Page 3 of Before I Should Leave
“I gotchu.”
That shouldn’t have made me feel anything but it did. The words were simple and unemotional, but there was something in the way he said it that made me feel… seen. Like, for once, I could unclench my jaw. Like maybe I didn’t have to hold it all up by myself tonight.
I looked at him again. His grip on the wheel. The way his voice didn’t change even when he turned down a flooded road. The stillness in his movements was like nothing could rattle him. Not storms or traffic. Not me. And that might’ve been the problem.
Ipulled my iPad from my Birkin with more force than necessary and pulled up my presentation. The moment it lit up, my slides appeared like they were mocking me, as each one was a crisp reminder of how prepared I thought I’d be.
Diesel hadn’t said anything in a while, and I was fine with that. Focused, even. I tapped through the first few slides, murmuring my talking points under my breath. “Clarity, confidence, and capital. That’s what separates average from exceptional…”
I was halfway into mentally reworking the second half of my keynote when I noticed the soft hum of music floatingthrough the car. A smooth bassline. Snare taps. That old school, bedroom-ready R&B. Donell Jones played low.
I glanced up. “You always play music like this while you work?”
He shrugged, hand resting on the gearshift, fingers tapping to the beat. “I usually match the mood.”
I arched a brow. “And what exactly do you think this mood is?”
He didn’t look at me. Just said calmly, “Tense. Stormy. Beautiful woman in the backseat tryna stay composed while traffic and time got her on edge.”
I stared at him for a second too long, then I looked back down at my iPad. “Mmm.” He wasn’t wrong. Outside, the rain was coming down harder now. Slick roads and brake lights stretching ahead like an apology I didn’t want. My jaw was tight again, my heel tapping the floor unconsciously.
“We gon' make it,” he said, voice low and smooth like jazz. “Don’t let the weather throw you off.”
“I don’t mind storms,” I muttered. “I just don’t like being late.”
“You don’t like bein’ outta control,” he said without hesitation.
That made me glance up fast. “Excuse me?”
He met my eyes in the mirror. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“I didn’t say it was.”
“Didn’t say you did,” he replied, then reached for something in the center console. “You need water or somethin’ stronger? I got both.”
I blinked as he held up a small bottle of spring water and, behind it, a sleek metal flask. My lips tugged into a smile before I could stop them. “You carry liquor in your work truck?”
“Only on days that end in Y,” he said, glancing over his shoulder at a stall of red lights. “It’s clean. Couple sips. You want it?”
I hesitated for half a second. Then I reached for the flask, and he passed it back without fanfare, like it wasn’t a big deal. The metal was cold in my palm. I took a small sip, and the tequila was sharp and warm going down. I closed my eyes briefly as it hit my chest. Just enough to take the edge off. “Damn,” I murmured, handing it back. “I guess I needed that.”
He chuckled under his breath and took the next turn slowly, windshield wipers fighting the downpour. I was just starting to get settled again when my phone buzzed. Jonnae. I answered and hit ‘speaker’ without thinking, my hands busy tapping through my slides.
“Are you good?” she asked. “You in the car?”*
“Yeah. We hit some traffic, but I’m fine.”
“Okay, good. You didn’t text back, so I got nervous. You know I panic when you don’t confirm. And I just wanted to double check he wasn’t weird, but is he fine or is hefine-fine?”
My eyes widened in horror. “Jonnae.”
“Wha—?”
“You’re on speaker.”
A full second of silence. Then her mortified gasp. “Oh, my God—hi. Hello. Uh. Sorry…”
Diesel didn’t say a word. I glanced up, and of course, he’d heard every single syllable. I could see the smirk twitching at the edge of his mouth. “Jonnae,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m good. I’ll text you when I get through security.”
