Chapter 3 Lets Taco ‘Bout It
Lydea
What am I doing? I don’t know this man. But hell, I am hungry. If the tacos are on the way to my house, let’s go get some tacos.
Champ is already well ahead of Frank, and he’s just driving me home.
He pulls up to an adorable taco truck that’s almost too cute for me to believe it has great food. But the line snaking all through the picnic tables tells me otherwise. Everybody in the line being Black really locks in that seal of approval.
I unbuckle my seatbelt and go to open my door. “Whoa, hold up. Let me get that for you.” He hops out of the car and hurries to open my door, reaching his hand out to help me up.
I take his hand and look up at him, really taking in his face.
Damn. He has a very symmetrical face. It’s attractive. Strong jawline. Razor sharp hairline. Dark eyes you can fall into. This man is fine.
I let him help me out of the car. He doesn’t let go of my hand as he closes the car door and leads me to the back of the line.
“You ever ate here?” He asks.
The smell in the air tells me that although I’ve never been here before, I’ll need to start making a stop.
I strain my neck to look up at him. I bet he doesn’t lie about his height on his dating profiles.
“No. Do you bring your girlfriend here?”
A grin creeps across his face, lighting his whole face up. “I don’t have a girlfriend, but I have brought a date or two here.”
I smile back up at him.
Cool. Cool.
“What kind of tacos do you like?” He asks me, still holding on to my hand.
All the plates on the tables around us look delicious.
“What do you recommend?”
“I keep it simple with the carne asada tacos. Squeeze a little lime on them, and...” He brings his hand to his lips and kisses.
I watch how his lips move. They’re so full and pink. A small part of me wonders what they’d feel like on mine.
I blink, forcing myself to focus.
“Sounds good.”
He licks his lips and grins again.
“Champ!” Someone calls from a table near us.
“Aye, Brandon!” Champ uses his free hand to greet Brandon. I can’t believe I’m still holding hands with this man.
“You got anything open tomorrow?”
“Man, you know you gotta use the app. I don’t have my schedule memorized.”
Brandon laughs. “My bad. I know you like to keep the shop in the shop. You out here on a date too. That’s my bad.” Brandon pats his chest.
“Nah, it’s all good man. I’ll see you next time you come in.”
He didn’t correct Brandon about being on a date. This isn’t a date though. I already went on one of those today. And it was very much a one and done type deal.
It’s a nice evening. The sun just set, and some of the heat in the air lifts just enough to not feel oppressive anymore.
We take a step forward as another order gets filled.
Champ lets his eyes roam over my body. “You look really nice in that.”
“Why thank you. It’s nice to be able to show it off a little more.” I’d been saving this jumpsuit for something special, but that something never came up, so I just went ahead and wore it today.
“It deserves to be shown off.”
I look into his eyes. There’s no game in them. No lines. Nothing. He’s just saying what he thinks.
“How long have you been a barber?”
“Legally?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.
I pull back.
“I’m joking. I been cutting hair since I was in middle school.
I have two older brothers and one younger.
House full of boys, and my oldest brother Andre ran out of time one day before a date to get a haircut.
He asked me to edge him up. I did it so well, he stopped going to the barber, and I been cutting ever since.
I got my license after high school. I went to barber college while I was in high school.
Graduated with a license. Ten years later, here I am. ”
A man who knew what he wanted and went after it.
“How long have you been going on shitty dates?” His grin reappearing.
I laugh out loud.
“My whole damn life.” I can’t say when I had my last good date. It’s been fail after fail after fail. Men ain’t shit.
We step forward again. “Damn. What’s your ideal date then?”
I shrug. Literally nice conversation with someone who doesn’t stink at this point. “Something that just feels natural. No expensive restaurants. Nothing extravagant. A good date is a good vibe.”
“Number 47!” The lady holding a styrofoam container out the pick-up window yells as we step up to order. I haven’t even thought about what I want. Champ suggested carne asada, and they do sound good.
“What’ll you two beautiful people have?”
“The number 4. Carne asada.” Champ answers before stepping to the side.
“I’ll have what he’s having.” I don’t want to hold up the line thinking too hard about this.
“Throw in one variety pack,” Champ adds. “It’ll be a little sampler for you.” He uses his phone to pay, and we step aside.
“Do you take all of the women from bad dates out to eat?”
“Just the gorgeous ones with freckles.”