leave, but Sammie stepped into her path. He didn’t grab her this time. He simply stood there, concern plain in his eyes. 

“Talk to me.” 

Her laugh came again, full of pain. “Why?”

“‘Cause somethin’ happened.” 

“You don’t know what happened.”

“No. But I know you hurtin’.” 

The tenderness in his voice hurt worse than an accusation could have. Evangeline’s chin trembled before she caught it between her teeth. She wanted him to be foolish. She wanted him to flirt, to say something smooth, to give her an excuse to laugh at him and walk away. Instead, he looked at her like her tears mattered. 

“You don’t even know me.” She said.

Sammie lowered his voice. “Maybe not yet.” 

“There ain’t gon’ be no yet.” 

His brows furrowed. “What that mean?” 

“It mean you need to stop lookin’ at me like that.” 

“Like what?” 

“Like I’m somethin’ sweet.” 

“You are.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I know enough.” 

“No, you don’t.” Her voice sharpened, cutting through the music between them. “You met me on a sidewalk licking ice cream. You saw me in a pretty dress, let me dance on you, kissed me a little, sucked my pussy, now you think you know what kind of girl I am.” 

“I never said that.” 

“You ain’t have to, Sammie.” 

Sammie’s expression softened further, which only made her angrier. 

“Evangeline, I ain’t tryin’ to judge you.” 

“Everybody says that right before they do.” 

“I ain’t everybody—”

“You a preacher’s son.” 

“I ain’t my daddy—”

“You still got his Bible all through you!” 

The words struck him, though he tried not to show it.

“What would your daddy think if he found out you been licking pussy? You hangin’ ‘round The Smokestack twins? You performing blues music in a Juke full of the drunk and the frisky, huh? I’d get out while I still can. At least you got time for savin’.” Evangeline rubbed quickly beneath one eye. “Go enjoy your birthday. They threw this whole night for you. Got women in there that know exactly what you want and how to give it to you.” 

“I was lookin’ for you.” 

“Well, stop.” 

Sammie went still. Evangeline drew a breath that trembled all the way down.

“I got somebody anyway.” 

Sammie’s face changed. Only slightly. A tiny glimpse behind his eyes. 

“You got a man?” 

“That’s what I said.” 

Sammie searched her expression, perhaps waiting for the teasing curl of her lips or a wink that would reveal the game. None came. Evangeline forced herself to hold his gaze until the lie settled between them.

“Why you ain’t say that before?” 

Evangeline scoffed. “I ain’t owe you my whole life story.”

“I know…”

“Then quit askin’.”

Sammie nodded slowly. “Alright.” 

His acceptance should have brought relief. Instead, it left her feeling hollow. Evangeline looked at him properly thenz at the college pin on his lapel. At the faint sheen of perspiration resting along his temple. At the gentle hands that had gripped her waist and pinned her legs in that dressing room. He had looked at her as though she were worth discovering. That was precisely why she had to push harder. 

“Go find you somebody more suitable.” She said. “Some good little college girl. Some little church girl from back home. A girl who writes letter and sit quiet while you play. Somebody worth your time.”

Sammie’s brows drew together. “Why you talkin’ like you ain’t?” 

She looked away.

“Evangeline—”

“Just leave me alone, Sammie.” 

He could hear the plea beneath the anger. He could also hear his father’s voice from years ago, insisting that women needed correction when their emotions carried them too far. Jedediah would have followed. Cornered. Demanded answers until there was no room left for anything but obedience. 

Sammie would not become that man. 

Evangeline stepped around him and headed toward the front of the room. 

Sammie turned after her. For one breath, he followed. One step carried him into the stream of dancers before he stopped himself. She had asked him to leave her alone. Whatever had transpired between her and Marigold, she didn’t want him beside her while she carried it. 

“Preacher Boy!”

A hand clapped his shoulder from behind. Someone called for another song. Delta Slom lifted both hands from the piano and shouted that the birthday boy owed the room one more number. Sammie glanced back at them, then toward Evangeline. She had already disappeared among the bodies. He stood there another second, torn between instinct and respect, before lowering his head. 

She needed time.

He would find her later.

The office door had scarcely stopped rattling from Sammie and Evangeline’s hurried exit before things settled uneasy. Marigold stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself, staring at the open doorway as though Evangeline might suddenly appear again. 

“I struck her.” Her confession came with shame. “So hard.” Her voice wavered. “I have never laid my hands on one of my girls.” 

Stack remained where he was beside his desk. He said nothing. 

Marigold laughed once, though it carried no humor. “I looked at her…” she swallowed. “…and all I could see was myself.” She pressed trembling fingers against her lips. “I became exactly what she accused me of.”

Stack watched her for another moment before speaking. 

“No.” 

She lifted weary eyes toward him. 

“You became somebody who lost hold of herself.” 

The distinction did little to comfort her. A fresh wave of shame crossed her face. Then, another thought entered. 

