GOTTA BE: An Election Night Novella

Election night might have been a national event, but for Marz, the real campaign was winning the heart of one woman who’s been dodging him all year.

Author’s Note:

Hey y’all! Happy Election Day! I know tonight’s a whole mix of tension and anticipation as we wait on those results, so I figured, why not offer a little escape? For those of you curious about what the citizens of Westonberry are up to tonight, I’ve got a standalone novella here for you—no ongoing chapters this time, just a one-shot to dive into and enjoy.

Some familiar faces might pop up—Jade and Akil from PROMISE make an appearance, so if you’ve read my Labor Day story, you’ll catch a little nod to them. Sit back, relax, and take a breather from the real world with this story. And remember, no matter the outcome tonight, you’re a co-creator in your destiny… just ask Shamar.

Once you're done, drop a comment and let me know how you liked it. Enjoy! ❤️

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SHAMAR ‘MARZ” HOLLIS

If Akil and Jade wasn’t good for anything else in this world, they sure knew how to throw a party.

Didn’t matter what day was marked on the calendar—Labor Day, Halloween, hell, National Ice Cream Day—Akil and Jade would find a reason, or invent one, to get folks over to the house.

The night Akil closed on this place, he had a housewarming, and that was before a single piece of furniture hit the floor. Then Akil met Jade last year, a woman who matched his party spirit with her own love for hosting, like some divine pairing of two people who never needed a quiet night in. These days, she even ran her own supper club on their rooftop, keeping their home the epicenter of social life.

Now, don’t get me wrong—I was glad to see my boy settled with someone as solid as Jade. But somehow, every time they decided to throw one of their infamous get-togethers, I got pulled right into the middle of it. It was like folks completely forgot I’d left my culinary career behind and was running a barbershop now. Yet somehow, the second Akil and Jade started planning a party, they had me behind the grill or posted up in the kitchen with Jade, turning me into their personal chef.

But truth was, I didn’t mind. Akil was my boy, through and through. We’d been tight ever since the first time I cut his hair fifteen years ago, a connection that stuck like family. And now that Jade was in the picture, making herself a permanent fixture in his life, there wasn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for her, either. They were my people, and no amount of last-minute cooking requests could change that.

“Oh my God, Marz! Those steaks smell so good!” Jade’s voice cut through the rooftop chatter, warm and full of excitement as she came up the stairs, balancing a tray of corn destined for the grill.

I couldn’t help but grin, flipping one of the steaks, the sizzle loud and satisfying, the scent rising to make everyone’s mouth water. “You know how I do, Jade. Quit playin’!”

Akil glanced over, his smile flashing under the backyard lights as he finished setting up despite folks already arriving. “Aye, hey, quit flirtin’ with my woman!”

“Ain’t nobody flirtin’. That’s my sis.” I threw a glance at Jade and added, “Thick as hell, though. Bet you fightin’ for your life every time she steps out without you, man.”

Akil just shook his head, his grin wide and unbothered, the look of a man who knew he’d hit the jackpot.

“Keep messin’ around,” he said, voice full of mock warning. “I’ll throw you on that grill next.”

I raised my hands, laughing. “And you’d be the first to pull me off before I even got a char!”

“Right, babe,” Jade said, leaning over to kiss Akil on the cheek. “If anything happened to Marz, you’d be the first one crying.”

Akil rolled his eyes, grumbling, “Whatever,” but the warmth in his eyes said it all.

"Anyway, Jade, my wife Bryelle coming tonight, right?” I leaned in, keeping it casual while trying to hide the grin that crept in whenever I thought about that fine-ass friend of hers.

Bryelle loved to act like she wasn’t feeling me, but I’d seen the look in her eyes, the way she lit up every time we got into one of our playful back-and-forths. Sure, tonight might be election night for the country, but my campaign? My campaign was laser-focused on winning the heart of one person, and one person only.

We’d been doing this dance for over a year now—her playing hard to get, me letting her think she could keep me at arm’s length. But tonight, I was done playing. Any minute now, that 5’6” stunner with skin like caramel, golden locs cascading over her shoulders, and lips painted the brightest, boldest red would be walking in. I could picture it clear as day: one of her favorite concert tees, layered with funky jewelry, her style loud and unapologetic. And me? I was ready.

Jade shot me a look, one eyebrow raised, clearly amused but resigned. She knew damn well what the night was about to bring—the usual sparks and sidelong glances between me and Bryelle.

