Chapter 13 #2
I wrapped my arms around myself and leaned against the bike rail, watching the block continue to show its nighttime characters from the party up the street to the cops walking and harassing everyone who looked sketchy.
About twenty minutes later, the headlights slid down the block, and then the car stopped, and the passenger window rolled down.
“Jas.”
Amir leaned across the seat and pushed the passenger door open.
He nodded his head towards the car, and I ran over to get inside. Amir wasn’t in the old school car that I’d seen him in the last time I was around him. He was in a Benz this time. All white with tan leather seats on the inside
Amir pulled off from the block, leaning back in his seat before looking over to me.
“You've been crying,”
“How can you tell?”
“Your eyes are red like a junkies, you're not smoking meth, are you?” I laughed through my nose
“No, but I’ve been crying, screaming, fighting. You name it.”
“Why, what happened?”
“Family shit, but I don’t even want to talk about it,” I muttered, staring out the window.
After a minute of silence, he glanced over.
“Where are you trying to go? To Crew’s spot?”
“Nah, I didn’t call him because I don’t want him to know what went down at the house and why. I don’t want him flashing out on anybody.”
“Alright, then where?”
“To my friend’s house, actually, let me call and make sure she is there,” I replied.
I dialed Maleka’s number, and she answered on the second ring with music blasting like she was in the car.
“Hey birthday bitch, I’m on my way to your house. You at home?”
“No, friend, I’m out with my boo celebrating.”
“Oh, are you going home anytime soon?”
She started to giggle like her mind was halfway on the phone and halfway flirting with this mystery dude.
“No, friend, I’m staying at his spot tonight. I’m sorry.”
“You good, be careful, I’ll talk to you later,” I replied, and the line went dead.
“Friend fell through?”
“Yeah, I guess I’ll just go to a hotel room for the night. I have money left over from Crew’s birthday present deposit that I never spent.”
“Alright, bet.” He continued down the road.
My stomach let out a loud growl, the sound filling the quiet space of the car. Amir glanced over at me, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“You hungry or something?” he asked, a chuckle tucked behind his words.
“Yeah, kind of,” I admitted, pressing my palm against my stomach like I could quiet it down.
“You want me to stop somewhere and grab something? Shit, it’s about time for me to eat, honestly. I haven’t ate anything all day.”
“Oh yeah, that Ramadan thing, huh?”
“Yeah,” he replied, licking his lips like he could already taste whatever we were about to get. His eyes stayed on the road, but his expression softened at the thought of food.
“Well, I’ll eat wherever you wanna stop. You're the one who’s been starving all day”
“Not really starving. I’m used to practicing Ramadan. There’s just too much to choose from. You got pizza, Italian, Jamaican, Latin.”
He started counting off with his fingers against the steering wheel.
That motion drew my attention to the watch sliding down his wrist. It was a gold, clean watch with no flashy diamonds, but you could tell it cost money. Same with the chain around his neck. It wasn’t iced out or anything, just a simple piece that looked heavy enough to cost real money.
I've noticed that Amir wasn’t flashy at all, but he still had an undeniable swagger about him without doing too much. Everything about him fit the style of the plain clothing he wore. He was quiet money, no extra shine.
Amir slowed at the light, glancing left and right like he was debating which way he should go in his head.
The glow from the streetlamps slid across his face, and I admit, I was staring hard as hell at this beautiful ass man.
He was gorgeous, not just the gangsta kind but the kind that could be on the cover of magazines.
It was his skin, the glow underneath, the way his eyebrows were dark, but perfectly shaped, just like his beard.
“You ever had halal off the food trucks?” he finally spoke up after deep thought.
“No, I can’t say I have, have you?”
“Yeah, plenty of times. I used to always break my fast with Hala food. I remember as a kid, after sunset, my pops would pull over and grab four plates for my brothers and me to eat in the car before we even got home. I remember, I couldn’t see what was in front of me in that dark ass backseat, but I knew it was good. ”
“Really? That sounds nice. I wish I could say I had memories like that with my dad. You are lucky,” I said, watching him.
He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Yeah, well, those memories were good, but not all of them.”
“I hear that,” I replied. I could tell the conversation was heavy on him, so I tried to change the subject.
