Page 8 of Before I Should Leave
“Why?”
“‘Cause you keep checkin’ your phone like you need somethin’ to distract you.”
I sighed and locked the screen. Set it face-down in my lap. “I don’t like getting too comfortable.”
“Why not?”
“Because comfort makes you soft and sloppy. I built a whole life on not letting my guard down.”
He looked at me again, his eyes darker now. “That sound like a lot of lonely nights.”
“It’s efficient.”
He didn’t speak again. Just reached for the flask, sipped once, and then passed it back like a peace offering. “I see you,” he said softly. “Even if you don’t let nobody else.”
That went somewhere it wasn’t supposed to go, and I didn’t have a comeback this time. So I took the flask, drank slowly, and stayed right there beside him. Just close enough to smell him,close enough to feel that heat moving between us like something alive. And for once… I truly didn’t want the traffic to clear.
The rain came down harder, like it didn’t want to be outdone. It beat against the windshield and roof in thick, steady rhythms. The kind of storm that felt personal. The kind that wrapped you up in it and made you forget there was a world beyond the inside of this car. Diesel leaned slightly to turn on the defroster, slow and unbothered, his fingers brushing the dial like even machines listened to him.
I didn’t know how long we’d been sitting like this. The airport sign kept flickering in and out of view ahead, but it felt miles away. Time didn’t feel real inside that car. Not with him. Not with the low hum of music. Not with the heat and tequila making my chest loose and my shoulders soft.
“You good?” he asked again, voice quieter this time.
“Yeah, really good,” I muttered before I could think.
He grinned at that. Not smug. Just real. Then, out of nowhere, he said, “You ever seenThe Wood?”
I blinked. “You mean the movie?”
“Yeah.”
“Of course. Who hasn’t?”
He nodded, relaxed in his seat, one arm slung across the steering wheel like he’d told this story a dozen times. “Yo, remember when Stacey ran up in the corner store with his boys to rob it?”
I chuckled. “And Mike’s scared ass called out his full name like they werenotin the middle of a robbery.”
“‘S-Stacey?’” he said in that same shocked voice, mimicking the exact scene.
I was laughing now, for real. “That part sends me every time. Like, why would you say his name out loud?”
“He was so shook,” Diesel said, shaking his head, barely holding his laugh. “Like, ‘Oh shit… I know this nigga.”
I laughed louder than I meant to, biting down on my lower lip to reel it back in. “Mind you, they were in there just for Tic Tacs before the school dance, right?”
He gave a smooth shrug. “Shoulda been in there grabbin’ condoms the way they were plottin’ on gettin’ phone numbers. Fresh breath and the strokes safe.”
I lost it. Like, actually laughed. Not a polite chuckle. Not a tight-lipped smirk. A real, warm laugh that cracked open something in my chest I didn’t know was still closed. I put my hand over my mouth, trying to pull it back but it was too late. It was that full-body kind of laugh that shook my shoulders and pulled a breath from deep inside.
He was laughing too, low and rich, the kind that came from the gut. He looked over at me again, something new in his eyes now. Something soft. Quietly proud. “Damn, Emani,” he said. “You got a beautiful fuckin' laugh.”
I froze for half a second. Not because of what he said, but because of how it landed. It wasn’t flirtation. It wasn’t game. It was an observation. A real one. He meant it. I swallowed, voice lower now. “You keep saying stuff like that, Diesel…”
He raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“You’re gonna make me forget I’m not supposed to like you.”
He smiled slowly. “Maybe you’re supposed to.”