“Yeah, she’ll be here,” she sighed, already bracing herself for the chaos. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

I leaned back, smirking. “So tell me, Jade, she don’t want me, or is she just hooked on the chase?”

“She says she’s not looking to date right now,” Jade replied, casting a side-eye my way as if laying down the law. “But with Bryelle? Who knows. She’s kept things lowkey since her last breakup, so it’s hard to tell.”

“Man, she’s just not interested in you,” Akil chimed in, a smug grin on his face. “She just doesn’t wanna say it.”

“Y’all lying,” I shot back, waving off their comments. They could talk all they wanted. I knew Bryelle wanted me, whether she was ready to admit it or not.

Jade rolled her eyes, clearly done with the conversation, and went back to straightening a perfectly placed red, white, and blue table setting that looked like it belonged on the cover of a magazine.

“Tonight is a very important night in our country’s history. Let’s focus on that,” she said, standing back to admire her work.

I had to admit, the setup was clean. But while she was focused on the state of the nation, my thoughts were already locked on Bryelle James - one day, Hollis. And the moment she walked on this roof, I’d be ready for the games she was about to start playing, knowing full well that this time, I was playing to win.

---

BRYELLE JAMES

Jade and Akil stayed throwing parties like it was a full-time job. Didn’t matter if it was the middle of the week, if we all had things to do in the morning, or even if the rest of us didn’t feel like celebrating. If they could find an excuse to pop bottles, they’d be sending out invites. So here I was, dragged out on a Tuesday night for an election party of all things. Sure, tonight was important, but I’d already done my civic duty, voted early, and kept my head down through the mess that came with election season. Social media was a minefield, friendships were on thin ice, and family dinners were a mess—but at the end of it all, no new president was about to magically fix my overdue rent. Tomorrow, I’d still be back in the shop, grinding to keep the lights on.

My feet were screaming. The kind of deep ache that settled in after hours standing and twisting goddess locs until my hands went numb. Last thing I wanted was to be out here, mingling and smiling, but Jade had been there for me from day one, no questions asked. So here I was, planning to at least grab a plate, find a quiet corner, and avoid spending money on fast food that didn’t fill you up anyway.

The rooftop was alive with heavy bass and chatter, lights strung up against the night sky like stars, casting a warm glow over the crowd. And the minute I stepped onto that rooftop, a familiar voice cut through the music.

"Oh shit! There go my wife!"

I rolled my eyes so hard I might’ve sprained something. This man. Couldn’t even slide out to a random Tuesday night event without him showing up, flashing that perfect, heartbreaker smile like he was a damn model on a magazine cover. Marz—smooth skin, chiseled jaw, arms that practically begged to be noticed without trying. He knew exactly what he was working with, too. Everybody in Westonberry had probably taken a ride on that train, which meant I was staying clear of it.

"Shamar, don’t speak to me," I said, brushing past him like I was on a mission. But, of course, he caught my hand—gentle, but with enough hold to make me pause.

"Oh, it’s ‘Shamar’ now?" he asked, that smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, his eyes dancing like he already knew he’d won.

"Mr. Hollis. Please. You’re touching me," I shot back, giving him a once-over that should’ve said loud and clear, don’t start tonight.

Unbothered, he leaned in just a fraction closer, his grip warm against my hand. "You look pretty, Bryelle. Got that signature red lip on and everything.”

I shook my head, trying not to smile. "I know I’m pretty, Marz. I look just like my mama."

"Your mama fine as you? Let me see a picture so I know what I’ll be waking up to in a few decades.”

"Boy..." I sighed so deep, trying to pull away, but his hand lingered, warm and solid.

He just grinned wider. "Aye, look, I say we make a bet tonight."

"A bet?" I arched a brow, not bothering to hide the skepticism.

"If Kamala wins, you let me take you on a date."

I narrowed my eyes, unimpressed. "And if Trump wins, you’ll finally leave me the hell alone?"

He chuckled, that low, rumbling laugh that probably got him out of more trouble than it should. "Nah. I’m still taking you out. So really, it’s a win for you either way."

I snatched my hand back, clicking my tongue as I turned to walk away. "Stupid."

"Did you even eat today?" he asked, not giving a single damn about the edge in my tone. His eyes pinned me in place, reading me too well. "Or you skipped lunch again, packed in as many clients as you could?"

