The Starbucks was loud, filled with college students and young professionals. Milk steam hissed behind the counter. Ice rattled in plastic cups. A grinder screamed and then cut off mid-note, leaving a hollow echo that bounced off the glass. Light slanted in through the front windows, thin and pale, making the place feel colder than it actually was.
Mireya sat with her elbows on the small round table, one ankle hooked around the other under her chair. Her coffee had already gone lukewarm. Sena leaned back across from her, one arm draped over the back of her chair, straw between her lips. Frankie sat sideways, knees pulled up, talking with her whole body, hands moving, cup lifting and dropping as punctuation.
“So, here I am thinking that him and me were on the same page,” Frankie said, eyes wide, incredulous even now. “That he just wanted some and then he was gonna fuck off. Then he texts me talking about he wants to tell me something. And I don’t know why they ass do that.”
Sena shook her head slowly. “Because they’re just trying to emotionally manipulate us. They think if they pretend for a little while, they can slide in when we’re not paying attention.”
Frankie pointed at her with her cup, coffee sloshing close to the rim. “That’s it right there. They just dirty, sneaky motherfuckers. That’s how you know sexuality ain’t no choice, because ain’t no way I’d be straight if it was a choice.”
Mireya snorted quietly and rolled her eyes. “Men just fall in love whenever you show them some attention,” she said. “They’re so starved for it. Smile at them, let them grab your ass or something, let them fuck? And they’re eating out of your hand.”
Sena’s eyebrow lifted, sharp and curious, her gaze cutting sideways to Mireya. Frankie laughed, loud and unbothered, slapping her palm against the table once.
“I knew her ass was a man eater,” Frankie said. “Ain’t no bitch walking into class wearing Prada regular.”
Mireya’s eyes dropped before she could stop them, down to the soft knit of her cardigan. The small logo sat stitched near her chest, subtle but unmistakable. Her hand came up without thinking, palm flattening over it like she could smooth it away. She left it there for a second too long, fingers pressing into the fabric, then let it fall back to the table.
Her phone buzzed against the wood.
The vibration was short. Insistent.
She didn’t need to look at the name to know. Still, she did. A single line on the screen told her to come outside.
She glanced toward the front windows, over her shoulder. Dez’s car was parked off to the side of the lot. Trell leaned against the trunk, one foot bent back, phone in his hand. Even from here, she could tell he was watching the door.
“I’ll be right back,” she said, already pushing her chair away from the table.
Frankie waved her off. “Do your thing.”
The air outside felt heavier, damp despite the cool. Mireya stepped onto the sidewalk and felt Trell’s attention lock onto her fully. He reached back without standing up straight, picked up a white cardboard box, and held it out to her.
She took it, the warmth bleeding into her palms. The logo printed on top made her pause.
She raised an eyebrow. “Pan dulce?”
Trell smiled a little, like he knew he’d done something right. “I remember you saying that was your favorite dessert.”
She tilted the box, reading the bakery name. “This is in the East,” she said, looking up at him. “You drove all the way out there for this?”
He pushed off the car and closed the distance between them. His hand came to her hip, fingers digging in just enough to be felt through her jeans. He pulled her in against him, her side lining up with his.
“A man can’t do something nice for his girl?” he said. “Just wanted to get you a little sweet treat. You been working hard lately.”
Mireya’s eyes dropped to his hand. She didn’t step away. She shifted her weight instead, letting herself be held where he put her.
“Got business today?” she asked.
He nodded, that same small smirk playing at his mouth. “You know it don’t never stop. On my way to BR.”
She waited. The pause stretched. She knew the rhythm well enough to recognize when an ask was coming.
It didn’t.
Instead, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded stack of hundreds. He slid them into the front pocket of her jeans, fingers lingering a beat long.
“So you can leave work early tonight,” he said, “and go get some sleep.”
She nodded once.
He laughed, barely more than air pushed through his nose, and lifted her chin between his thumb and finger. He leaned down and kissed her, brief but claiming. Then he nudged her back a step so he could open the car door.
“Are you going to be home tonight?” she asked, the words coming out even.
He shrugged as he slid into the seat. “I’ll let you know.”
The door shut. The engine turned over. She caught Dez’s eyes in the side mirror as the car pulled away, his gaze steady, unreadable.
