Chapter 6 #4
“Nah,” Heavy corrected, “I just know some women don’t watch their surroundings. You in the hood, too? Nah. Niggas are grimy and be looking for an easy come-up. Stay inside that job from now on, ‘fore somebody gets hurt.”
That somebody wouldn’t be her.
His words made her pause and think. The thought hadn’t even crossed her mind, but he was right. Cyren still struggled to accept that some people got it by any means necessary.
“Okay. You’re right. Next time, stay inside. Heard you,” she teasingly replied, but took his words seriously.
“See how easy that was?” Heavy jested. “You sound real good taking directions. I like that in you.”
Cyren melted in her seat. She wasn’t sure if he knew just how fucking turned on his words made her, and was sure those weren’t his intentions, but voilà, he’d flipped a switch. His confidence should’ve annoyed her. Instead, it made her smile.
“You always think you’re right?” she asked.
“For the most part.”
“That sounds insufferable.”
Heavy laughed, lowly. “You still smiling, though.”
Cyren’s lips immediately flattened. “You can’t see me.”
“I don’t need to.”
He heard it all in her voice and would’ve preferred to see it on her face in person, but timing was everything. Heavy was a patient man, for the most part; a few more minutes wouldn’t hurt.
“Whatever, sir.” It was all Cyren could say. He was right again.
Heavy finally made it to the window to pay and headed in her direction.
“This shit smells good. Want me to see if your fries are hot?” he asked.
“Sure. Wait, no,” Cyren said, laughing. “That was a trick question. You told her to make sure everything was fresh.”
Heavy chuckled, hopping into the left lane. “Quick on your feet. Impressive.”
“Clearly, I have to be with you.”
“I see.” His voice held a smile. “That might be a problem.”
Cyren leaned back in her seat, smiling to herself. “For who?”
“For me.”
Her smile widened. “That sounds like a good thing to me. Can’t let you catch me slipping again.”
“Damn”—he laughed—“it’s like that?”
She laughed softly, shaking her head. Cyren wasn’t talking about the fries.
“Mhm. Mr. Smooth Talker. You still haven’t told me how you got my number.”
“If I tell you, you gotta do something for me.”
Cyren sucked her teeth. “Nope. I’m hanging up.”
Heavy laughed. “No, you ain’t.”
She hated how confident he sounded.
“Watch me.”
“Before you do all that threatening,” Heavy said, his tone softening just enough to make her listen closely, “you feeling better today?”
The question caught her off guard. It was so simple. So genuine. Cyren knew he wasn’t talking about her hangover she kept telling him she was going to have. She looked out the window at nothing in particular, contemplating her next words. The mood had shifted, but she wasn’t sad about it.
“I am, actually,” she admitted. “Even though I almost called in so I could sleep.”
“That’s good. You can always rest when you get off.”
She swallowed past the emotion creeping up unexpectedly. “True. Thank you again for getting my mama a cake. That really made my night.”
“It was nothing. You ain’t gotta keep thanking me for doing something I wanted to do.”
His words wrapped around her chest in a way she didn’t know how to process.
“And for checking on me today,” she quietly added.
Heavy was silent for a beat before speaking again. “You’re welcome. Get used to it.”
Cyren blinked. “What does that mean?”
“It means…” He paused, making her hold on to his every word. “I’m bouta pull into the parking lot. This you in the Audi, right?”
He remembered the car being parked in the driveway at Nia’s but wanted to make sure. She could hear his blinker and the faint hum of his engine.
“Yes,” she answered as he whipped his SUV into the lot, backing into a space beside her.
Thankfully, they were facing the street.
It was exactly where Heavy wanted to keep his eyes.
Cyren barely had enough time to check herself in the mirror.
Her pulse quickened and immediately betrayed her.
She glanced at his truck, wondering if he was looking her way.
His Tahoe sat up much higher than her A7, but she, too, had tint.
Behind her windows, Cyren checked her glossed lips, adjusted her necklace, and stepped out of her car with far more composure than she actually felt.
The afternoon cold wind had her rushing around the front of his truck, hurriedly opening the door.
She didn’t even have time to realize that he was pushing it open from the inside.
She climbed in, immediately hit with the smell of his cologne mixed with leather and the lingering scent of fried food.
It smelled entirely too good in there. When she slammed the door shut and glanced his way, he was frowning.
“What’s wrong?”
“Let that be the last time you touch my door handle.”
Cyren blinked before laughter escaped her. “You’re for real?”
“Yeah, I am, and you laughing, but I’m serious. Don’t do that shit again.”
