Chapter 19 - Distractions

Trey ain't get much sleep.

Ain't like he was tryna stay up thinking 'bout that nigga, but his mind wouldn't shut off. Even after Zay finally left, Trey could still feel him. Hands on his waist, lips on his, voice all low in his ear like he knew what the fuck he was doin'.

And Trey let him.

No more runnin', right?

Still, that shit don't change the fact that Trey got shit to do.

The next morning, he's back on his grind, posted up at the auto shop where he work, hands covered in grease, fixin' up some old-ass Honda that shouldn't even be on the road no more. Music bumpin' low from the speakers in the back, and the whole shop smell like oil and rubber.

It's routine. It's normal. It's the shit that keep his head straight.

Or at least, it would be if his damn phone wasn't blowin' up every ten minutes.

And he already know who it is.

Zay: I know yo ass up. Answer the phone.

Zay: Nigga I KNOW you seen that shit.

Zay: Trey.

Trey exhales, shaking his head, but his lips twitch like he tryna fight a smirk. He wipe his hands on his coveralls before finally grabbin' his phone and hittin' Zay's contact.

Zay pick up on the first ring. "Damn, nigga, it took you this long?"

Trey huff a laugh, leanin' against the hood of the car. "Some of us actually got jobs, nigga."

Zay snorts. "Nigga, I got a job too."

Trey smirks. "Trappin' ain't no job."

"Man, fuck you," Zay mutters, but he laughing. "Anyway, you actin' like I'm blowin' up yo' phone for no reason. You know what the fuck goin' on."

Trey glance over his shoulder, makin' sure none of the old heads in the shop listenin'. "Do I?"

"Yeah, nigga. Last night."

Trey roll his lips together, stomach feelin' some type of way at just the mention of it. "What about it?"

"You tryna act brand new now?" Zay sound amused as hell. "Aight, cool. I'll remind you."

Trey shakes his head, runnin' a hand down his face. "You the one that left, nigga."

"You the one that ain't stop me."

Trey fall silent.

Zay hums. "Mhm. That's what I thought."

Trey don't even know why he entertainin' this shit at work, but Zay got a way of makin' him forget every ounce of common sense he got.

"You seein' me tonight or what?" Zay ask, voice low.

Trey glance around the shop, feelin' a little too warm all of a sudden. "Nigga-"

Zay chuckles. "That ain't no no."

Trey exhale slow, fightin' the smirk creepin' on his face. "Man."

"I'll take that as a yes," Zay mutters. "Bet. I'll hit you later."

Then the line click, and Trey just stand there, shakin' his head, tryna ignore the way his chest feel tight as hell.

This nigga gon' be a problem.

-

Meanwhile...

Zay ain't stressin' over shit.

He layin' back on the couch, hoodie up, one hand holdin' his blunt, the other scrollin' through his phone.

His boy Dae sittin' across from him, rollin' up. "Nigga, who keep textin' you?"

Zay smirk, exhaling smoke. "Who you think?"

Dae snort. "Ain't no way you still on that nigga, bruh."

Zay glance up. "Ain't no way you still in my business, bruh."

Dae laugh, shakin' his head. "Aight, my bad. But you sure he wit' all that? Cuz last time you was damn near pressin' him."

Zay lick his lips, sittin' up. "I know what the fuck I'm doin'."

Dae raise a brow. "And what exactly is that?"

Zay just smirk, takin' another hit.

"Gettin' what's mine."