Mireya stood there a second, box tucked against her chest, then turned back toward the door.
Inside, the noise swallowed her again. She slid back into her chair and set the box on the table. Sena’s eyes flicked toward the window, then back to Mireya.
“That one of the men you have eating out of your hand?” Sena asked.
Mireya tapped the box once with her finger. She didn’t answer.
Instead, she asked, “Y’all going to the parades this weekend?”
Frankie slapped the table, the sound sharp. “Shit, yeah, girl.”
She launched straight into a story about getting her car towed last year, words tumbling over each other, hands already moving again as the noise closed in around them.
~~~
Ramon stood at the very end of Nina’s driveway, where the concrete met the street. He kept his back half-turned toward the house anyway. Not out of respect. Out of habit. Out of knowing how fast things could change.
Zo pulled up close enough to talk without shouting, his car idling with the bass low but steady. He got out, shoulders hunched against winter air that still wasn’t cold the way it should’ve been. Just damp. Wet in the lungs. Ramon could taste it every time he drew in.
Zo’s eyes slid once up toward Nina’s porch, then back to Ramon.
“Them Dooney niggas been saying it might be on sight all Carnival,” Zo said. His voice stayed casual, like he was talking about the weather. “Talking about they ain’t worried about NOPD, Troop NOLA, or the feds.”
Ramon sucked his teeth and lifted the blunt. He took a slow pull until his chest filled, then let it out in a thin stream that curled and disappeared. He ashed it on the pavement, the gray flecks scattering in a little fan.
“This been the same shit every year since they got caught up in that sweep back in the day,” he said. “Those niggas just trying to be relevant again.”
Zo shrugged. His chin tipped toward the street, toward nothing and everything. “Either way Duke and them want all the lil’ niggas on the corners clutching fire. Just in case they gotta bust back if these niggas spin the block.”
Ramon’s jaw tightened. He rolled the blunt between his fingers, watching the ember glow and dim.
“Where them poles supposed to be coming from?” he asked. “I ain’t going buy no Yosemite Sam throwaways when niggas doing drive-bys with switches.”
Zo’s mouth quirked, half a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “That’s for you to find out for your corners, my nigga.”
It landed exactly where it was meant to.
Ramon shook his head once, a small movement. He didn’t argue more.
The sound of tires on the street pulled his attention. A car turned in, slow and careful, and the driveway filled with headlights for a second before the beams angled away. Nina’s car.
Ramon didn’t move at first. He watched her pull up and cut the engine. Watched the little fog of exhaust that still came out even down here. He felt Zo clock it too. Zo’s gaze flicked over, then back.
Ramon reached out and dapped Zo up. “I’ll fuck with you later.”
Zo nodded. “Bet.”
He got back into his car and pulled off, the bass swelling the second his door shut, then carrying down the street until it turned the corner and got swallowed by the rest of the city.
Nina stayed in her seat until that happened. Ramon could see her hands on the wheel through the windshield, still. Waiting. Holding herself back.
When Zo was gone, Nina got out. Her face was set the way it got when she was at the center dealing with people who wanted to argue about rules. She didn’t slam the door. She closed it with control.
She walked straight to the back seat, popped it open, and started pulling out grocery bags, plastic stretched tight around boxes and cans. She held them out to Ramon wordlessly.
“Thought we agreed that neither of us would bring our lives here,” she said.
Ramon took a few bags from her. The plastic cut into his fingers. The weight was ordinary. Milk. Bread. Something cold and sweating through the bag.
“It was a conversation that couldn’t wait,” he said. He kept his tone light, tried to make it smaller than it was. “I told him this was my auntie’s house.”
Nina’s eyes narrowed. She looked him up and down.
“Do I look like somebody big armed teedie to you?”
Ramon laughed, quick and automatic. “Everybody aunt ain’t fat. Old neither. If your sister would’ve had that kid, you would’ve been an aunt at what? 14?”
Nina’s mouth pulled tight for a second, then she shook her head, pushing the thought away.
“Don’t remind me,” she said, and started toward the house.
Ramon followed, bags swinging, shoes scuffing the walkway. The door shut behind them with a soft click that made the street feel far away, even though it was right there.
