Page 1 of Sun Kissed Moments

Holding myself together while conducting this interview was getting harder by the minute. I could feel the host leaning toward questions about Shy T, and he was the last person I wanted to talk about at all.

Fresh off our breakup, I was cool with us parting ways. What I wasn’t cool with were the constant tags, multiple think pieces, and fake sympathy calls, messages, and DMs from hos who were secretly waiting for their chance with Shy T. The only person whose messages I responded to were Jacoba’s messages. She was someone I’d made quick friends with in this industry, and she didn’t have a hating ass bone in her body.

The rest of these hos could have him. Shy T was the prime example of why I refused to date industry niggas. I’d been in the game nearly seven years, and I kept my hands clean where entertainers were concerned.

When I met Shy T, he was just Shy Thorpe, a dude from my old neighborhood who could rap with the best of them. He finessed his way into a couple of dates, and I enjoyed his company. He was handsome, cool, and trying to claw his way out of the streets. I would never tell a soul, but I funded his way out of the streets and helped him chase his dreams.

What made this whole situation fucked up was that, if it weren’t for me, Shy T wouldn’t be in the conversation for top ten rappers of all-time. My name got him his connect, his deal, and his multi-million-dollar endorsement deals.

But did I throw any of that shit in his face? No, I didn’t. I let him have his fame, his hos, his money, and all his materialistic shit and walked away quietly, like my mama taught me to. Claire Knight would curse me smooth out if she thought I was groveling over a man.

However, as I sat here gearing up for DJ Costello to bring up Shy T, I was struggling. Partly because it was hard not to tell my side of the story. Letting people run with whatever narrative they chose was a skill set of mine. The other part was because I’d let a man play me. If anything fucked with me more, it was the fact that I let a man play me. My mama taught me better than that shit.

Then again, I thought I was looking out for someone who truly had my back and claimed he loved me. In his own way, maybe he did feel like he loved me. It was too bad that I wasn’t sticking around to find out. Getting caught cheating once was one time too many. Multiple women didn’t have to ring a bell for me to hear it. I could hear a fucking pin drop in the middle of Daytona 500 if it meant picking up on some bullshit.

Nevertheless, as soon as I verified Shy T indeed cheated, I was out the door. Now came the downfall of dating an entertainer.

“You recently broke up with rapper Shy T,” DJ Costello finally inserted.

Although my stomach turned, I smiled. “Yes, I did.”

“He claims the two of you are just taking a break, but that everything’s fine.”

DJ Costello was the type of man who licked his lips, and every woman fell at his feet. His voice was deep behind that microphone, and he had the most amazing chocolate brown eyes. I was sure he’d slept with a litany of his guests without him even trying hard.

“He’s free to think what he wants,” I replied. “I’m focused on my music, my fans, and my family. Everything outside of that is moot.”

He grinned, and the twinkle in his eye solidified that he was eyeing me as his next conquest. Of course, I knew that before management set up this interview. DJ Costello was merely an outlet to push my impending album, just like all the rest of my marketing stops. He was no different, and I would never let him think he was.

“So, you back on the market?” he questioned.

Smiling sweetly, I said, “No. Quite the opposite. As I stated, I’m focused on my music, my fans, and my family.”

He chuckled that sleazy chuckle niggas did when they felt like they were bigger than the program. “Alright, alright. I hear you. The latest single, Time, from your upcoming album, Memories, has garnered several million streams since you dropped it. Let the fans know what inspired that track.” He flowed so smoothly into another subject; I had to inwardly commend him for reading the room and pivoting accordingly.

“Time inspired the track,” I answered. “It waits for no one and is brutally blunt. One minute you’re on top of a mountain. The next, you’re tumbling off a cliff and wondering how you got there. Time is a constant reminder that even when life pauses, the clock still moves.”

“I fuck with that,” he said. “You write about love in a way that makes niggas wanna listen to it. You know how talented you gotta be to pull that type of shit off?”

“Well, thank you. I just talk about what brings me joy. I’m glad others not only partake in my music, but they happen to also enjoy it. I’m blessed.”

“Very,” he replied.

As the show wound down, I thanked my lucky stars. I could finally breathe again and get the hell up out of here. I shook DJ Costello’s hand and followed my team out of the production studio.

This was my last interview before embarking on a brief two-week vacation. It wasn’t much, but it would have to do. My birthday was in a few days, and my album release was swiftly approaching too. These two weeks would be a reprieve before I went into full marketing mode. I’d spend one week on the beach and the other week at home, rearranging my bedroom. It was time I gave my space a mini makeover.

As I slipped into the back seat of a chauffeured black sedan, my ears perked up at the voice flowing through the sound system. Mekhi, my driver, always had music playing whenever I rode with him. Today, his artist of choice just so happened to be Dane Richards. Well, his fans called him Big Dane. Big in the sense that he was six-foot-six inches tall and had the body composition of a rugby player. He was deliciously thick, and his face was just the icing on the cake.

“Ugh. Would you turn that down, please,” my mama requested as she slid inside the sedan next to me.

“Nothing’s wrong with Dane’s music,” I murmured. Nothing was wrong with Dane other than the fact that he wouldn’t get his ass off my mind. Ever since that church hug he gave me all those months ago, I’d been fighting for my life to get him off my mind. From waking up in night sweats from steamy dreams about him to oftentimes remembering the way his fingers slid across mine as he took his award from my hand. Dane had a hold on me. One that was strong, tough, and seemingly unbreakable.

“He’s a rapper, baby. You know I don’t care for that kind of music.”

I rolled my eyes at the woman who gave birth to me. She was also my manager. She’d been in entertainment long enough to have lost her disdain for hip hop and rap music. Or one would think.

“While we’re on the subject of rappers, let this be the last time you fool with one. I cringed the moment DJ Costello brought up that person I shall not name. What about that nice chef who has his own show? He seems really nice and has sent you flowers several times.”