“What if she tells? What if she tells everybody?” Marigold whispered. “The congregation…my husband…those girls…” she shook her head. “My whole life…”

Stack’s answer came without hesitation. “Then she tells.” 

Marigold stared at him as though he’d struck her himself.

“That’s all you got to say?” 

“What else you want me to say?” Stack tilted his head. 

“You don’t understand—”

“I understand just fine.” 

“No. You don’t. They’ll talk.” 

“They might—”

“They’ll rip me apart.” 

“They might.” 

“My girls won’t listen to another word I say—”

“Maybe.” 

Each answer landed heavier than the last. Frustration finally overtook her. 

“You don’t care.” 

Stack’s brow lifted. 

“You think this some kind of joke.”

“I think it’s the truth.”

Marigold shut her eyes. “I could lose everything.” 

“You already losin’ it, Goldie.” 

She blinked. “What?” 

“You hate hearin’ the truth.”

“I do not—”

“You do.” His voice never rose. “You hate any truth that asks somethin’ of you.” 

Marigold shook her head fiercely. “You don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Stack.” 

“I know exactly what I’m talking’ ‘bout.” He took one measured step toward her. “You spend time worryin’ ‘bout what everybody else think, you ain’t ask yourself what you think in a long while.” 

Marigold felt the walls closing in. 

“I need to go.” 

She turned for the door. Before her fingers reached the knob, Stack crossed the room. He opened the door first, glanced into the hallway, then quietly shut it again.

The lock clicked into place.

Marigold stared. “What are you doin’?”

He motioned toward the chair opposite his desk.

“Sit.”

“I said I need to leave.”

“I heard you.”

“Move.”

“No.”

She searched his face, waiting for the arrogance she had come to expect from men who gave orders. It wasn’t there.

Only patience.

Only resolve.

Her shoulders sagged. The fight left them. Slowly, she lowered herself into the chair. Stack remained standing for a long moment before finally asking the question that had lived behind his eyes for weeks.

“Why you still with him?”

Marigold looked down at her hands.

No answer came.

He asked another. “Why you still tied to that church?”

She opened her mouth. Closed it again. Words that had once come so easily refused to appear.

Duty. Marriage. Calling. Obedience.

Each felt thinner than the last.

Stack watched the realization cross her face.

“You keep tellin’ me what you scared of losin’.” He leaned against the edge of his desk. “Tell me one thing over there that’s still holdin’ on to you.”

Marigold searched for it. For something. Anything.

Obadiah. No. Her marriage. No. The church building. No. Her title. No. Only faces came. The young women. Bible lessons. Hospital visits. Meals delivered to grieving families.

Evangeline.

The thought struck so sharply she rose from the chair.

“I can’t do this.”

She hurried to the door and unlocked it before Stack could stop her. The knob turned. She stepped into the hallway. Behind her came his voice, carrying just enough amusement to make her stop for the briefest second.

“Runnin’ again?”

She closed her eyes.

“Thought we was past that.”

Marigold looked back over her shoulder. The glare she gave him carried exhaustion more than anger. Then, she walked away. She moved quickly through the back corridors until the music softened behind thick walls. The warmth of the kitchen met her first. Pots soaked in wash tubs. The smell of cornbread still lingered in the air. Alma Rose stood at one sink with her sleeves rolled high, drying heavy platters while Aunt Pearl wiped down one of the long preparation tables, humming softly beneath her breath. Both women looked up together. One glance was all Aunt Pearl needed.

“What happened?”

Marigold tried to answer but nothing came. She lowered her eyes instead.

After a long silence, she managed quietly, “Aunt Pearl…”

The older woman set the rag aside. “Mm-hmm?”

“Would you…” Her voice nearly broke. “…would you mind drivin’ me home?”

Concern settled across Aunt Pearl’s face, but she asked no questions.

“Course I will.” She untied her apron and handed it to Alma Rose. “You finish up in here for me, baby.”

Alma Rose nodded. “I got it.”

Marigold waited near the back door while Aunt Pearl gathered her things.

Just as Aunt Pearl reached for her coat…

The church bell rang.

One slow toll.

Its sound rolled through the kitchen walls and settled over every pot, every plate, every tired pair of hands. Even Alma Rose’s rag stilled against the china. Marigold felt the sound settle somewhere deep inside her chest. Aunt Pearl quietly slipped her coat over her shoulders.

“Come on, baby.”

Marigold nodded.

Neither woman spoke as they stepped out into the Arkansas night.

Behind them, The Blackline laughed.

Across the street, the bell rang again.

The Rise of First Blood

Evangeline moved without purpose through The Blackline, letting the crowd swallow her. She passed couples with their foreheads pressed together, women laughing over cards, men losing money with good humor and ordering another round. The room that had seemed scandalous when she first entered now looked different through the sting of her tears.