His words cut, sharp and knowing, making me itch with irritation. As a barber, he understood this grind better than most—the hours on your feet, the ache that sank deep into your bones, the way your hands cramped up until you had to shake them out just to keep going. He got it in a way most people didn’t. And yeah, I hadn’t eaten, just like he figured. Times were hard, and every second, every dollar counted.

"So you didn’t eat," he muttered, shaking his head before I could even muster a lie. "Go on, sit down with your friends. I’ll bring you a plate."

"You swear you know me," I shot back, folding my arms tight across my chest, but he just smirked, shrugging it off like he had me all figured out.

"I can damn near see your ribs through that shirt, hungry ass."

I scoffed, rolling my eyes. "You can’t see a damn thing. You don’t even know what I want on my plate anyway."

He gave me a long look, undeterred. "I know what you want, Bryelle. Now go on, sit your ass down somewhere while I fix you a plate. Starving yourself, getting on my damn nerves." He waved me off, like he had this under control and I was just another part of the evening he was handling.

And as much as I wanted to keep fighting him on it, I felt myself soften, just a little. I couldn’t stand his ass.

Rolling my eyes, I sucked my teeth and strolled over to the table where Jade and a few others were gathered, laughter and conversation flowing easy between them.

"Look who finally made it!" Jade called, flashing a bright smile as she stood to pull me into a hug. "You know most folks here," she nodded toward the familiar faces, "but I don’t think you’ve met Zara and Ayanna yet."

I greeted them both, my smile growing as they stood to hug me like we were already old friends. They smelled like old money—rich, warm, and luxurious. Zara, tall and elegant, had this effortless confidence about her, the kind that made people stop and look. She was practically Westonberry royalty, her family name carrying a weight that didn’t need explaining. And Ayanna, her girlfriend—well, if the shop talk had it right, she was the girlfriend to both Zara and her husband—matched her with a striking, self-assured beauty that radiated in a way you couldn’t ignore.

Jade, having gotten laid off her tech job, had started a supper club full-time, which helped her to move up the local social circles, and it showed. She was glowing, comfortable among this crowd of polished, put-together women. Meanwhile, I felt like I’d snuck into a world I didn’t quite belong in.

But I was here, and my stomach reminded me I hadn’t eaten all day. And judging by the way Marz was watching me from across the rooftop, I knew he was about to bring me a plate piled with exactly what he knew I needed.

“I’m guessing that’s your boyfriend?” Ayanna asked, a sly smile curling at her lips as I took a seat.

I followed her gaze and caught Marz’s eye again. He was watching me with that intense, brooding look, like he was auditioning for some kind of dark, mysterious role. Made me think of that pale White boy in Twilight, but with all the rich, deep caramel of Marz’s skin and those dark, knowing eyes that seemed to see way too much.

“Girl, no,” I scoffed, waving it off like he was nothing. “That’s just one of Akil’s little friends.” Dismissive. Unbothered. As if my heart wasn’t doing things it had no business doing.

Zara and Ayanna exchanged a knowing look, laughter bubbling up between them.

“Well,” Zara said, her voice laced with intrigue, “looks like the election results might not be the most interesting thing happening here tonight. Glad I came out.” Her words carried a teasing edge, and I couldn’t help but laugh along, the warmth of it spreading through our little circle.

Right on cue, Marz appeared beside me, setting down a plate that made my stomach clench in anticipation. I hadn’t eaten all day, and this man clearly knew his way around a grill. My mouth practically watered just looking at it, and he’d even brought an Izze—grapefruit, my favorite.

"You better clean that plate," he said in that low, smooth tone, already turning to walk away like he had nothing left to prove.

I could’ve fired off some smart comeback, but hunger had other plans. Instead, I picked up a fork, ignoring the knowing looks and smirks around the table as I dug in, barely pausing to breathe.

The laughter swirled around me, a warm hum, but my focus was fixed on the food and, just maybe, on the thought that Marz knew me a little too well for comfort.

---

SHAMAR ‘MARZ” HOLLIS

“Look!” Akil called out, waving his third Heineken like he was delivering a sermon from the mountaintop. “All I’m saying is, whatever the results are tonight, everybody better keep it respectful!” His voice carried over the rooftop, cutting through the laughter and clinking glasses. We were all gathered up now, plates loaded, the party in full swing while a portable TV in the corner played CNN, casting a faint, pulsing glow over the crowd.