They carried the bags into the kitchen. Nina set hers down first and immediately started sorting, pulling things out and lining them up on the counter. Ramon put his down beside hers and leaned back against the counter out of the way, shoulders loose, eyes following her hands.
Nina moved like she had a system. Cans to one side. Boxes to another. Cold stuff first. She didn’t look at him while she worked, but her words still found him.
“Speaking of sisters,” she said, “Asia came by the center today.”
Ramon’s eyebrows lifted.
“Yeah?” he asked.
Nina nodded, opening a cabinet, shifting things so new stuff could fit. “We ain’t speak all that long. She just said you told her to come see me so she did.” Her voice stayed even. “I gave her some pamphlets. She asked me for some money and then left.”
Ramon snorted a laugh. It came out sharp, bitter at the edge. “Sound like her. Triflin’ ass always looking for fucking money.”
Nina paused with a box in her hand. She didn’t turn yet, but her shoulders stiffened, a quiet warning. Then she kept moving, sliding the box into place.
“She’s in active addiction,” Nina said. “She’s going to make questionable decisions until she decides to go get the help that she needs.”
Ramon shrugged. “I tell the lil’ niggas not to sell to her.”
Nina’s head tilted, and this time she did look at him. Not with anger. With that tired patience she carried.
“And she just goes and gets it from someone else,” she said. “It’s going to take more than that.”
Ramon’s fingers drummed once on the edge of the counter, then stopped. He forced himself to nod, small.
“Well,” he said, voice a little flatter, “I appreciate you trying. You know that’s how she been for a minute.”
Nina nodded. “That’s what I do.”
Ramon watched her for a beat longer, the way her hands moved, the way she kept the kitchen neat even while she was talking about a woman slipping further out of reach.
He shifted, straightened off the counter. “What you cooking tonight?”
Nina didn’t even turn all the way. She just waved her hand in a shooing motion, dismissive and familiar. “Boy, get out my kitchen.”
~~~
The kitchen was warm in a way the rest of the apartment wasn’t. The cold sat outside the walls, a cold that made the window glass sweat at the edges, but the stove put off steady heat that pushed back. Sara stood with her hips close to the counter, one hand wrapped around a wooden spoon, stirring slow in a pot that bubbled low. On the burner beside it, a skillet hissed and popped where chicken browned, the smell of seasoning and hot oil rising up under the hood fan’s whir.
Behind her, the bathroom door opened. She heard the hinge complain, then Devin’s steps on the floor. His voice didn’t come right away. He breathed in first, the sound of it small but clear in the quiet between the fan and the sizzle.
“Mmm,” he said, smiling before she could even turn. “That smells good.”
She didn’t look over her shoulder. She stirred again, lifted the spoon and let the sauce fall back into the pot in a thick ribbon. The steam fogged her eyelashes.
Devin came up behind her anyway, close enough that his chest brushed her back. His arms slid around her, quick and familiar. One hand landed low, on her thighs, fingers spreading like he was claiming the space. The other came higher, palm flat against her stomach.
Sara’s shoulders tightened for a beat. Not dramatic. Not a flinch. Just a small lock in her muscles that she released as soon as she felt it.
She shifted her stance, adjusting her feet like she needed better balance at the stove. Her elbows moved, widening the space she needed to stir, and in that movement his arms had to loosen if he wanted to keep holding on. She kept stirring. Kept her eyes on the pot.
Devin pressed his face near her neck, inhaling again, and kissed her cheek where he could reach it.
“That’s chicken?” he asked, voice warm against her skin. “I didn’t think you was going all out when you said you was gonna cook us dinner.”
Sara let out a laugh that was mostly breath. “This is hardly going all out.”
He shrugged against her, chuckling. “You gotta forgive me. Sometimes, any cooking is all out because I’m so used to take out.”
“Takeout’s expensive,” she said, and her tone stayed light even as her body stayed careful. “Better learn how to cook or your pockets are gonna start feeling it.”
He kissed her cheek again, slower this time, as if he was trying to make her turn toward him. “Guess it’s a good thing that I met you then.”
Sara rolled her eyes. She kept stirring. The chicken crackled in the skillet, a sharp pop that jumped above the fan. She reached for the handle and shook the pan once, watching the pieces shift, edges browned.