She saw a young woman sitting beside the stage with her face buried against Peaches’ shoulder. Peaches did not tell her to straighten up. She did not tell her that tears invited weakness or that grief could be prayed away. She stroked the woman’s back and listened while she cried, her full attention offered without correction.

Near the bar, a patron reached for one of the dancers. The woman caught his wrist, shook her head, and continued past him. He lifted both palms, accepted the refusal, and turned back to his drink. No one dragged her aside. No one asked what kind of woman denied a man after accepting his attention. At a nearby table, Aunt Pearl set down a plate in front of a girl who had been too busy working to eat. She fussed over her until the girl took the first bite, then walked away satisfied. The Blackline contained vice. Evangeline could see it clearly. Liquor poured faster than water. Clothes fell open. Money passed between hands for pleasures no church woman would name aloud. Yet beneath all of it lived something she had not expected to find.

Choice.

The realization disturbed her more than the obscenity. Marigold’s face returned to her. Garnet lips. Black satin. Her body settled on Stack Moore’s lap while he kissed her neck and whispered filth no doubt. The look of shock on her face when she’d locked eyes with her. The woman who had once warned Evangeline that wickedness entered through open doors had looked more alive in that booth than she ever had standing beside Obadiah. 

Evangeline hated her for it. She envied her for it too. That truth was harder to bear.

She drifted closer to the entrance, wrapping her arms around herself. The mark on her cheek and the split in her lip had begun to ache now that the adrenaline has settled. Everything she had said to Marigold returned in jagged pieces, crueler now that the anger had faded. She remembered Marigold’s face after the slap, the horror and regret that followed it. 

She had wanted the First Lady to hurt. 

And she had succeeded. 

It had not made anything better. 

Across the room, tucked behind a veiled alcove, Liza June sat with her cards gathered loosely in both hands. She had stopped reading them some time ago. Lana had wandered away to tend to a John, leaving her alone with the spread and the company no one else could see. 

Louisa Fields, one of the spirits, had remained near the piano after Sammie finished playing. The Harris twins had stood together beside an empty booth, their fingers linked. Clarene Bell watched the stage with a longing that had survived her body. Larissa Boone lingered near the wall, stern and watchful. Cressida Weatherford stood closest to Marigold as she surfaced with Stack, her weathered hands held near her sides. 

Then, Louisa turned toward the front door. 

The Harris twins followed.

Clarene lowered her head and went after them. 

Larissa crossed the room with the grave composure of a woman answering a summons.

Liza June straightened. 

The spirits did not disappear. They moved through the living crowd, passing between dancers and tables without disturbing cloth or flesh. Every one of them traveled in the same direction. 

Her cards tightened between her fingers.

“Where ya’ll goin’?”

None turned.

One card slipped free and landed face up on the table. 

Death. 

Liza stared at it. 

Ordinarily, she would have scolded anyone foolish enough to fear the card. Death did not always mean a grave. It could mean change, release, one life ending so another might begin. Tonight, the image looked different. 

Cressida remained behind for one final heartbeat. Her eyes found Marigold across the room. The First Lady was scanning the crowd beside Sammie now. Both of them searching for someone they could no longer see. Then, Cressida looked toward Liza.

No chant came this time. No words formed inside her mind. The old woman simply closed her eyes. 

Grief moved across her face before she turned and followed the others. 

Liza’s stomach tightened. She didn’t rise or follow. She remained perfectly still while the dead passed through the front door. 

Evangeline reached it moments later. 

The doorman recognized her from when she came in and tipped his hat. “Headin’ out, Miss?”

“Just need some air.” 

“Friends left some time ago.” 

Evangeline glanced back into the room. Her girls had gone. She figured as much. They were past their curfew. She spotted Sammie with his guitar, forcing a smile on his face. Evangeline nearly called his name. The thought rose to her lips. Then, Pride swallowed it. 

“Actually, I think I’m a head home. Thanks anyway.” 

The doorman opened the door. “Have a good evening.” 

Music poured into the night around her, bright and lively for a few seconds before the heavy door closed and reduced it to a muffled pulse behind brick. West Ninth had thinned considerably. Storefronts sat dark behind their glasses. Stratton’s three pale circles across the pavement, leaving stretches of shadow between them. The August heat had not broken, though the night breeze cooled the tears drying on Evangeline’s face. Across the narrow lane stood Greater Calvary Holy Temple Church of Deliverance. It’s white exterior looked gray beneath the moon. The iron fence bordered rows of lilies that appeared colorless at this hour. High above the street, the bell tower cut into the skit like a raised finger demanding silence. 

Evangeline turned away from it. 

She walked slowly, without any true destination. She didn’t want to go back home. To face her mother’s judgment or her father’s hand. She only wanted distance form Marigold, from Sammie’s kindness, from the music that had reached into her chest and stirred feelings she was not prepared to name. 

Behind her, the dead emerged through The Blackline’s closed door. 