“Please,” Fallon drawled, flashing a wicked grin. “We probably all voted for the same person…except for Roger’s Braxton P. Hartnabrig lookin’ ass.” Her eyes slid over to Roger, setting up her jab like a pro, and the rest of us followed her gaze. There he was, standing awkwardly in his checked shirt and khakis, looking like he’d just wandered off the set of The Jamie Foxx Show.

Laughter broke out like wildfire, a ripple through the crowd that left Roger leaning back, arms crossed, his face flushing a shade redder than his flannel.

“Man, fuck y’all!” he shot back, taking a long swig of his beer, trying to drown out the heat. “You can’t just look at a person and know who they voted for. Whatever happened to keeping that private?”

Fallon raised an eyebrow, her smirk unbothered. “Well, you’re kind of at an election party, Braxton.” Her words hit like a second punchline, and we all doubled over, laughter rolling out into the night air as Roger gave us a grudging smile, shaking his head but finally letting himself join in on the joke.

Tone jumped in, lifting his bottle like it was a peace offering. “Doesn’t matter who anyone voted for, long as we showed up and cast the damn vote. Ain’t gonna change much anyway. Come tomorrow, I still gotta take my Black ass down to that school and teach them kids.”

“Yes, the hell it matters!” Sabbie shot back, her voice slicing through the rooftop chatter like a razor. “There are lines I don’t cross, and some beliefs? Non-negotiable. If we don’t see eye to eye on certain things, you’re just not my people, plain and simple. Trash is trash.”

The energy shifted, laughter thinning out as her words settled over us like an unexpected cold front. Everyone went quiet, glancing at the TV where early numbers flickered across the screen, but that weight, that tension? It wasn’t going anywhere, no matter what those numbers said.

“I’m with Sabbie,” Bryelle added, her voice strong and clear, but with an edge that could cut. “Some issues go way beyond politics. If we’re not aligned on them, it’s not just a difference of opinion—it’s life or death.”

I felt her words ripple through me, and before I knew it, I was nodding, chiming in. “Yeah.” It was instinctual, siding with her, the truth of it settling into the air like smoke.

She turned to me, a spark of challenge in her gaze, suspicion tightening her expression as she propped one hand on her hip. “And what exactly are you so passionate about, Marz? What lines you standing on?”

“Amendment 4,” I replied without hesitation, my voice steady. “I don’t think the government has the right to tell a woman what she can or can’t do with her own body. Especially when it comes to abortion.”

She raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing, her voice tinged with disbelief. “Of course that’d be important to you,” she scoffed, crossing her arms. “How many times you had to pay for one? I’m sure that’s top of your priorities.”

Her words hit like a gut punch, sharp and unfiltered, cutting right to the bone.

I took a slow breath, steadying myself. “Yeah, it is important to me. Women’s reproductive rights matter—deeply. I’ve got four sisters, and three of them went through miscarriages. I can’t imagine losing one of them because a doctor couldn’t, or wouldn’t, intervene if it came to that. And it’s not just them. It’s my nieces, too, as they grow up. Black women already face the highest maternal mortality rate in this country. How could I just stand back, knowing that? Not fight to protect them?” I looked her dead in the eye. “Anyone who doesn’t care enough to see that, to educate themselves on it—that’s basically saying they don’t give a damn about women. And I take that personally.”

The room stilled, a heavy silence falling as my words lingered. Bryelle’s gaze held mine, softened by something that looked like understanding, the sharpness in her eyes receding.

“And for the record,” I added, meeting her steady stare, “I’ve never had to pay for any abortions. I’m a grown-ass man who knows how to use protection and discipline.”

Before I could say more, Jade’s voice sliced through the tension as she burst back onto the rooftop, oblivious to the conversation she’d just interrupted.

“Oh my God! I need more ice!” she squealed, hands in the air like she’d just realized she’d lost a winning lottery ticket. “Can someone run out and grab some?”

“I’ll go!” Bryelle announced, maybe a little quicker than she’d meant to trying to escape the foot in her mouth.

“You can’t—I’m blocking you in,” Marcus said with a shrug, his words already loosening from the drinks he’d knocked back. “And I’m not going down there to move it. I’m drunk as shit already,” he slurred, waving his empty bottle in the air for emphasis.

