His Soft Obsession

Chapter Eighteen: They Don’t Gotta Like It

Lyric

The party was dying down.

Music low, crowd thinner, people either leaving or leaning into each other, drunk off liquor and lust.

Zay hadn’t left my side once.

And then, outta nowhere, he grabbed my waist and pulled me right into his lap.

Like I weighed nothing.

Like I was his.

Just like that.

“Why you always tryna act like you invisible?” he murmured into my ear, lips brushing my skin.

“I’m not.”

“You mine,” he said, voice low. “I don’t want you standing like you don’t belong somewhere.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

My heart was too busy punching my chest.

Girls across the yard were watching.

One of them leaned into the other’s ear, whispering while mean-mugging me hard.

I recognized one.

The girl from the mall.

The one who called me “Zay’s little fan.”

She was walking over now.

Heels loud. Hair slicked into a bun so tight she couldn’t blink too hard.

Tight brown jumpsuit. Attitude on full.

She stopped right in front of Zay, smirking.

“So… last week I was in your bed,” she said, eyes flicking to me, “and now you with a fat b*tch? That’s wild.”

The whole corner of the backyard went silent.

Janiyah snapped.

“Who you calling fat, you washed up crusty lip b*tch?”

She launched forward, but Smoke caught her mid-swing.

“Let me GO!” she yelled, heels scraping the dirt as she twisted in his arms.

“Chill, Ji,” Smoke warned, holding her tight. “You already doing too much.”

Zay didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Didn’t even blink.

He looked the girl up and down and said calmly, “You was never in my bed. You was in a hotel. That’s the difference.”

Her mouth dropped open.

Zay smirked. “And even that was a mistake.”

She stared at him like he slapped her.

Then turned on me. “You really into this sh*t, huh? You feel special or something?”

I stayed silent.

Didn’t even blink.

Because Zay’s hand slid up my thigh, firm but calm.

He said, “You should go before you get embarrassed worse than you already are.”

She stormed off.

Janiyah was still seething, even in Smoke’s grip.

“Let me GO, she had the wrong one.”

“I know,” Smoke said. “That’s why I held you.”

I stood up from Zay’s lap, adjusting my shirt, heart in my throat.

He looked up at me. “Where you going?”

“I just… I’m tired. Can we go?”

Zay didn’t ask questions.

Didn’t argue.

He stood up, pulled his hoodie over his head, and said one word:

“Come on.”