Then when Pharoah got shot and couldn’t really code, Malik felt it was only right that he made their business into what it was.
Now he had something tangible that supported him, supported Pharaoh – that would maybe even one day give them a much better life. Something he could build and use for the betterment of his people. It started off as a safer way to serve weed but now, Plugged In had grown legs and Crescent Park didn’t know how to function without it.
Still, he had no idea what to do with it or how he could use it to get out of the hood.
After sitting outside for a few hours, he decided it was time to head in.
Kicking his shoes off at the door, he tossed his phone on the couch. Notifications still buzzed in quick succession.
And even though he was in the house, the grind stayed on him like a second skin.
He rubbed his eyes and let his head fall back against the couch, the dark corners of the house were quiet for once. But even in the silence, those voices called to him—reminders of people depending on him, the streets watching, the boys inCrescent Park hoping he made it so they could believe they could too.
Success came with its own kind of hauntings, or maybe it was the idea of making it when so many of his boys hadn’t. That kind of guilt clung to him like sweaty clothes, ’cause no one talked about the devil whispering to you, that you wasn’t special even though God had deemed you worthy of it all.
With his phone back in his hands, he clicked into the app until his thumb hovered overStylistBae.
That was it. Plain, no emoji. No flirty status. Just clean and cold like she hadn’t even meant to stand out—but still did. She had posted earlier that day about a shoot she styled, then replied to someone with a slick ‘I ain’t in Kansas no more’ and it had been sitting on Malik’s mind ever since.
Aku had been running through his mind since that night on the hood of his car, when he taught her to play dominoes like he knew she’d be around forever. When he looked into her eyes, he could tell she didn’t mind sticking around, but Malik wasn’t the type of nigga to hold onto something so valuable. He never felt worthy of shit like that.
Key:You up?
She ain’t reply for a full two minutes. Long enough for him to feel stupid. Long enough for him to question if he looked thirsty. But just as he clicked off the app, his phone vibrated again.
StlylistBae: It’s 4am. What you want, Crescent Park?
He smirked and cracked his knuckles before typing back.
Key:Your number.
This time, it took her less than a minute. The message came through with ten digits and a warning.
StylistBae:Don’t play on my line, Malik.
He dialed her immediately.
“Wow.” Her voice slid through the speaker like she’d been waiting for this call all week and wasn’t tryna show it. “You don’t even text first?”
“I don’t play,” his voice was lazy and soaked in the kind of tired that made you say ‘shit you mean’. “And I been meanin’ to call you.”
“You drunk?” she asked.
He swiped his tongue against his lips, wishing he’d popped a pill or something just to cut through his nerves. “Nah, just done actin’ like I ain’t been thinkin’ about you.”
Aku didn’t say anything at first, just let his words swirl in her ear with that cursive accent she loved so much. “That’s cute.”
“You cute…hella cute,” he fired back, lips tugging up into a grin. “Stylin’ on my block like you ain’t know girls like you don’t normally walk through Crescent without a bodyguard.”
“I had you,” she teased, thinking about the last part of the shoot she had with Zaire earlier that day. Malik didn’t say anything to her, just a head nod that only she caught. “Ain’t that what you told your boys?”
He laughed with a low rumble. “Damn, so you heard all that?” He twisted his finger around his hair.
“I hear everything. I just act like I don’t.”
“You dangerous,” he said, sitting back again. “That’s probably why I keep thinkin’ about you.”
She got quiet again, but it wasn’t awkward. It was thick. Heavy, but not in a bad way. Like the space between them was filling up with something neither of them could put their finger on.
