Page 126 of IRL: In Real Life
Just that first look. The one that always came before words. Like he had to gather himself for a second once he saw me.
He got out before I was fully up the walk.
He came toward me easy, took my bag from my shoulder without asking, and leaned in to kiss me so sweetly, I wanted it to turn into more before we had even said hello properly.
“You made good time,” he said when he pulled away.
“So did you.”
His eyes moved over my face once, then lower, taking me in with that same quiet attention that never felt scattered.
“I was motivated.”
I laughed softly. “That sounds cocky.”
“No,” he said, opening his hand for mine as we started toward my door. “That sounds like I wanted to see you.”
I had on fitted jeans, a cream knit top, gold hoops, and my white Common Projects because it was Saturday and I liked looking expensive without having to explain it. My hair was laid close and glossy, and I had on enough perfume to make the air remember me when I left.
I looked at him then and took my time with it.
Black T-shirt under an open overshirt the color of worn charcoal. Dark jeans. Fresh fade. Diamond stud in his left ear. Skin warm in the sun. The build of him always got me a little. Broad shoulders. Thick chest. Arms with real weight to them. Not gym vanity. Man strength. His cologne, low and dark and clean, moved toward me on the breeze.
Saturday looked good on him.
He opened my door and waited until I got in before going around to his side.
As he pulled away from the curb, he glanced over once. “You good?”
I smiled at the road in front of us. “I’m actually real good.”
He nodded like that mattered to him.
And I knew by now that it did.
The day unfolded easy after that.
Coffee first. The Strip after. The city full of people who had decided Saturday belonged to errands they could drag out into pleasure if they dressed them right. We walked with our cups in hand while vendors called out prices and music leaked from storefronts before disappearing two doors later.
He held the bag while I judged peaches like they had lied to me personally in another life.
Bought my flowers before I could say no.
Stood there looking entirely too satisfied with himself when the vendor handed them over.
Later, we ended up in a bookstore where he found me in the music section, and somehow we spent fifteen full minutes arguing about cover design and old R&B albums like there was prize money involved.
That was the thing about him.
Even when we weren’t kissing, touching, or somewhere halfway to naked, I still liked being with him.
Liked him.
That part had come too naturally to ignore.
Lunch turned into shared fries and him looking at me over his glass in that steady, watchful way that always made me feel like I was being learned in real time. We ended up by the water in the late afternoon with the city stretched open and forgiving in front of us, and when he stood between my knees and told me I made Saturdays better, the line went deeper than sweet.
Because it was honest.
