Chapter 5 #2
A woman like Talia did not make me want more texts. She made me want to hear her voice.
That realization rode with me another minute, then I picked up the phone, looked at her name, smiled without asking myself permission, and called.
It rang twice before she answered.
“Hello?”
Her voice came through lower than it had been in the room, softer too, close enough to do something to me before the conversation even got going.
“Hey.”
There was a beat, and then I heard her smile.
“You’re calling?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I am.” She laughed lightly. “Men don’t really call anymore. They lurk.”
“Lurk?”
“You know exactly what I mean.”
“I think I do.”
The truth was, now that I’d seen her up close and heard her up close, I could understand a man embarrassing himself over her and watching her every move, if he didn’t have no motion. She was just that fine.
I turned the volume down a notch on the speaker and leaned one shoulder against the window.
“You busy?”
“Not especially.” I heard something faint on her end. A cabinet, maybe. Then the soft clink of glass. “You?”
“No.”
A little silence settled after that, easy enough to let the call start feeling real.
Then she said, “Wait.”
“What.”
“Is that Kut Klose?”
That got my attention all the way.
I looked over at the speaker like it had snitched on me. “Yeah.”
She laughed, and this time there was a little more surprise in it. “Not “Surrender”.”
“It is.”
“Okay, Micah.” She sounded impressed.
“What that mean?”
“It means I wasn’t expecting that from you.”
I smiled into my drink. “You don’t know me well enough yet to be surprised by my taste.”
“I know enough to know most men would’ve had some dry-ass playlist on.”
“Nah. Not in my house.”
That earned me another one of those laughs, softer now, and I liked how pleased she sounded that she had caught it.
Liked even more that she knew the song that fast. It did something to me, hearing her clock a deep cut like that off a few seconds of background music.
Made her feel sharper. Finer. More specific.
“Okay,” she said. “I can respect that.”
“Thank you.”
“Don’t get full of yourself.”
Too late.
Then she asked, “So why’d you call?”
“Because texting started feeling thin.”
That earned me another little laugh. “That is almost romantic.”
“Don’t do that.”
“I’m serious,” she said, still smiling. “Men don’t say things like that anymore.”
“Maybe they should.”
“Maybe.”
I let that sit for a second.
Then I heard it again. Ice, then liquid.
“You pouring something?”
“Maybe.”
I smiled into the glass in my hand. “What is it?”
She took just long enough to make me picture her over there in her kitchen, one hip against the counter, deciding whether she wanted to tell the truth or be cute first.
“Grape Kool-Aid.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“What’s funny?” she asked immediately, mock offense all over her voice now. “You don’t drink Kool-Aid? You too good for it?”
“Nah,” I said, still grinning. “Love it. And grape is my favorite flavor.”
That quieted her for half a beat, and when she laughed again it came lower this time, softer too, and that little exchange got under my skin more than it should have.
Maybe because it felt regular in the best way.
Black as hell. Fully her. No polished little answer, no trying to sound like she lived on sparkling water and mystery.
Just grape Kool-Aid in a grown woman’s kitchen, and me liking her harder for it than I already had two minutes earlier.
We sat in that for a second, both of us smiling into the silence. I could feel it even without seeing her, that easy little shared grin people got when a conversation had started feeling good in the body, not just on the surface.
Then she cleared her throat.
“So,” she said, her mellow voice smoothing back out, though I could still hear the smile tucked under it, “what else you like?”
I leaned my head back against the window.
“Besides you?”
The silence that followed stretched just enough to let me know it got where I meant it to.
“Yes,” she said.
And I knew from the sound of it that she was smiling.
I looked out at the city lights and let myself enjoy that for a second.
“I like good bourbon,” I said.
“What’s your favorite?”
“Woodford Reserve Double Oaked.”
“Fancy.”
I smiled but said nothing because I couldn’t. I like what I liked and that was the best.
“ I love, not like, old school R&B. A steak cooked right.”
“Medium well?”
My dick got hard.
Clearing my throat I said, “Yeah. That’s how I like it.”
We were silent a moment.
“What else?” She sounded genuinely interested, which made my typical reservedness turn into loose lips.
“Pittsburgh in the evening when the city stop pretending to be in a rush. Fresh white tees. My mother’s mac and cheese. A woman who knows how to take my breath away.”
“Mmmm.”
That little sound came lower this time, softer around the edges, and whether I was reading too much into it or not, it felt like I was still on solid ground.
“You practiced that?” she asked.
I laughed. “No.”
“It sounded prepared.”
“Maybe I just know what I like.”
“That would be refreshing.”
That put a grin on my face immediately.
“You don’t meet many men like that?”
“No,” she said easy. “I meet a lot of men who like the idea of themselves. That’s different.”
I went quiet for a second after that, smiling into my drink like she could see me through the phone.
I was turned on.
Straight up.
Her mouth was doing it for me, yeah, but it was her mind underneath it that had me leaning harder into the call. Quick like that. Honest like that. Sharp without trying to cut. She said things in a way that made me want to hear the next one before the last one had even fully landed.
“Damn,” I said.
“I’m lying?”
“No,” I said, still grinning to myself. “You not lying.”