Chapter 1: Midnight Call
Mikki’s phone buzzed on the nightstand, the screen casting a sharp glow in the dim room. 1:27 AM. *Yoo. u up?* The name above the text made her breath catch—Ab-Soul. Her heart kicked into overdrive. This wasn’t his usual. Late-night texts from him? Uncharted territory. She stared at the screen, fingers hovering, when another message popped up. *u there? I'm tryna slide thru, you know. It's been a minute since I seen that pretty lil face of yours. Maybe I can come chop it up wit you.*
‘Chop it up.’ She smirked, rolling her eyes. Sure, it could mean vibing over music, swapping industry gossip, or brainstorming her next track as the newest TDE artist. But at this hour? Nah, there was a heat behind those words, an unspoken promise she’d been dodging since she first stepped into the studio with him. At eighteen, she was young, but not naive. She knew the game. And tonight, she felt ready to play.
‘Bet. I’m up. Where you at?’ she typed back, hitting send before she could overthink it. His reply was instant: *West Hollywood. I’ll send a car. Don’t keep a nigga waiting.*
Thirty minutes later, the Uber rolled up to his crib, a sleek modern spot tucked into the hills. Ab-Soul was outside, leaning against his Bentayga, a blunt glowing between his fingers. His eyes caught hers through the window, and a slow, sly grin spread across his face. He stubbed out the blunt as she stepped out, pulling her into a hug that lingered a beat too long. The scent of Henny and weed clung to him, intoxicating as hell.
“Damn, Mikki, you really came through,” he said, voice low and smooth as his hand rested just above her ass, guiding her inside. “Thought you might ghost me.”
She laughed, sharp and confident, brushing off the heat creeping up her spine. “Ghost you? Nah, I ain’t scared of a little late-night convo. You got bars for me or what?”
He chuckled, pouring two glasses of Henny and handing her one. “Oh, I got bars, but I’m tryna hear what *you* got. You been hummin’ those melodies in the studio, actin’ all shy. I see you, though.” His gaze pinned her, dark and hungry, as he relit the blunt and took a deep pull before passing it over.
Mikki inhaled, the smoke curling in her lungs, mixing with the burn of the liquor. The room tilted just slightly, a buzz settling in. She caught him staring, not at her face, but at the way her lips wrapped around the blunt. She exhaled slow, meeting his eyes with a smirk. “What you lookin’ at, Soulo? My bars ain’t on my mouth.”
He grinned, leaning back against the counter, all casual but predatory. “Nah, but that mouth got potential. I’m just sayin’. What you thinkin’ about over there, pretty girl? You look distracted.”
She sipped her Henny, playing it cool despite the way her pulse hammered. “Just tryna focus on the music. Ain’t that why I’m here?”
“Aight, bet.” His voice dropped an octave, smooth as sin. “Let’s take it upstairs then. Got some beats I wanna run by you.”
Her heart raced as she followed him, his hand brushing the small of her back, sending a jolt through her. Upstairs, his bedroom was all low lights and plush vibes. He kicked off his slides, flopping onto the bed and patting the spot next to him. “C’mon, don’t be shy now. I don’t bite… unless you ask.”
Mikki rolled her eyes but crawled onto the bed, settling beside him, her skin prickling with awareness. He propped himself on an elbow, eyes raking over her curves like he was memorizing every inch. “Damn, you lookin’ good as fuck,” he murmured, a finger tracing her jawline, slow and deliberate.
She shivered, heat pooling low in her belly, but she kept her edge. “You say that to every artist you sign, or am I just lucky tonight?”
He laughed, deep and rough, leaning in so his breath grazed her ear. “Nah, just you. Been tryna get at you for a minute, Mikki. You don’t even know how bad I want you, do you?” His hand slid to her waist, firm and possessive.
Her breath hitched, but she held his gaze, unflinching. “Maybe I got an idea. Question is, you gonna do somethin’ about it, or just keep talkin’?”
That was all the green light he needed. His grin turned wicked as his hand slipped under her shirt, fingers teasing the waistband of her jeans. “Oh, I’m ‘bout to show you. Let’s see how wet you get when I stop playin’.”
Her gasp was sharp as his touch ignited her, a fire she couldn’t—and didn’t want to—put out. The room spun, charged with a tension that was about to snap, and she knew they were seconds away from crossing a line there’d be no coming back from.
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