Page 2 of Autumn & Woods
She nodded, satisfied with that answer, and then took another sip of her drink. I watched her full lips gloss over the rim of her glass, and my eyes dropped to her thighs. They were smooth and pressed tight together. Then, my eyes traveled backup to her collarbone, tiny words inked there, peeking from her zip-up, cropped hoodie. She was sexy as fuck.
“You from here?” I asked.
She shook her head. “Layover. Headed to Tavern City.”
I arched my brow. “Me too. Born and raised there.”
“Oh? Same here. That’s crazy.”
“Yeah, you know,” I shrugged. “Thanksgivin’ with my folks. You know how that go.”
“Same.” She set her drink down and extended her hand like it was an afterthought. “Autumn.”
“Quamaine.” We shook. Her grip was soft but sure.
I was still holding her hand when she said, “You don’t strike me as a Quamaine.”
I smiled slowly. “What I strike you as?”
She tilted her head. “Trouble. The smooth kind.”
I chuckled under my breath and leaned back, letting her hand go. “Ain’t gon’ argue with that. Everyone calls me Woods, though.”
She nodded, biting her lip before turning back to her drink. I was about to say something slick when the airport speakers interrupted the moment.
“Attention, passengers of Flight 723 to Tavern City. Due to weather conditions, your departure has been delayed an additional two hours. We apologize for the inconvenience.”
Autumn groaned and leaned her head back. “God hates me.”
I laughed. “Or maybe He just got a sense of humor.” She gave me a look that lingered longer than it should've and I gave her ass one right back.
Ih a t e da i r p o r t s.
I hated the recycled air, the overpriced snacks, and the fake-ass smiles from employees who’d clearly had enough. I hated the way people spread out like they paid for extra space, and I really hated the delays. I’d already been here for two hours. Sitting, standing, pacing, and waiting for a gate agent to say something other than “we appreciate your patience.”
I was running low on patience and even lower on grace. All I wanted was to be on that plane, stretched out under a cheap blanket, drifting off with my playlist and dreaming of my homegirl grandmother’s sweet potato pie. That woman didn’t even sell her pies, which was damn near criminal considering how good they were. She only made them for Thanksgiving, and I’d missed out last year because I got stupid about a man who didn’t deserve my time, let alone my travel plans.
This year, I cleared my schedule of clients and was out. But of course, life had other plans. A surprise storm rerouted me straight into inconvenience. On top of the heavy delay, I’d forgotten the one thing that might’ve helped me relax. My damn vibrator. I told myself I’d walk to the bar, sip something, and read until they called my flight.
I didn’t expect to end up in the company of a fine ass man. Quamaine…Woods. From the moment I glanced over, I knew he was different. He moved like he didn’t need to prove anything. Hoodie on with a drink in hand, he had eyes that were calm and that BDE energy.
He was NBA player tall with broad shoulders and big muscles. His skin was dark and rich like warm chocolate melting in the sun. His beard was full and neat, and his lips were full. But none of that was what held my attention. It was his vibe. Woods was relaxed, but alert. Quiet, but not passive. I could tell if anything popped off in that airport, he’d be the first one up and the last one standing.
“So, I take it that delays don’t really bother you?” I asked, sipping slowly and meeting his eyes.
He smirked. “It’s annoyin’ as fuck, but what’s panickin’ gon’ do?”
“Let people know you care,” I said, side-eyeing the terminal crowd. “Or at least make you look normal.”
“I don’t really do what’s normal.”
“Yeah,” I said, giving him a look. “I figured that out two sips ago.”
That made him laugh, showcasing the deepest dimples I’d ever seen, like I’d caught onto something he wasn’t trying to admit. “And what about you?” he asked. “You hate bein’ stuck? Waitin’ on shit?”
I nodded, serious. “One hundred percent.”
“That deep?”