Louisa came first, small and barefoot, ribcage visible above her nightgown; malnourished. The Harris twins walked behind her, still holding hands, translucent and water-soaked, dripping constantly, leaving puddles wherever they moved. They still wore the same swollen, bluish features with their hair plastered their face and clothing clinging like wet rags. Clarene had bruising around her neck and walked with a wobble. Larissa carried a medicinal scent mixed with the old communion wine sweetness. Other spirits joined them, spirits tied to the patrons, the musicians, the kitchens and the old streets beneath Little Rock. Faces from lives already lived. Shapes belonging to years not yet born. 

Cressida came last. 

The formed a silent procession several paces behind her, keeping pace as she crossed beyond the strongest reach of The Blackline’s lights. Evangeline felt the change without understanding it. The fine hairs along her arms lifted. She glanced over one shoulder. 

The street appeared empty. 

She rubbed her palms over her sleeves and kept walking. The music weakened with each step Evangeline took until that world became no more than a distant rhythm carried through the night. 

Evangeline paused beside the church fence. 

A lily had fallen onto the pavement. She nudged it with the toe of her shoe, then looked toward the road leading home. 

“Miss Monroe.” 

The voice came from behind her. 

Evangleine turned.

Deacon Josiah Wells stood beneath the nearest streetlamp. She had known him most of her life. He had carried her on his shoulders during church picnics when she was small and slipped peppermint candies into her palm after services. Tonight he wore a dark suit buttoned to the throat, his hat held respectfully against his chest.

The tension left her shoulders.

“Deacon Wells.”

“Your mama and daddy been worried.”

Her gaze dropped. “They know I’m gone?”

“They know enough.”

“I was fixin’ to head home.”

“I figured as much.” He gave her the same patient smile she remembered from childhood. “Come on, then. I’ll see you there safe.”

Evangeline glanced toward The Blackline. She thought of Sammie. She thought of going back inside and telling him the truth, at least enough of it to apologize. Then, she pictured her father waiting at home.

“I can walk.”

“At this hour?” Deacon Wells chuckled softly. “Your daddy would have my hide if I let his girl cross town alone.”

The words sounded reasonable. Familiar.

She stepped toward him.

The spirits stopped.

Every one of them.

Louisa’s face tightened with fear. The Harris twins drew closer together. Clarene opened her mouth though no sound passed through it. Larissa reached for Evangeline and met only distance.

Cressida raised both hands. The hands that had delivered children, closed wounds, calmed fevers and helped women survive the touch of cruel men.

They could do nothing now.

Evangeline had nearly reached Deacon Wells when another man stepped from the deeper shadow beside the church steps. Then, a third appeared near the gate.

Her pace slowed. “Who they?”

Wells’ smile remained, though all warmth had left it.

“Church business.”

“At this time of night?”

“You been keepin’ late hours yourself.”

Something in his voice changed her breathing.

Evangeline stepped backward.

Wells reached for her arm.

She jerked away. “Don’t touch me.”

The men moved at once.

One caught her from behind. A broad hand covered her mouth before she could scream. She kicked backward, heel striking bone, and heard someone curse. Her teeth closed against the palm over her lips.

“Hold her.”

Evangeline twisted hard enough to tear one sleeve at the shoulder. She clawed at the arm trapping her, eyes fixed on The Blackline’s entrance only yards away.

The music continued behind the walls. She tried to call Sammie. Only a broken sound escaped beneath the man’s hand.

Deacon Wells seized her legs as the others lifted her from the pavement. Her eyes widened. Not with confusion anymore.

With recognition.

The spirits crowded around them, reaching, grieving, powerless. Cressida stood closest, her hands pressed against Evangeline’s face without being felt.

The girl fought until a dark cloth was forced over her nose and mouth.

The church bell tolled once.

Evangeline’s body went slack.

The men carried her through the iron gate. Behind them, the fallen lily lay crushed against the pavement. And across the lane, The Blackline kept singing.

Morning came. It slowly settled over the carriage house behind The Blackline. Thin ribbons of sunlight caught lazy flecks of dust that drifted through the warm air. The fragrance of old cedar, worn leather, hay, faint traces of manure, and machine oil. An empty wagon leaned against one wall beside stacked feed crates and coiled harnesses that hadn’t seen a horse in years. 

Beyond the open doors crowded with overgrown grass, life had already begun again. Minnie laughed and cooed in the kitchen. A pan clanged against a stove, probably Aunt Pearl frying up some bacon fat fritters. Delta Skim tested a few wandering notes on the piano before deciding against a tune to play tonight. Cornbread was snoring in one of the guest rooms, causing some of the girls to groan about missed sleep because of a grisly bear. The little white kitten, Trouble, darted across the courtyard chasing something only he could see. 

The world had moved on accordingly.

Sammie had not. 