“So, you say the food is good. I didn’t think I would like it, so I never tried.”
He smirked, like he expected that answer.
“That’s because you're not open-minded, but that’s okay. It took me years to get a turkey sandwich from the bodega around here.”
“Shut up, you for real?”
“Yeah, my father, Mecca, always said that was trash food. I believed him, too, up until I saw a lady on the train ride home a few months ago eating one, and I almost asked her for a bite.”
He and I shared a laugh.
“Why were you on a train when you have more than one car?”
He looked at me and raised his left eyebrow before staring back at the road.
“I was handling business that involved me not being in my car.”
“Mmm, I think I know what that means.” I shook my head because I knew it was something illegal.
When the light turned green, instead of going straight, Amir made a smooth right turn in the middle of the street without flicking his blinker. We rode a good way before he ended up slowing down and easing the car toward the curb.
Up ahead, a halal cart sat on the corner, and the smell of the seasons and different flavorings seeped through the closed windows.
Amir parked, cutting the engine but leaving the music low. I reached for my door, and then he spoke up.
“Nah, stay here,” he said, already reaching for his wallet. “
“I got you. I’ll order everything.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. This is your first time, so I have to order it for you to make sure you get the right food. I’m sure you picky as hell, like most women.”
“That’s true.” I grinned shyly.
He stepped out and walked toward the truck. The owner greeted him, and I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but the head nodding, laughing, and smiling from them both made it seem like they were familiar with each other.
At least twenty minutes went by as Amir waited outside the food truck, and I sat in the car watching him.
Every few seconds, he glanced over his shoulder back toward me, clearly keeping his head on a swivel for more than one reason.
The streetlight caught how sexy he was, almost in a cinematic way.
The kufi on his head sat perfectly, and the Cartier glasses he had were enough to make him both gangsta and mysterious, to say the least.
There was something about the way he stood.
All calm but alert, with his hands relaxed at his sides, posture straight without trying.
When the man inside the truck handed him the bags, Amir grabbed them, reaching out with one hand while the other slid into his pocket.
He pulled out cash and dropped it into the tip jar, making the man in the food truck smile even brighter than when he first approached.
Watching him from the passenger seat, I felt a nervous flip in my stomach for a completely different reason other than fear.
He wasn’t even trying to impress me, and that somehow made me want him even more, but I wasn’t about to deal with the same rejection I got the other night.
If you could even call it that. He did enjoy the little show I put on.
Amir opened the driver’s door and slid back into his seat. My stomach tightened instantly when the scent of the food hit my nose. It smelled even better inside the car. He reached behind him and carefully set the white plastic bags on the backseat.
“So, what did you get?” I asked, turning slightly to look over my shoulder.
He started the car before answering, one hand on the wheel while the other adjusted the bag so it wouldn’t slide.
“I got some chicken over rice, and lamb over rice, because I wasn’t sure which one you’d like yet.
There is white sauce on both, with a little hot sauce, but not too much because I wasn’t sure you could handle much spice.
There is also extra pita on the side and fries.
Oh, and a couple of sodas because they didn’t have much else cold. ”
My mouth watered from all the food he was describing, and I couldn’t wait to dig in.
Instead of heading back toward the streets we came from, he went in the opposite direction, driving a few blocks in silence, then merged onto the Brooklyn Bridge.
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere quiet where I can enjoy my food in peace. You're not in a rush to get to that room, are you?”
“Of course not, I’m fine.”
“Yeah, I agree. You are that.”
I couldn’t help but flash a smile at that response.
We crossed the bridge, then he pulled into a parking area near the water and cut the engine. When I finally paid attention to the view, I saw he had brought me to Brooklyn Bridge Park.
Amir reached behind him, grabbed the bags, then opened them one by one in his lap and handed me the top container.
“Careful. This shit is still hot. That’s the lamb, try that one.”
“Perfect.” I rubbed my hands together.
“Thank you for this, Amir. Everything smells so good.”
“It’s really no problem. I needed this just as much as you. Now dig in and tell me what you think.”
I opened the lid of the food and took one bite, and my eyes enlarged from the party of flavors.
“Oh, my goodness, what the hell have I been missing?”
“Bussing right.”
“Bussing, bussing.”