His grin was lazy, his eyes a little glazed, and he looked about as capable of moving his car as he was of running a marathon. Bryelle glanced at him, then back at me, her expression torn between irritation and resignation.

Now, any other guy might’ve stayed salty over Bryelle’s jab, but me? Nah. This was an opportunity, and I wasn’t about to let a little dig throw me off. I was back on my game in an instant, dangling my keys like a lifeline. “I’ll drive you, Bry. Parked just down the block. Let’s go, Gorgeous.”

Her eyes flickered over to Jade and Akil, clearly hoping one of them might offer her an out.

But Akil stepped in, backing me up like only a real friend would. “Yea! Honestly, I’d feel better if Marz went with you. It’s Election Night—things could get a little tense out there. Better to have a man with you, keep an eye out in case things get crazy.”

Bryelle’s eyebrow shot up. “Get crazy? In Westonberry?”

“You remember those fires in Juniper over the summer, right?” Akil replied smoothly. “An arsonist was running loose, and it was dead quiet out there, too. Better safe than sorry.”

Without another word, Bryelle let out a small sigh, shook her head, and started down the stairs, her footsteps echoing against the concrete.

“Bring your ugly ass on, Marz!” she called over her shoulder, the hint of a challenge in her voice.

I couldn’t help but grin, chasing after her. “Right behind you, my wife,” I shot back.

I couldn’t hide my grin, feeling like I’d just hit the jackpot. I gave Akil a quick salute before I headed down the stairs, and he returned it with a look that warned, Don’t fuck this up.

Jade swatted him playfully, realizing what he’d just set in motion, but I was all smiles. Election results? Forget it. All that mattered was getting Bryelle alone. This was the moment I’d been waiting for, a chance to see what could really happen between us.

---

BRYELLE JAMES

“When we get married, you gonna hyphenate your last name or just be Bryelle Hollis? Can’t say I love James-Hollis, but I’ll rock with it if it’s important to you.”

Marz’s ridiculous question hung in the air, and I whipped my head around to glare at him. He was leaned back in the driver’s seat of his gleaming BMW, one hand draped over the wheel, a grin as wide as the open road stretching ahead.

I rolled my eyes, letting them linger on the window as another gas station blurred by. “You’ve passed, like, eight gas stations, Marz.”

He didn’t even flinch. “I’m goin’ to Westonberry Market.”

“What? That’s damn near by the beach. Practically the other side of town.”

“Jade said that’s where they got the best ice.”

I shot him a look sharp enough to cut glass. “The best ice? Marz, I swear, I will take this wheel and drive us both off the road. Ice is ice—there’s no ‘best’ ice. Jade didn’t say a word about Westonberry Market, you liar!”

But he didn’t even spare me a glance, that lazy, cocky grin still in place as his eyes stayed locked on the road, like he was on some mission I couldn’t understand.

I huffed, crossing my arms. “You know what? You’ve officially kidnapped me. I’m calling the police.” I patted my pockets in mock desperation, pretending to search for my phone. Marz just chuckled, the sound low and rumbling, like he knew exactly what game he was playing and had no plans of stopping.

“You play too damn much, Bryelle.” He shook his head, but the hint of a grin tugged at the corners of his mouth, telling me he was enjoying every second of this little back-and-forth. I tried to act unfazed, but my eyes kept wandering over to him—the way he gripped the wheel with one hand, steering like it was second nature. The man handled that car with an ease that made me think he could take it anywhere, and I wouldn’t mind being along for the ride, no matter where it ended.

“Please, you’re the one playing,” I shot back, my voice cool even though my pulse betrayed me. “Acting all calm like you didn’t just drag me halfway across town against my will.”

He laughed, a deep, knowing sound, glancing at me long enough to let the tension build. “Play all damn day, Bryelle. But you’re about to lose,” he said, shaking his head, that cocky grin spreading wider.

I raised an eyebrow, leaning in. “Last I checked, you couldn’t even win a game of Uno without whining over some imaginary conspiracy.”

“That’s because y’all cheat!” he shot back, eyes narrowing in mock offense. “No way someone’s always pulling Draw Fours like that. You must have a whole deck stashed up your sleeve.” He threw me a side-eye, shifting gears with a smooth confidence that only made his grin grow wider.

“Oh, right, the world’s out to get Marz during game night,” I said, rolling my eyes. “But for the record, if I did have cards up my sleeve, you’d never know until you were losing.”