He sat alone on an overturned crate with his guitar resting across his lap. It had once belonged to Smoke and Stack’s father before the brothers placed it in Sammie’s hands years later, telling him every instrument deserved another voice. 

This morning it felt heavier than usual. His fingers wandered over the strings, searching for something familiar. A blues progression found its way beneath his fingertips before faltering halfway through. He tried again. Stopped again. But nothing sounded right. Sammie’s thoughts refused to stay on the music. Instead, they drifted back to the night before. 

Evangeline laughing. Evangeline dancing. The sharp wit behind every smile she sent his way. Then…her face after everything had unraveled. The bruise. It wasn’t the mark itself, or that Marigold had struck her. It was the way she reacted. She hadn’t looked surprised. She didn’t seem to care that she’d been hit in retaliation. She looked…ready. As though somewhere in her life she’d already learned what it meant to brace herself before a hand came. 

That was the part Sammie couldn’t shake. 

He drew a slow breath and rested both hands across the guitar. He allowed himself to be swallowed by silence before it was broken by footsteps crunching across the gravel outside. 

“They teach y’all that at college?”

Sammie looked up.

Stack leaned against the doorway with a steaming mug balanced in one hand. His hat had been traded for a neatly combed head of conked hair, his suit coat abandoned somewhere inside. Suspenders crossed a white shirt rolled neatly to his forearms. But the gold on his fingers and around his neck never left him. He was Elias Moore after all.

Stack nodded toward the guitar. “Or you tryin’ punish that poor thing?”

A corner of Sammie’s mouth lifted despite himself.

“I ain’t punishin’ it.”

“Mmm.”

Stack wandered inside without waiting for permission and lowered himself onto a crate beside him. He took a sip of his chicory coffee mixed with a little melted chocolate. He looked out through the open carriage doors, his eyes tracking Trouble trying to catch dragonflies. They simply breathed beside each other, Stack taking sips of his coffee and Sammie plucking the strings with his thumb. Stack had always known when silence needed company more than conversation. After a while he nudged Sammie’s shoulder.

“She got you all tangled up already?”

Sammie gave a quiet scoff. “Ain’t like that.”

“If you say so, lil’ nigga.” 

“It ain’t.”

Stack smiled into his coffee but let the denial pass. Another stretch of quiet settled between them. Finally, Sammie spoke.

“I keep thinkin’ about her.”

“The girl?”

Sammie nodded. “I keep seein’ that look on her face. The way she…” His voice lowered. “She looked…broken.” He swallowed. “Not because of Marigold.”

Stack turned his head. “What you mean?”

Sammie stared down at the strings. “I don’t know.” He searched for the words. “Sum’ just ain’t right.” 

Stack didn’t rush to answer. He simply listened.

Sammie let out a tired breath. “I don’t know. Just…it bothered me.”

“It ought to.”

Sammie looked over.

Stack rested his elbows on his knees, turning the coffee mug slowly between his palms.

“World got a habit of puttin’ too much on folks before they old enough to carry it.” He looked toward the bright morning outside. “Sometimes somebody cross your path and all they leave you with is a question.”

Sammie frowned. “What kinda question?”

Stack’s gaze stayed fixed ahead. “The kind you spend years answerin’.”

The words lingered between them.

Sammie looked back down at the guitar.

“You ever have somebody just…” He hesitated. “…walk out your life before you figured ’em out?”

Stack chuckled softly. “More than once.”

There was something unreadable behind the smile that followed. Before Sammie could ask anything else, Stack clapped both hands against his knees and stood.

“That’s enough of this.”

“What?”

“You.” Stack pointed at him. “You in your big cousin’s house actin’ like somebody done stole Christmas.”

Sammie laughed. A real laugh this time, though it still carried a trace of weariness.

“I ain’t actin’.”

“You absolutely actin’.”

Stack reached over and caught him in a loose headlock, rubbing the top of his head with his knuckles until Sammie pushed him away.

“Man, quit.”

“There he is.” Stack grinned. “I knew you was still in there somewhere.”

Sammie shook his head, trying not to smile. 

“You supposed to be celebratin’.” Stack slung an easy arm across his shoulders and steered him toward the open doors. “You a college man now. A bluesman. My lil’ cousin. Ain’t no room ‘round here for mopin’ all day.”

They stepped into the morning together. Trouble darted past their feet and damn near leaped up the steps into the kitchen. 

Stack leaned close, lowering his voice as though conspiring to rob a bank.

“Aunt Pearl got sweet potato biscuits coolin’ in that kitchen.”

Sammie raised an eyebrow. “So?”

Stack looked over both shoulders with exaggerated caution.

“I heard tell she made peach preserves too.”

A grin finally spread across Sammie’s face.

“You know she gon’ fuss.”

“Only if she catch us.”

They crossed the courtyard shoulder to shoulder, laughing quietly like two boys about to steal something they both knew they’d be forgiven for before supper.

