Alonzo’s Game Begins

I leaned against the marble bar, smirking as Meagan—rocking a snakeskin skirt that could start a riot—leaned in, her girlfriend Ariana's hand casually looped through her back pocket. They'd been eyeing me since they walked in, all sly grins and whispered jokes. Now, Meagan was mid-story, her nails tapping the rim of her glass to Totals Cant You See beat. “So," she purred, "my ex? Total dusty. Tried to hide your CD like it was a body, Z. Swear to God."

Ariana cut her eyes, twirling her straw. "Babygirl here found it in, like, two seconds. Buried under Joe's album. Tragic." I raised an eyebrow, swirling my bourbon. "Hold up—y'all shared my CD?"

She calls him king, but Alonzo plays love like a song he’ll never sing twice. His charm’s a checkmate—until a shadow sharper than his smile starts writing the final verse. Want to see how his game begins? Grab his first move free.