Chapter 17 - Stop Running From Me

Trey barely makes it through the day without thinkin' about that nigga. Every time he try to shake it off, his mind just loop back to Zay up in his face, talkin' all that cocky shit like he know Trey want him.

Like he know Trey ain't been able to stop thinkin' about it since the first time.

By the time night hit, he still ain't respond to Zay's texts. He ain't even open 'em. But he know that ain't gon' stop shit.

And right on cue-

BANG. BANG. BANG.

Trey's head snap up.

Zay ain't even text this time. Ain't call. Just straight up knocking on the door like he pay rent here.

Trey ain't move at first. Just sat there, staring at the door like it was gon' answer itself.

Then-

BANG. BANG. BANG.

"Ay, nigga, open the fuckin' door!"

Trey exhales, jaw tight. He should leave his ass outside. Should act like he sleep.

But his feet already movin'.

He yank the door open, and Zay standin' there in a black hoodie, hands in his pockets, locs fallin' over his forehead, eyes low like he just dared Trey to act funny.

"You hard-headed as fuck," Zay mutters, shouldering past him like he own the spot.

Trey glares, slamming the door shut. "Nigga, you crazy-"

"Nah." Zay turns, lookin' Trey dead in his face. "I'm tired of you playin' wit' me."

Trey scoffs, foldin' his arms. "Playin' wit' you?"

Zay steps in closer. "Yeah, nigga. You doin' all this extra shit like I don't see right through you."

Trey's jaw clenches. He can feel Zay watchin' him, tryna read him like a book, and it's pissin' him off how easy this nigga make it look.

"You said what you had to say," Trey mutters. "Now get the fuck out."

Zay just smirks, shakin' his head. "Ain't nobody leavin' till you keep it a buck."

Trey turns away. "Man, I ain't got shit to say to you."

Zay lets out a sharp breath, then suddenly-

Trey feel hands on his waist.

Not just on him. Gripping him. Firm. Possessive. Like Zay knew what he was doin'.

Trey body lock up. "Man, move the fuck off me."

"Nah," Zay murmurs, voice low, right in Trey's ear. "You feel that, don't you?"

Trey squeezes his eyes shut, tryin' to block out the heat rollin' through his chest.

"Nigga, look at me."

Trey don't. Can't.

Zay slides his hands a little lower, fingers diggin' into his hips just enough to make Trey feel it.

"You can't even say it," Zay murmurs, voice taunting, lips right by his ear. "But you ain't push me off, either."

Trey exhales, slow and shaky. "Fuck."

Zay chuckles, hands flexin' on his waist. "Mhm. That's what I thought."

Then, just like that, he let go, stepping back, leaving Trey cold as fuck like his body ain't just betray him in the worst way.

Trey finally turn around, breathing hard, hands clenched. "Nigga, you play too much."

Zay licks his lips, grinning. "Nah. I play to win."

Trey stares at him, chest tight. He should've told him to leave. Should've told him he was buggin'.

But instead, he let the words slip before he could stop 'em.

"Stay."

Zay's smirk deepens. He step forward again, hands goin' right back where they was, gripping Trey's hips like he belong there.

"Aight," he murmurs. "Say less."