Stack moved like a shadow, his broad shoulders hunched as he crept toward the cooling rack. He didn’t make a sound, his movements were fluid and practiced while Sammie hovered just behind him, his eyes darting toward the doorway. Stack’s large hand shot out, snatching a golden-brown sweet potato biscuit still steaming from the oven. He grabbed another for Sammie, pressing it into his cousin’s palm with a wicked, knowing grin. Using his thick fingers, Stack split the biscuit in half and walked over to the peach preserves, using a tiny, sterling silver engraved spoon to scoop some onto the biscuit. Sammie held his own biscuit out and stack gave him a dollop. 

“Hush now,” Stack whispered with a low, gravelly voice. “‘Fore Pearl catch us and use that bread paddle to whip us.” 

Sammie snorted a laughter while Stack masked his by taking a bite of the buttery delight. Peach preserves danced across his tongue and made his eyes roll shut. 

They retreated from the kitchen, sneaking through the back hallway and slipping into the main area of The Blackline. The main area held the aftermath of a crowded room with floorboards scarred by years of dancing boots and spilled liquor. On stage, Delta Slim sat at the upright piano, his dark fingers dancing over the keys in a slow, mourning melody that seemed to pull the very soul out of the keys. 

A few paces away, Aunt Pearl stood still as a statue. Her dark skin was etched with the lines of a hard-lived life. Her gaze was fixed on Delta with an intensity that felt like a physical weight. She watched him play with a look that hovered somewhere between love and a deep, aching grief. 

Stack leaned in close to Sammie, the biscuit halfway to his mouth. He lowered his voice, a playful glint in his whiskey-colored eyes. 

“I tell ya’, Sammie…I seen ‘em last night,” Stack whispered, glancing back at Pearl. “Caught ‘em in the kitchen. Delta and Aunt Pearl was tongue-kissing like two teenagers who just found out the preacher went to sleep. Thought they was gon’ swallow each other whole.” 

Sammie almost choked on a piece of biscuit, his eyes widening. “Aunt Pearl? Swear? She too strict for that.” 

“Strict in the light, maybe,” Stack chuckled, his deep dimples popping. “But the dark do something to a person. Make ‘em remember things they tried to bury.” Stack paused, his expression softening as he watched the two of them. “I wonder how they even started. You don’t just look at a man like that unless there’s a whole lifetime of ghosts between you.” 

A heavy sigh sounded beside them. Minnie stepped into the light, her shoulders slumped and her eyes heavy with a bone-deep weariness. Her dark skin looked matte when the light hit it and she moved with a slow, dragging gait of someone who hadn’t seen a bed in twenty-four hours. She didn’t say where she’d been, but the way she rubbed the small of her back and the distant, exhausted look in her eyes hinted at her night spent pacing a floor. 

Minnie overheard them and let out a dry, raspy laugh. “Ya’ll talkin’ ‘bout ghosts now? You ain’t gotta wonder, Stack. Pearl used to be the star of the show.” 

Stack raised an eyebrow. “The star?” 

“Mm-hm,” Minnie nodded leaning against a pillar. “She told me sum’ she ain’t never share before. Back in the day, Pearl had a voice that could make the devil weep. She used to sing them old ragtime songs—fast, filthy, full of life. Delta there? She said he was the heart of the band. They was thick as thieves, those two. Had a fling that set the whole Delta talking.”

Sammie looked from Minnie to the piano. “What happened?”

Minnie’s expression dimmed. “Life happened. Delta got caught up in some trouble and needed to on the chain gang. Gone for years. Just like that. Pearl…she ain’t hear nothin’ for a long time. Word got back that he and his buddy Rice had been hanged by the state. Pearl took that news and buried it deep. She married a good man, had her boy, and tired to forget the sound of that piano.” 

Stack watched Delta hit a low, resonant chord. He saw the way Pearl’s chest hitched, a small sharp intake of breath. 

“Seein’ him walk back through those doors.” Minnie continued softly. “It ain’t just bring back the love. It opened up every old wound she ever managed to scab over. It’s a heavy thing, comin’ back from the dead.” 

Stack just stood there, chewing the last of his biscuit, watching the silent communication between the woman and the musician. A slow, knowing smile spread across his face. It wasn’t a cruel one. It was the smile of a man who understood that the most powerful desires were the ones that survived the impossible. 

Sammie’s expression turned thoughtful, almost tentative. He looked at his cousin—this man who seemed to glide through life with an effortless, seductive confidence, always surrounded by laughter and the scent of expensive pomade and women’s perfume. 

“Stack,” Sammie started, a small, teasing smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You always out here playin’ the field, keepin’ every girl from here to Chicago guessin’. You ever think you gon’ actually find love? Or you just gon’ keep collectin’ ‘em like stamps?” 

