The Witches on BellaRow Street

37. Zion Or Cree, Choose One

*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ･ﾟ:*:･ﾟ:*

There's an art to walking inside a room with your boyfriend and enemy standing side-by-side.

First, you have to waltz in there with your head held up; Projecting a tiny bit of self-doubt is an absolute hell no. Next, you have to play it cool by strolling up to your man, wrapping your arms around his neck, and kissing him, even if he's lowkey mad at you. Then, once you've given him the best kiss of his life, lean back, making googly eyes until your nemesis whispers petty comments like, 'Hey, I'm right here,' or 'Get a room...'

Finally, after you've mastered the art of pissing off your bad-boy nemesis super, side-eye his ass, letting him know that you run the show--not him.

Admittedly, it's a combination between the Zetish, the Detective, and the silver dust Etienne Le'Rue gave as a gift, that has me acting out of character. Plus, Faylayee's double meaning by the car may have changed my perspective about harming Cree. Wait, what am I saying? I can't stand him.

Use the poison, Yanni.

A soft squeeze near the left side of my waist pulls me back to reality. Zion's wrapping his arms around me, leaning by my ear. "Keep me guessing, huh?"

Another warm shiver trickles down my spine, welcoming his overdue embrace as I peek at Cree, studying the pool game with a grin on his face. Apart of me wants to snatch that pool stick out of his hand and shove it up his--

Calm down, Yanni.

The last time Zion and I were together, the elevator closes in our faces, leaving unspoken words on the metaphorical table. I haven't opened up about our night on the rooftop yet. So, in a way, I am 'keeping him guessing' by distancing myself one minute, and then all over him the next like nothing's happened.

In my defense, I have a lot of shit going on--sue me.

However, we need to sit down and talk, soon, before we're arguing over something silly like the remote control. 

But first, it's operation: Get rid of Cree.

I peek up at Zion, smiling, blushing, and ignoring his rhetorical question while changing the subject at the same time. "So, how's boy's night?"

A few dust particles dances under a chrome lighting fixture with a gold interior that exudes a warm glow over the pool table as I peer at Cree taking a sip of his beer on tap. He drinks it eagerly, hungrily, then places the glass on a mini-shelf anchored against the wall.

The odd-shaped pool hall is semi-packed tonight with half of its guests by the bar. An antique jukebox on the opposite side plays secular tunes, resonating with the crowd. We're in the back of the hall, perfect for blowing shimmery silver dust.

"I'm up. One--zip," Zion slips his hands off my waist, laughing, pointing towards the Detective. "You remember Antonio from the restaurant? The guy with the job offer."

How can I forget? He's been showing up ever since that night.

Anyway, I take in a deep breath, relax my shoulders, preparing myself for the fakest conversation ever. "Yeah! Hi, Antonio, nice to meet you again." I nudge Zion on his arm. "I'm glad you're winning." 

Detective Cree strolls around the edge of the pool table with a smug grin on his face. He's enjoying an inside joke all by himself. It's convenient, as it correlates with Zion's comment and my formal greeting. Either way, it's not cute.

"Yes. Yanni," Cree's peeks up, tapping his temple, recalling my name. "How's your night going?" He grins again, and the corners of his lips curl three seconds longer than average. "As for me, I plan on tying the game. Isn't that right, Z?"