Page 7 of Before I Should Leave
“I used to,” I finally said. “Want more, I mean. Thought I needed it. But love’s never been… consistent. Business is.”
“Mmm.”
“That’s what I know how to build. What I know how to manage. People? Feelings? That shit’s messier. Harder to scale.”
He was quiet for a second, then took another sip of the flask and passed it back again without a word. I took it without hesitation this time. After my sip, I set it on the seat beside me and asked, “So what about you? You’re asking because you got someone waiting somewhere or because you’re just trying to peel my layers back?”
He smirked, real slow. Real deliberate. “I’m askin’ ‘cause most women I meet don’t give me real answers. I knew you would.”
I paused and felt that too. Every word of it. “You should be careful with shit like that,” I said, my voice quieter now. “That kind of talk can make a woman forget she just needed a ride.”
He let out a low chuckle that sounded like it lived in his chest. “And you should be careful sittin’ back there lookin’ all good, sippin’ my tequila, and talkin’ like you ain’t been on my mind since you climbed in my truck.”
I swallowed. The heat had nothing to do with the flask now. A red light glowed up ahead. We slowed to another stop, thethunder rolling in again like background applause. Neither of us said anything for a moment, but the air was thick with it.
The rain had turned into a constant rhythm. It was hard and steady against the windows, like it wasn’t going to let up until we did. I could barely hear the city anymore. It was just us, the music, and that space between what was said and what was felt. The red light lingered, and we weren’t even close to the terminal yet.
Diesel reached forward to adjust the heat, then glanced at me through the rearview. “You good?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“You sure?” His voice was deep again, but gentle. “You got that look like your mind’s somewhere else.”
I licked my lips, shifted slightly in the seat. “Just thinking.”
“‘Bout what?”
I took a beat before I answered. Then leaned forward just a little with my elbows resting lightly on the console between the front and back seat. “How’d you end up here?” I asked. “I mean… this version of your life. Driving in a storm. Talking to a stranger about life, love, and tequila.”
He smirked again, slower this time. “Life don’t move in straight lines,” he said. “I been through some shit. Lost a couple people. Got tired of chasin’ shit that didn’t matter.”
“Like what?”
“Money. Status. Image.” He shrugged. “Got out the Army, tried the nine-to-five thing. Didn’t last. My daughter grounded me and made me reevaluate everything. Now I do what I can, keep my peace, and stay out the way.”
I nodded slowly. That peace? I could feel it all over him and it was starting to wrap around me tight like a blanket, warm like trouble. “Sounds like you figured it out,” I said.
“Some days. Other days… I’m just tryna breathe.” The car shifted forward a few feet and then stopped again. He tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, the beat syncing up with whatever slow jam was playing now—Leon Thomas. “Come up front.”
I blinked. “What?”
“Slide up here. Stretch your legs. You look like you over that backseat.”
I didn’t move right away. Not because I was scared, but because I knew what moving would mean. Shifting the space. Shrinking the distance. Changing the temperature of everything we’d been pretending wasn’t simmering between us since I stepped in. “You serious?”
He turned, one arm draped on the steering wheel, expression calm but unreadable. “I’m not tryna be slick. Just figured you’d be more comfortable. But if you good back there…”
I was already moving before he finished the sentence. The front seat was warmer. Closer. His cologne hit stronger from the front. I settled in, adjusting my trench and glancing at him sideways. He handed me the flask again, and I took it. I sipped from it and held it there in my lap while the wipers dragged across the windshield, the music dipping into something even slower.
He didn’t say anything for a moment. Just glanced over again, eyes low, then back to the road. “I bet you never let anybody see you like this,” Diesel said quietly. “Just you. Not the public persona. Not the brand.”
“Honestly?” I said, turning slightly toward him. “I don’t even know what that version looks like anymore.”
He nodded like he understood and wasn’t surprised. “You don’t gotta be hard all the time, you know,” he said. “Not wit' everybody.”
“Experience taught me otherwise.”
“Mmm.” His voice dropped an octave. “Then you been dealin’ wit' the wrong kinda niggas.” That line sat heavy in the air. He didn’t flinch after saying it or smirk or backpedal. He just let it be. We rolled forward again. This time, a little longer stretch. The airport sign was finally visible in the distance through the heavy rain. “You get nervous when things slow down?” he asked.