Stack let out a loud, booming laugh that bounced off the scarred floorboards, his deep dimples carving into his cheeks. He slapped his thigh, his eyes sparkling with amusement. Delta Slim and Aunt Pearl looked over like they’d been interrupted. Minnie walked away with a shake of her head towards the kitchen to start prepping for the night’s opening. 

“Find love?” Stack chuckled, shaking his head. “Boy, you talkin’ like I’m some lonely soul wanderin’ the wilderness. I got love in spades.” Stack gestured broadly with a large hand, encompassing the room. “I got you, I got Smoke—even if that man act like a stone wall half the time. And I got my girls, them sweet twins. I got more love than I know what to do with, Sammie. Why trade a whole garden for one single rose when I can have the whole damn field?” 

Sammie didn’t seem convinced. He let the silence stretch for a second before his voice dropped an octave, becoming a soft, pointed needle. 

“What ‘bout Marigold?” 

The laughter didn’t vanish but it froze. The playful light in his eyes dimmed into something guarded, something unreadable. The name hung in the air between them, heavy and thick, clashing with the mournful chords of the piano. For a heartbeat, the mask of the charming rouge slipped, revealing a glimpse of the man who knew exactly how dangerous a woman like Marigold could be. And exactly how much he craved that danger. 

Stack cleared his throat, his jaw tightening as he straightened up. He didn’t look at Sammie, instead focusing his gaze on the doorway, his voice returning to its usual smooth, dismissive rumble, though the warmth was gone.

“I got shit to do,” Stack muttered, pushing off the pillar. He didn’t linger, turning on his heel to make a quick exit. As he walked away, he tossed a hand back over his shoulder, his tone returning to a forced, teasing edge. “Go on now. Go find yourself some stag films and a bottle of corn liquor. Put some hair on that chest ‘o yours ‘fore you start gettin’ all poetic on me.” 

A few blocks over, Marigold scarcely slept. The dawn had come pale and slow through the bedroom curtains, finding her already awake, sitting upright with the blankets gathered around her waist. Obadiah had risen before first light as he always did, his side of the bed left neat and undisturbed, the lingering scent of his shaving soap hanging faintly in the room. He’d come home late, Marigold faking sleep to avoid him. She remained where she was long after he had gone. Her cheek rested against her fingertips and every time she closed her eyes, she saw Evangeline. Not the girl laughing with Sammie. Not the girl slipping through the doors of The Blackline.

The girl in that narrow hallway. Eyes shining with hurt. Voice trembling beneath anger.

You weren’t teachin’ us. You were teachin’ us how to become you.

Marigold squeezed her eyes shut. Then came another.

Naomi was right.

Her stomach tightened.

Naomi. Esther.

The wounds she had spent years trying to bind together with prayer and patience had been ripped open in the span of a few cruel minutes. Evangeline had spoken their names like accusations. Like Marigold had stood by while both of them slipped beyond her reach.

Had she?

The question refused to leave.

She rose at last, bathed, dressed simply, and tied her hat beneath her chin with hands that would not stop fidgeting. She intended to make her usual house visits that morning. Instead, her feet carried her somewhere else.

She needed to see Evangeline. Needed to apologize. Needed to explain. Or perhaps…she simply needed to know the girl had made it home. That thought settled uneasily in her chest. She couldn’t stop thinking that Evangeline had returned safely…and would tell someone where she’d seen the First Lady the night before. Marigold hated herself for thinking it. More than that, she hated that the thought had come before anything else. She whispered a prayer beneath her breath as she walked. The prayer wasn’t for protection. It was for forgiveness.

The Monroe home sat undisturbed beneath the morning sun, its white paint weathered by Arkansas summers and damp winters alike. A pair of rocking chairs rested on the porch, one still gently swaying as though someone had only recently risen from it. Marigold climbed the steps, and for a moment she almost turned around.

What if Evangeline refused to see her? What if Ruth answered with questions Marigold couldn’t bear?

She lifted her hand anyway. Three soft knocks.

Tap tap tap. 

Footsteps approached from inside. The door opened.

Ruth Monroe stood there, and Marigold knew instantly something was wrong. Ruth’s eyes were swollen. They weren’t red from a restless night. They were red from crying.  Her apron had been thrown on carelessly over yesterday’s dress, and her hair, usually pinned with meticulous care, had begun slipping loose around her temples.

“Ruth…” Marigold’s voice softened. “I came to—”

Ruth looked at Marigold with the bewildered expression of someone whose world no longer obeyed reason.

“You ain’t seen her…have you?”

The question struck like cold water.

Marigold frowned. “Seen?”

“Evangeline.”

A hollow ache opened beneath Marigold’s ribs.

“I thought she’d be here.”

Ruth shook her head slowly. “She never come home.”

The words settled between them. Heavy. Impossible. Marigold searched Ruth’s face for the certainty that this was all a misunderstanding. Perhaps she’d stayed with cousins. Perhaps she’d gone to one of the girls from Bible study. Perhaps…

Ruth lifted a trembling hand.