He let out a deep laugh, tapping his fingers on the wheel in rhythm with his amusement. “Is that right? Maybe that’s why you’re sitting here now, all cute and indignant, being driven all over town for some ice and can’t do a damn thing about it.”

I scoffed, crossing my arms tighter. “’Cute and indignant,’ huh? You got jokes. I’m just trying to figure out how I’m going to survive this little hostage situation without catching a case.”

He leaned back, that grin turning a shade more dangerous. “Oh, trust me, Gorgeous. You’re in safe hands. But by the time this drive is over, don’t be surprised if you’re the one begging me to keep going.”

And just like that, he had me—trapped somewhere between wanting to fight him off and secretly hoping he’d keep the wheels turning all night long.

"Did you not hear me? Hostage situation," I repeated, crossing my arms tighter. "Why would I want to be trapped with you, driving me all the way to Guam or wherever you’re headed?"

He slowed the car, giving me a sideways glance filled with that same mischief that made trouble feel like a promise. "Oh, you want to go there?" His grin spread as he leaned back, feigning thoughtfulness. "Let’s start with my cooking. You inhaled that plate I fixed you like it was your last meal."

I rolled my eyes. "Okay, yeah, you can throw down. But I hadn’t eaten all day. I’d have given the same treatment to a $5 Little Caesars."

"Right. Then there’s the fact I let you run that mouth every time we hang out, and I’m still sitting here grinning," he said, leaning in just enough to make my pulse skip. "Most guys? They’d be walking out. You know that."

"Oh, please," I shot back, trying to hide my smile. "I could find plenty of people who’d listen to me."

He just shook his head, chuckling like he knew something I didn’t. "Good luck with that, Bry. Something tells me those other guys wouldn’t keep up half as well as I do."

I bit my lip, fighting back a laugh, even as he pressed the gas, the car humming low and steady beneath us. I hated to admit it, but the man was right.

"When am I gonna get a chance to cook for you—just us two?" Marz’s voice softened, that smooth confidence turning down to a murmur as his eyes drifted to mine. "Candlelight, dinner, the whole nine yards."

I shook my head, arms crossed tight like armor. "Marz, you need to leave that fantasy alone. Half the women in Westonberry have been through your rotation. I’m not trying to be the next one on the list."

He shot me a look, innocent as sin. "Who said that?"

"Every girl who steps foot in the shop, that’s who." I met his gaze head-on. "They all got stories to tell. As far as I’m concerned, Marz, you’re more ran through than the freeway at rush hour."

He raised his eyebrows, the words hitting hard. "Ran through?" His voice was low, dripping with a disbelief that cut sharper than any laugh. "Wow. Really, Bry?"

For a split second, I almost regretted saying it. His face shifted, the cockiness slipping as something raw flickered across his expression—shock, hurt, maybe both. Marz looked like I’d tossed something sharp into his chest, left him momentarily without words, and it hit harder than I expected.

I let my voice drop, my tone softening. "That’s just what they say, Marz. All I know is every other week, there’s a new story, a new girl. I’m not trying to end up another chapter."

He didn’t respond right away, didn’t shoot back with a line or a smirk. His gaze stayed on the road, his hands gripping the wheel, a muscle in his jaw ticking as he stared straight ahead, his silence heavier than I’d ever felt from him.

"People talk, Bryelle,” he finally said, his voice a low, steady rumble that held more than a hint of something raw. “Especially around those shop chairs. You, of all people, should know half of what folks say ain’t true.” His eyes stayed on the road, but there was something quiet in them, something vulnerable, almost hurt. A side of Marz I hadn’t seen before.

I took a breath, steadying myself. “Look,” I started, my voice firm, even though my heart was kicking up a storm in my chest. “I’ve been down that road before. Got with guys who had the ‘player’ rep, thinking I’d be the one to change them. Thought maybe I was different, that I’d get an exemption. Every time, it ended the same—I got played like everyone else. And I’m not putting myself through that again. Especially not with someone who’s my best friend’s fiancé’s best friend. I’d still have to see you at every damn party they throw.”

He let out a frustrated sigh, his hand gripping the wheel tighter, knuckles white against the leather. “Yeah, I flirt, and yeah, I talk a lot of shit. I take women out, sure—but I’m not out here running through every woman in Westonberry. I don’t play with my health or my heart like that, Bryelle. So despite what you heard, that’s not me.” His voice had an edge, like he was trying to keep his annoyance in check, but it simmered just beneath the surface, undeniable.

