Chapter Twenty-Eight: You’re Coming With Me
906 Words
Lyric
The club air was thick with heat, sweat, and regret.
Music still pulsing. Lights flashing.
But me and Zay?
We were in our own world.
His hand hadn’t left my wrist since he pulled me from that guy — like I’d slip away if he let go.
I should’ve snatched away.
Should’ve cussed him out.
Should’ve reminded him I didn’t belong to nobody who didn’t claim me out loud.
But all I could do was follow.
Smoke and Janiyah were standing near the exit, tension wrapped around them like smoke.
Janiyah was barefoot now, holding her heels like weapons and glaring at Smoke like he’d ruined her whole weekend.
Smoke whispered something, low and firm.
Janiyah rolled her eyes.
“You good?” I asked her.
She sucked her teeth. “I need to go before I say something I mean.”
I looked at her, then at Smoke, then at Zay beside me.
“Come on,” I said. “Let’s get back to your place.”
But before Janiyah could answer, Zay cut in:
“Nah. You not going back to her place.”
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
He didn’t even look at me when he spoke — just kept his eyes on the parking lot.
“You coming with me. You too drunk. You don’t need to be out here without me.”
Janiyah looked at me with her brows raised.
“You good with that?”
I was supposed to say no.
I was staying at her place.
But the way Zay’s voice dipped low, full of quiet command?
The way he kept standing close like I was something fragile only he could protect?
I hated how it made me feel.
And I hated that deep down…
I wanted to go with him.
“I’ll text you,” I told Janiyah.
She smirked. “Mmmhm. If you still walking tomorrow.”
“Get in the car,” Zay said softly.
Janiyah
Smoke’s car was dead silent.
Her lashes were slipping. Her lip gloss was long gone. But her attitude?
Still bold.
She crossed her legs in his passenger seat, arms folded.
“So you mad or nah?”
Smoke didn’t respond.
She looked out the window.
“You think just cause we ain’t official I can’t live my life? You was ignoring me all week.”
Still nothing.
She turned to him, heat in her voice.
“Say something.”
He finally pulled into his driveway, killed the engine, and looked her dead in the face.
“I ain’t mad you danced. I’m mad you was tryna get under my skin.”
She rolled her eyes. “So what if I was?”
Smoke leaned closer, voice low.
“You think I let every girl sleep in my bed?”
Her heart skipped.
Then he said:
“Get out the car, Niyah.”
And when she did, he followed — and neither of them said a word the whole walk to his door.
Lyric
Zay’s house was quiet.
Too quiet.
He walked ahead of me, unlocking the door and stepping inside like he owned the night.
I stood there, heart racing, dress clinging to me, heels in my hand now.
“You sure this is okay?” I asked softly, suddenly shy.
Zay turned, finally looking at me with those storm-gray eyes.
“I wasn’t gonna let you sleep on nobody else’s couch.”
I stepped in. Closed the door behind me.
His place smelled like fresh linen and cologne — simple, clean, and cold.
Just like him.
He nodded toward the hallway. “Come on.”
I followed him into a bedroom — not too big, not too fancy — just his.
Zay handed me a black T-shirt from his drawer.
“You can shower if you want. Towels in the closet.”
I nodded, taking it and heading for the bathroom.
Under the hot water, I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
The night was wild.
My feet ached.
My head spun from the drinks.
But more than anything?
I kept replaying his voice:
“You not going back to her place. You coming with me.”
He didn’t ask.
He told me.
And I hated that I liked it.
When I came out of the bathroom, his shirt swallowed me.
It smelled like him — musk, mint, and danger.
He was sitting on the edge of the bed, shirt off, tattoos bold against his brown skin.
“Better?” he asked, looking at me but not too hard.
“Yeah,” I whispered.
I climbed onto the other side of the bed.
Pulled the covers over me slowly.
Zay turned off the lamp, and the room dipped into soft shadows.
I thought he’d stay on his side.
Give me space.
But next thing I knew?
His arm was around my waist, pulling me back into his chest.
Warm. Strong. Solid.
“Zay…” I whispered.
“Shh.”
“You still haven’t answered me.”
“About what?”
“Why you don’t claim me. Not for real.”
He was quiet.
Then his lips touched the back of my neck.
“Because I don’t want to say it til I know I won’t ever take it back.”
I closed my eyes.
“And you think you’ll want to take it back?”
His hold tightened.
“I hope not.”
- Writer