There was an envelope in it. Its edges had already softened from being unfolded and folded again.

“I found this on her bedside table this mornin’.”

Marigold looked down. Across the front, written in familiar handwriting, was one simple word.

Mama.

“I went to wake her,” Ruth whispered. “Her bed…it hadn’t been slept in.” A tear slipped down her cheek. “This was sittin’ underneath her Bible.”

Marigold felt something inside her sink. Like a stone disappearing beneath dark water.

Ruth held the letter against her chest. “She says she left.” Her voice broke. “She says she needed to find herself.”

Somewhere beyond the yard, a mockingbird sang as though the morning had begun like any other.

Marigold looked toward the open doorway, into the little house she had visited so many times over the years. She could almost picture Evangeline as a child racing through those rooms with ribbons flying behind her.

Then, her thoughts returned to the night before.

To the hallway. To the slap. To the hurt in Evangeline’s eyes.

A terrible guilt settled over her. She had come to ask forgiveness.

Instead…

She found only absence.

“Come on in.” 

Marigold hesitated only a moment before crossing the threshold. The Monroe joke carried all the familiar comforts she’d known for years. The smell of coffee lingered in the kitchen. There was a half-finished basket of mending rested beside Ruth’s favorite chair. Family photographs lined the mantel with polished silver frames that caught the light. 

Nothing changed. Yet everything had.

Ruth closed the front door behind them but didn’t sit. And wandered into the parlor, one hand wringing the folded letter while the other worried at the edge of her apron. 

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.” Her voice shook. “I just…I keep thinkin’ maybe she’ll come through that front door and fuss at me for worryin’.” 

Marigold removed her gloves, buying herself a moment to steady the knot in her chest. 

“Had anyone else seen this?” 

Ruth shook her head. “No. My husband left before daylight for the mill.” She swallowed. “He still think she asleep.” Her eyes filled again. “I don’t know how to tell him.” The words barely made it out. “He—he already think we been losin’ her.” 

Marigold stepped closer. Ruth had always been the steadier parent. Gentle where her husband was firm. Patient where he was quick to correct. Seeing her come apart unsettled something deep inside Marigold.

“May I…?” Marigold nodded toward the letter.

Ruth looked down at the page for a long moment before placing them into Marigold’s hands. 

“I’ve read it so many times I know every word by heart now.” Ruth drew a shaky breath that never quite settled. 

Madigold unfolded the paper with great care. The handwriting was unmistakably Evangeline’s. Neat. Rounded. Carefully practiced. Marigold could tell from the years spent in purity class walking the rows between desks, staring down over the girls’ shoulders as they wrote brief essays on how to remain sacred and serve the Lord. 

She began reading. 

Mama, 

I’m sorry. I know I disappointed you and Daddy more times than I can count. I don’t fit here anymore, and I don’t think I ever will. I need to figure out who I am without everybody tellin’ me who I’m supposed to be. Please don’t come lookin’ for me. I’m safe.  I just need somewhere I can breathe.  Maybe one day you’ll forgive me. Tell Daddy I’m sorry. I love you. 

Evangeline. 

Marigold lowered the page but did not immediately look up. It sounded…possible. Painfully possible. And painfully familiar. Every line echoed the frustration Evangeline had carried for months. Yet something about it sat strangely against Marigold’s heart. 

Ruth managed a weak, watery smile through her tears. 

“The handwriting’s hers.” 

Karigold looked back down. “It certainly looks like it. I recognized it the second I opened it.” 

Ruth laughed softly, though there was no joy in the sound.

“Funny thing is…” she wiped beneath her one eye. “When she was little, she would dot all her little i’s with Tony circles.” 

Marigold glanced up. “Circles?” 

“Mmm-hmm.” Ruth smiled at the memory. “Little bitty things.” She held her fingers barely apart. “Looked like she’d sprinkled flower petals all over her schoolwork. I used to tell her nobody’d take her serious writin’ like that.” Another quiet laugh escaped her. “I guess she finally outgrew it.” 

Marigold’s eyes drifted back to the page. Each lowercase i wore an ordinary dot. Perfectly ordinary. She folded the letter carefully along the original crease before returning it to Ruth.

“I hope that’s all it is.” 

Ruth clutched it against her chest again. “I keep tellin’ myself she’s eighteen. Maybe she just…” her voice cracked. “…needed to leave.” 

Marigold reached out and gently covered Ruth’s trembling hand. “I…I know this is hard.” 

Ruth looked at her with eyes full of questions no mother should ever have to ask. 

“You think she gon’ come back?” 

Marigold opened her mouth. No answer came. Instead, she gave Ruth’s hand the smallest reassuring squeeze she could manage.

“I pray she does.” 

Even as the words left her lips, an uneasiness settled deeper inside her. She could not shake the memory of the last thing Evangeline had said before walking away.

Hell already done broke loose in the both of us.