A knock hit the front door. The sound carried through the apartment and cut the little bubble Devin tried to make behind her.
Sara didn’t pause long enough for the knock to happen twice. She lifted her chin toward the pot without looking back. “Keep stirring that for me.”
Devin let his arms fall away. He stepped to her side, took the spoon from her hand, and leaned over the pot. He nodded, then wafted the scent toward his face with his free hand, exaggerated.
“Damn,” he said. “Okay.”
Sara wiped her palm on a dish towel and walked to the door. The floor felt cool under her feet compared to the heat of the stove. She opened it and Nicole stepped inside with a bottle of wine held up.
Nicole’s smile was already on. The wine bottle caught the light from the entryway and flashed once.
Sara’s face softened. She stepped forward and hugged her, arms wrapping tight around Nicole’s shoulders. Nicole hugged back, squeezing once.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” Sara said as she pulled back.
Nicole laughed, lifting the bottle higher. “Girl, this is for me.” She angled it like she might tuck it behind her back. “I might let you have some if you ask nicely.”
Sara huffed a laugh and slid her arm around Nicole’s shoulders, guiding her in. The kitchen smells followed them, heavy and good. The stove fan kept its steady noise. The chicken kept sizzling.
From the stove, Devin’s stirring slowed. Sara saw it out of the corner of her eye, the way his hand stopped for a moment. He looked back over his shoulder and his body shifted, quick.
Sara didn’t stop walking. She didn’t call it out. She just turned with Nicole still tucked against her side.
“Devin,” she said, “come here. I want you to meet my friend, Nicole.”
Devin cleared his throat. He set the spoon down on a paper plate next to the stove. He wiped his hands on his jeans and walked over, keeping his posture casual.
Nicole smiled at him, polite but sharp. She held out her hand. “So, you’re the man I’ve been hearing so much about.”
Devin nodded, mouth pulling into a small smile. He took her hand and shook it once. “Yep,” he said. “And you’re the woman I always hear about.” He gestured with his chin toward Sara. “The one that tells her how to handle every situation?”
Nicole let go of his hand and lifted both of hers in mock surrender. “Guilty as charged.”
“I work for a law firm,” Nicole added.
Devin’s eyes narrowed just a touch. He ran both hands down the front of his jeans, a smoothing motion and asked, “Oh, yeah? Which one?”
“Shaw and Associates,” Nicole said.
Devin’s head tipped back a fraction, recognition flashing, and his finger came up before he seemed to remember where he was.
He pointed at her. “That’s the criminal defense attorney, right?”
Sara’s eyebrows lifted. The movement was small but it changed the air. She looked at Devin hard now, waiting.
Nicole’s expression shifted too, just enough. The friendliness stayed on her face, but her eyes got more focused.
“Yeah,” she said. “That’s the one.” She leaned her weight onto one hip, bottle still in her hand. “Criminal defense something you’ve been in the market for before?”
Sara’s gaze didn’t leave Devin.
Devin seemed to catch himself mid-breath. He rubbed the back of his neck, fingers pressing into the skin.
“No, no, no,” he said quickly. “I just know a lot of lawyers who do land deals, real estate, that kind of thing, you know because of my job. And they talk about Markus Shaw because he’s always doing something.”
He said it with a casual laugh that came a second late. He dropped his hand and ran his palm over his jeans again.
Nicole glanced at Sara, giving the slightest shrug.
Sara clapped her hands together once, sharp, the sound cutting through the fan and the sizzle. “Alright,” she said. “Let’s eat.”
She guided Nicole toward the stove. She leaned over the skillet and spoke to Nicole over the food, voice warm again as she started telling her what she cooked.
Devin stayed where he was for a moment, watching them. Then he walked to the table instead, a few steps slower than before. He rubbed the back of his neck again, eyes down.
~~~
Caine lay stretched across the bed on his side, one arm propping him up, the other hand fanned with cards. The mattress dipped where his weight settled, springs faintly complaining every time he shifted.
Laney sat crosslegged near the foot of the bed, her cards held loose in one hand, the other resting against her knee. Her posture was easy, unguarded in the way she only ever was here. She leaned forward when it was her turn, hair falling over one shoulder, then leaned back again, attention flicking between her hand and the small pile of books off to the side.
