Page 50 of IRL: In Real Life
“You leaving again?”
“I’m stepping out.”
“That sounds suspicious as hell.”
“That sounds like you need more work.”
He looked me over, slow and shameless. “You smiling.”
“I’m not.”
“Nigga, yes you are.”
I slipped my jacket on. “If something hits my line, text me.”
He laughed. “Oh, it’s bad.”
“It’s not bad.”
“You keep saying that like I’m the one you trying to sell it to.”
I shook my head and kept walking, which only made him laugh harder behind me.
The elevator took too long.
The lobby took too long.
Everything between me and that bar felt suddenly unnecessary.
And that right there should’ve told me how deep in I already was.
Because it wasn’t just that I wanted to fuck her. I did.
Badly.
But plenty women had made me want sex. Plenty women had gotten a rise out of me, pulled me off my square for a few days, had me thinking with the wrong part of my body before I got myself together again.
This was different.
I wanted to see her.
In the middle of my day.
Before I got home.
Before the date.
Before good sense could get involved and start making rules.
Just to look at her.
Hear her voice in person.
Let the room narrow around us again and see what happened next.
And that kind of wanting had a man looking at himself a little funny on the way downstairs.
The drive wasn’t far,but traffic made it long enough for my mind to get involved in ways I didn’t need.
