Page 9 of Before I Should Leave
I looked out the window again, trying to gather myself. The rain had fogged the edges of the glass, the city lights bleeding soft against the mist. Everything outside looked blurred, but inside everything was starting to feel clearer. My shoulders were down, and my breathing had slowed. I hadn’t checked my email in over twenty minutes. And I was sitting next to a man I didn’tknow an hour ago, laughing about Black movie lines like we had history and tequila between us.
I turned back toward him and just said it. Quiet. Honest. “I feel… loose.”
He glanced at me. “Loose how?”
“I don’t know. Like… not performing. Not proving. Not calculating my next move or thinking about how I sound or what I look like while I’m doing it. Just… me.”
He nodded. “That’s good.”
“It’s… rare.”
“Well, you got another seventeen minutes of traffic to stay in that space. Might as well ride it out.”
The way he said that? Whew. He wasn’t just talking about the road. He was talking about whatever this was, too. This thing simmering between us, layered in calm and curiosity and quiet heat.
I leaned back in my seat, tucked one leg up under me, and rested my elbow on the center console, turning my body just slightly toward him. I just shook my head and smiled.
The car was barely crawling now. Just inching along like it knew what it was doing. Outside, the storm was still showing out with sheets of rain sliding down the windows like they had somewhere to be. The city blurred behind water. And somewhere under all that weather and traffic… the music kept playing.
It was Tank this time. Low. Sultry. That older joint with the piano keys tapping softly and the bassline smooth like sweat down a spine. I didn’t realize how quiet it had gotten until Diesel shifted in his seat again, just enough to turn toward me. One arm still loose on the wheel. The other resting on the back of my seat like it had always been there.
He licked his lips quickly, but my eyes caught it. His eyes locked with mine. All dark and deliberate. The kind of look that asked without asking. That said, this wasn’t a joke, but I’m giving you time to change your mind. And I didn’t. I didn’t say a word or pull back. I didn’t deflect with a joke or look at my phone. I just stared at him, breathing slowly, feeling something in my chest flutter wild and wide open. Then he leaned in slowly. Closer.
The moment before was louder than the kiss itself, with heartbeats, silence, and the soft hum of the rain. His lips touched mine, soft but certain. Full. Warm. Gentle but deep enough to feel it in my knees, even sitting down.
My mouth opened without thinking, without guarding, without calculation. His tongue brushed mine, slow and unhurried, tasting like tequila and patience. My fingers curled into the seat between us like I needed to hold onto something.
It wasn’t rushed or messy. It was everything I forgot a kiss could be. And I didn’t want to pull away. But life? Life’s got timing like a bitter ex.
HOOONK!!!
The car behind us laid into the horn like they saw our whole moment and didn’t give a damn. I gasped, pulling back slightly. My lips tingled, still parted. My eyes flicked toward the rearview, then back to Diesel. He just looked at me for a second. Eyes low, mouth still soft like he hadn’t even moved. Like he could kiss meagain if I said so, but I didn’t say a word. I knew if I opened my mouth, I might’ve said something I couldn’t take back.
So we just turned forward again and let the traffic carry us the last stretch to the terminal like nothing happened but everything had.
The airport finally came into view. Bright lights. People in raincoats running across crosswalks. Flight boards blinking inside through the glass. Diesel eased into the drop-off lane but didn’t speak or ask me if I wanted to talk about it. And I didn’t offer anything either. I reached in the back for my Birkin and my iPad.
He was already out of the car with my luggage by the time I opened my door, the rain slicking his shoulders. “Lemme help you,” he said quietly. I didn’t protest. I just slipped my hand into his and climbed out of his truck.
I opened my mouth to say something. Anything. But nothing came. So I gave a tight-lipped nod and turned toward the sliding glass doors. And then—because the universe clearly had jokes—my phone buzzed.
Delta Airlines: Your flight has been canceled due to weather delays. Please visit the ticketing counter for rebooking options.
I froze mid-step, staring at the screen. Then, in the middle of the airport curb, under the loud-ass sky and even louder feelings, I shouted, “FUCK!!!”
The second the word “fuck” left my mouth, I didn’t care who heard me. Not the valet. Not the family unloading in the lane behind us. Not the woman in stilettos rushing to catch a red-eye with a toddler on her hip. I stood there on the curb, blinking at the screen, heart racing, mind already spinning through backup plans. Meet-and-greet tomorrow. Panel by noon. My name on a goddamn billboard in downtown Chicago, and no way to get there.
I turned in a slow, anxious circle, the rain barely missing me under the overhang, and cursed again under my breath. “This is bullshit. I should’ve left earlier. I should’ve... damn it, damn it…”
Diesel stepped closer, tugging a hoodie over his head, brows slightly pulled. “What happened?”
I held the phone out like it burned. “Cancelled. Weather delays. Every flight for the night’s wiped.”
His jaw clenched for just a second, then relaxed. “Aight. Breathe.”
“Iambreathing.”
He gave me a look. I wasn’t breathing. Not right, at least. My chest was tight, the kind of tight that creeps up your throat and makes your ears ring. My brain had already jumped five steps ahead to the missed connections, reschedules, losing my slot on the schedule, and refunding ticket holders. Diesel reached out gently and placed his hand on the small of my back.