There were no sheets pulled up, nothing to hide behind. Just skin, cards, and the low hum of the room settling back into itself.
She glanced at her phone, quick. Not furtive. Just checking.
Caine clocked it. He laid down his next card without comment, watched her eyes drop to the screen again before she played.
He took the book, slid it to the side, stacked it neat with the others. “You gotta go?”
Laney shook her head, already reaching for another card. “No. Tommy’s workin’ late and I got Jesse watchin’ the boys.”
Caine shifted his weight onto one elbow. “He don’t ask about that? Why you suddenly needing him to do that?”
Laney shrugged, the motion rolling through her shoulders as she laid her card down. “When you was seventeen, would you have been askin’ ’bout that if your sister ask you to watch her boys and she ain’t gonna tell y’all parents how you be sneakin’ out to go fumble under your girlfriend’s clothes?”
Caine snorted, played his next card, slid the pair across the bed toward her. “Nah,” he said. “Because she couldn’t have asked me since with me being in jail.”
Laney laughed, sharp and unfiltered, as she took the book and set it aside. “Not everyone was a lil’ bad ass when they was growin’ up.”
Caine laughed too, the sound low, easy, and shook his head. “Maybe not. But I ain’t the only one that was wilding in here, now was I?”
Laney laughed again, eyes crinkling as she fanned her cards. “Well, we ain’t talkin’ ’bout me.”
Caine gathered the books, counted them with his thumb, then reached across the bed for hers. He pulled a junk mail envelope from the nightstand, flipped it over, and scored with the pen that lived there.
He shuffled the cards, the soft slap of them against each other filling the pause, then dealt. The rhythm was familiar. Automatic.
Laney watched his hands as he worked. When she picked up her new hand, she didn’t play right away.
“You know what I like ’bout this?” she asked.
Caine’s mouth curved before he could stop it. He glanced up at her, eyes bright. “The good dick?”
Laney rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth lifted anyway. “That don’t hurt, but no.” She leaned forward slightly, resting her elbows on her knees. “You don’t make nothin’ hard. Things are what they are with you. Take it or leave it.”
Caine shrugged as he organized his cards by suit, expression unbothered. “Ain’t no other way to live to me,” he said. “Shit hard enough in life.”
Laney nodded, like she’d expected that answer. She picked up her cards, shuffled them once in her hands. “That must be why all them girls over on campus fawn all over you. You easy to deal with.”
Caine shook his head and played his first card. “They do that ’cause they think I’m goin’ to Georgia then the NFL and they tryin’ to lock me down with a baby for the child support.”
Laney arched an eyebrow as she laid down her card. “You know they got ways to make sure that don’t happen?”
Caine glanced at what she played, then picked up the book without hesitation. “Yeah,” he said. “Only fuck you.”
Laney shook her head, but she smiled, small and pleased, as she gathered the cards. She studied her hand for a moment, then looked up at him again. “So, you think you goin’ to UGA when you transfer?”
Caine leaned back on his elbow now, legs stretched out, cards resting against his thigh. “I don’t know,” he said. “They got that freshman. Things could change by December, January, though.”
Laney hummed, thinking, then started listing them off, ticking them with her fingers. “UGA got my vote. Or Tech. Florida. Florida State. South Carolina.”
Caine laughed, a real one, and shook his head. “The SEC and ACC put you on the payroll?” he asked. “Doin’ hostess work now?”
Laney flicked her hair dramatically over her shoulder, chin lifting. “If they had me at them schools, honey, they’d have the number one recruitin’ class every year.”
Caine just shook his head, smiling despite himself.
She didn’t stop there. Her voice shifted, less playful, though she kept the same easy posture. “No. ’Cause that way I’d have somewhere to escape to for a day or two when things here get too much.”
The room quieted around that. Not silent. Just thinner. The faint noise from outside. The soft rustle of cards in their hands.
They looked at each other.
Caine didn’t speak. He held her gaze, steady, not pushing, not filling the space. Laney held it for a beat longer.
Then she looked away first.
She played her next card.
Caine picked up the book.
Does she think she's in control or is she falling under control? 
The one to snitch? Perhaps. Perhaps not. Perhaps something else. Perhaps just another worker.