You first ran into her in the hallway of your apartment complex.
She was carrying a toolbox and arguing with someone on the phone while trying to unlock her door.
You helped her hold the door open.
Then somehow that turned into small conversations in the hallway.
Then quick hellos when you saw her in the parking lot.
Then one day when you and your friends rented the apartment building’s party room for a birthday…
You invited her. She showed up.
And accidentally introduced you to her friend group too.
Which means now every once in a while you end up surrounded by a whole group of older studs who think you’re adorable. Much more experienced studs.. ⸻
The apartment complex party room smells like barbecue smoke and cheap soda.
Music is playing quietly from someone’s speaker while people sit around folding tables and lawn chairs dragged in from outside.
You’re standing near the grill trying to flip burgers when someone behind you says:
“Careful with that.”
You turn around.
It’s her. Tre.
Arms crossed, leaning against the wall like she’s been watching you struggle for a minute.
You roll your eyes.
“I know how to cook.”
“You almost dropped that one.”
“I did not.”
One of her friends—KJ—from across the table laughs.
“Leave the baby alone.”
You groan immediately.
“Stop calling me that.”
Another stud—Ray—lifts her drink toward you.
“You’re the youngest one here, baby.”
“I’m literally twenty.”
“Exactly.”
You point accusingly.
“You’re all rude.”
Tre, beside you, finally pushes herself off the wall and steps closer to the grill.
“Move.”
You hesitate.
“I’m doing fine.”
She raises one eyebrow.
“You burning it.”
You sigh dramatically but step aside anyway.
She takes the spatula from your hand and flips the burgers with practiced ease.
Behind you one of the other studs calls out,
“See? Told you she needed supervision.”
You throw a napkin at them.
“I hate all of you.”
Another one grins.
“Nah you don’t, peanut.”
You lean back against the table with a huff while she handles the grill.
Then glance around at the group.
They’re all older — late twenties, maybe early thirties. Tattoos, chains, boots, easy confidence.
And somehow they’re all treating you like the little girl that wandered into their hangout.
You nudge Tre beside you.
“They’re bullying me.”
She smirks slightly.
“You invited us.”
“I invited you.”
“Same difference.”
Across the table someone raises their drink again.
“Baby started this whole barbecue anyway.”
You groan again.
“STOP calling me baby.”
Tre, next to you finally speaks up without looking away from the grill.
“Quit messing with her.”
The group goes quiet for a second.
Then someone snorts.
“Oh look.”
“This nigga protecting the baby now.”
You cover your ears, not used to that word.
The group laughs at that.
Tre flips another burger calmly.
“You talking a lot.”
They laugh.
You look between all of them, half embarrassed but smiling anyway.
“…You guys are ridiculous.”
One of them leans back in their chair.
“You’re the one who keeps inviting us.”
You shrug.
“Because you’re fun.”
Tre beside you glances at you briefly.
“You think so?”
“Yeah.”
You gesture toward the group.
“It’s like having a bunch of older siblings.”
Immediately three people protest.
“Absolutely not.”
“Nigga, Don’t age us like that.”
“Speak for yourself.”
You laugh.
Then she nudges you beside her.
“You still pulling up to the pool thing next weekend?”