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Cardez was already up when I came out of the bedroom that morning. He stood at the island in nothing but his basketball shorts, with his coffee in one hand and his phone in the other.

I noticed some bruising on his right hand.

“Morning.”

He glanced up. “Morning.”

“What happened here?” I asked, grabbing his wrist.

“Got into it last night.”

“I thought your bachelor party was supposed to be low key.”

He sighed and pulled his hand away gently. “Priest is a dickhead and it ended up being a whole production. I had to check one of your old niggas for talking out the side of his neck.”

That caught me by surprise. “Who?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Cardez.”

“Belle.” He mimicked me.

I put my hands on my hips. I felt myself grow hot with annoyance. “We just went through this. Stop deciding what I should or shouldn’t know. Who was it?”

“Eric Jackson.”

I pursed my lips. I hadn’t seen or heard from Eric in years. He was a music producer who I’d met at Luxe. He had a little motion but was arrogant and wore too much fake jewelry.

“I didn’t even take money from him, just used his credit cards without his knowledge.” I shrugged.

“Yeah, well, he should’ve kept your name out of his mouth.”

“Did you kill him?”

“Not yet.”

I snorted. “You can’t kill every nigga who might talk shit about me, Dez.”

He kissed me and grabbed my ass. “Niggas gonna learn to shut the fuck up ‘round me if they value their lives.”

“Nuh uh, nasty.” I wriggled away from him feeling his erection pressing against my thigh. “Don’t you have to get to your tuxedo fitting?”

“We can squeeze in a little quickie before.”

I dodged when he reached for me again. “Boy, bye. Go get ready for your fitting.”

He laughed and finished his coffee before heading to the bedroom.

My stomach growled as I opened the fridge to look for something to eat. I settled on a breakfast sandwich with eggs and bacon on this fancy ass brioche that Dez insisted on buying.

He reappeared twenty minutes later. “I’ll be back in a few hours. Need anything?”

“Pickles. But make sure they’re spears.”

He frowned. “Pickles?”

“Yes, Cardez. They’re delicious.”