Her bottom lip poked out. “Okay,” she whined, agreeing. “Technically, I didn’t open it.”
Heavy gave her a pointed look, and Cyren slowly lifted her hands with a smile.
“I’ll let it slide this one time,” he told her.
She smiled as she accepted the bag from him, immediately feeling the warmth through the plastic. “Thank you. I’m starving.”
“You welcome.”
He watched her, loving the new look she was rocking. A half-up, half-down hairstyle put her gorgeous cheekbones on even more of a display. Heavy could tell she was makeup-free today, and even finer than she was on Friday. He couldn’t help but smile and let her know.
“You’re pretty as hell, you know that?”
Cyren stopped rubbing the hand sanitizer together and glanced at him. She’d heard it more times than she could count, especially from men. Their expressions of admiration hadn’t seemed to affect her the way Heavy’s had. Complimenting her would be his new hobby.
She smiled, softly. “Mhm. Thank you. How was your day?”
Heavy adjusted in his seat, giving her his full attention. “Cool. Been handling a few business matters.”
Cyren stuck the straw inside her cup and sipped. “You own a business?”
Heavy’s jaw shifted almost imperceptibly. Truthfully, he did. Just not in the way she imagined. Not in a way he could comfortably explain and expect her to understand over spicy wings and fries in her job parking lot.
“Something like that,” he answered, smoothly.
Cyren slowly nodded, not sensing the layers beneath his response. “That’s nice though… not having to answer to anybody.”
“Yeah. It has its moments.”
Cyren pulled out a fry and immediately smiled after tasting it. Seeing her happily dancing in her seat was so satisfying. It gave Heavy a high without having touched any form of drugs.
“They’re good and hot,” Cyren acknowledged.
Heavy laughed. “They better be.”
“Here,” she handed him a few to taste.
Graciously, he popped them in his mouth, and she openly stared while he chewed.
Heavy was unintentionally good-looking for no reason.
His locs hung loosely today, with no fitted hat hiding his brown eyes that had specs of honey peeking through.
Cyren loved his masculine, strong nose, full lips, and well-defined jawline—prominent, unfiltered features of a Black man that made him so damn attractive and a threat to this cruel world. He needed to be protected at all costs.
“Good?” she questioned.
“Yeah. They straight.”
She nodded and dug into her chicken. By now, her lunch break was almost over, but she didn’t want to go back inside yet. A comfortable silence fell between them before Heavy broke it.
“What you doing after work?” he asked.
Cyren blinked. The question felt loaded. “Going home...”
He laughed. “You sure? That didn’t sound like it.”
“Because I feel like that’s a trick question.”
“Nah. No tricks this time. Just seeing what you were on.”
“Mhm.”
“I’m asking ‘cause I wanna see you.”
The honesty in his tone knocked the air from her lungs more than any smooth line could have. Heavy was simple and direct. Cyren looked out the windshield at the nearly empty parking lot, suddenly very aware of how fast things seemed to be moving between them and how little she cared but should’ve.
“You’re literally seeing me right now,” she said, softly.
“What that got to do with later on?”
Her lips twitched. “That seems like enough seeing me for one day.”
Heavy was quiet for a moment. He accepted her rejection, knowing it came from a place of fear—not of him, but of what they could become.
Or maybe it was him. Heavy felt dangerous to her in ways that had nothing to do with his six-foot four-inch, 235-pound frame, deep voice, or the dangerous streets Cyren knew nothing about, and everything to do with how easily he made her feel seen.
Nia told her to be careful with her heart, and here his ass was trying to steal it. She was going to tell on him. Cyren reached for another fry to give her hands something to do, but her appetite had started competing with the butterflies swarming her stomach.
“It’s not that I don’t want to see you,” she quietly admitted, keeping her eyes on the food in her lap. “I just think we should slow down a little.”
Heavy studied her profile, taking in the honesty in her tone and the nervous way she kept adjusting the Popeyes bag in her lap.
He understood. Didn’t mean he liked it, but he understood.
“Slow down,” he repeated. “That’s what you need?”
Cyren finally looked at him and nodded. “Yeah.”
Heavy leaned back in his seat and let out a quiet breath through his nose before giving her a small nod of his own.
“A’ight. We gon’ take this shit as slow as you need.”
But what is this? Is what Cyren wanted to ask, but she kept her composure. She’d already drawn a boundary, and he respected it. She respected him more for not catching an attitude or making a slick comment to make her feel bad.
“You’re not mad?” she asked.
Heavy looked at her like the question genuinely confused him. “Why would I be mad?”