We sat there, a thick silence settling between us, both of us too stubborn to be the first to break it.

“What do you want with me, Marz?” I asked, cutting through the banter, the teasing, going straight to what I really needed to know.

He didn’t answer right away, but I realized we were pulling into a parking spot. I had no clue where we were; I’d been too focused on him. He put the car in park, chest rising as he let out a deep sigh before turning to face me, his gaze unflinching.

“I want everything with you, Bryelle.” His voice was low, raw, like he was laying his soul on the line. “We’re always around each other—the game nights, the national hot dog days, all those ridiculous parties Jade and Akil throw—and I actually look forward to it. I look forward to you.”

A flush crept up my cheeks, warmth blooming in a way I hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“You’re smart, funny, and beautiful,” he continued, his eyes softening as he looked at me. “I love that you don’t take my shit—you give it right back. And yeah, you cheat at Uno, but I can let that slide.” He gave me a grin, his eyes dancing with humor that tugged at the edges of my own smile.

A laugh slipped out, soft but real.

“You’re just…cool as hell, Bryelle. A straight shooter,” he said, his tone serious again. “I know it’s a risk, with all our friends involved. That’s why I tried to shake this off, to let it cool. But it didn’t. Every time I’m around you, it just gets stronger.”

He let those words settle between us, heavy and unfiltered, no hint of his usual games. Just the truth, bare and unguarded, and for once, I didn’t have a comeback.

Because I liked Marz—more than I cared to admit. What wasn’t there to like? But the thought of things going sideways, of having to see him all the time, of things shifting with Jade and Akil… It’d be messy. Messy in ways that could linger.

“Tell me you don’t feel anything for me, and I’ll stop messing with you like that, Bryelle,” he said, voice soft and steady.

I looked down, biting my lip, trying to say the words. But they wouldn’t come. Because the truth was, I did feel something. More than something, if I was honest.

“Oh, hell,” he grinned, eyes lighting up like he’d won the lottery. “She wants me.”

“Marz, shut up,” I muttered, feeling the heat creeping up my face.

He leaned back, laughing, smug as could be. “I knew it. Told the boys, even today.”

“So full of yourself.” I shoved his shoulder, but he just kept grinning.

“Nah, for real, Bry.” His expression softened, his eyes sincere as they met mine. “Can we just… see what this is? I’m not here to hurt you. I mean that.”

There was something in his gaze—something that chipped away at all the walls I’d put up. And in the glow of the dashboard lights, with his eyes steady on mine, it was hard to tell myself I didn’t want to take that chance.

“Marz…”

“Give me tonight,” he said, voice low, that usual confidence tempered by something real, something honest.

“Tonight?”

“Yeah,” he murmured, gaze unwavering. “Let me show you what this could be.”

I raised an eyebrow. “After the election party? I have work tomorrow.”

His mouth twisted into a smirk. “We’re not going back to the party.”

“But… Jade needs the ice.”

He chuckled, reaching for his phone. “I’ll Doordash them a bag to the door.”

“Marz…”

He leaned in just a little closer. “You in?”

I hesitated, fighting the grin threatening to break through. “I have work tomorrow.”

"So do I. But that wasn’t the question.” His gaze locked onto mine, that mix of mischief and intensity daring me, pulling me in like gravity. “You in or what, Bry?"

I exhaled, feeling a grin tugging at my lips, breaking through all my reservations. “I’m in.”

He smiled, leaning in close enough that his voice was a low rumble against my cheek.

“Good. But before we go, let me say one thing." His eyes flickered, holding mine steady. "You hurt my feelings tonight. Twice. You don’t get a third time, Bryelle.”

The weight of his words hung between us, his voice settling over me like the calm before a storm. I swallowed, feeling the heat crawl up my neck.

"And just so we’re clear,” he murmured, that devilish smile creeping back, “when I fuck that attitude right out of you, and the feelings out your legs, I want you to remember tonight on that rooftop and in this car when you threw those jabs. That’s why I did it.”

"Marz…”

He didn’t let me finish, just eased back, smirking as he shifted the car into gear. “Let’s ride.”

With a smooth, single-handed turn, he whipped us out of the parking spot, his grin widening as he sent a thrill down my spine, my breath catching. That look of his—bold, daring, all trouble—was locked on me tonight, and I knew there was no turning back.