Chapter 15
Meadow was folding clothes in her room, half-distracted when a soft knock hit her door.
“Meadow?” Zaire’s voice drifted through the wood— sounding low, tired, and a little impatient.
She didn’t even have to guess who it was. His airy words and the curve of his vowels would give him away in a lineup.
“Yeah?” she called back, fighting to smile.
The door cracked open and Zaire leaned against the frame, in a wife beater showing her more of his sculpted body. His chain rested against his chocolate collarbone. “You busy?”
Meadow studied him, soaking in all his Black man sexiness. “Not really.”
“Good.” He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous about his impromptu proposition. “Let’s step out, baby.”
“Out where?” Meadow blinked, hanging onto the way he kept calling her baby.
“Anywhere.” He shrugged. “Show me the town. The range cool and all, but I need a drink… wish I had some weed. And I need some air that don’t smell like fresh cut grass twenty-four-seven.”
Meadow cracked a smile. “You wanna go out? With me?”
“You making the shit weird,” he murmured. “I just need somethin’ to do that ain’t me pacing around that old-ass house like a ghost.”
She stared at him, thinking…considering, trying not to read too deeply into the excitement pooling in her chest. “Fine,” she agreed. “Give me time to get ready. I take forever, so don’t try to rush me.”
“Take your time,” Zaire bit his lip. “I’ll never rush a Black woman doing what makes her feel good.”
Meadow’s heart did a full tumble. She masked it with a fake scoff. “You real smooth, ain’t you?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Watch out, cuh.”
She pointed at him. “Go away. I’ll come out when I’m done.”
Zaire saluted her with a smile as big as a kid on their birthday.
As soon as he turned the corner, Meadow rushed to shut the door and pressed her back against it.
Her stomach flipped frantically like she’d swallowed electricity.
She wasn’t mad at him anymore. She’d sat with her feelings and decided his heart was in the right place.
Plus, Magnolia was having a good day which meant Meadow could enjoy the outing without the guilt.
Meadow stepped outside in a tennis skirt and a ribbed top, with her curls pinned back, and her perfume floating behind her in warm waves.
For shoes, she wore cute platform heels that gave her a little height though they still didn’t have her tall enough to reach his chin. She looked good and she knew it.
Zaire sat on the porch steps, scrolling on his phone. His temples jumped and his expression was darker than before. He heard her come out the door and felt her presence but was too occupied to pull his eyes from his phone.
Meadow slowed. “You good?”
He finally turned the screen toward her. A gossip blog headline blared:
IS COOKS WASHED UP? TALK OF A SUSPENSION & SLIPPING SKILLS
Meadow rolled her eyes. “Lord…y’all famous people really let anybody with a phone talk crazy.”
He didn’t say anything knowing what she said was the truth. Being famous came with its own set of obstacles. Ones that had you second guessing everything about yourself all because strangers had unsolicited opinions of you.
“Zaire,” she huffed, nudging his knee with hers. “Look at me.”
He looked up with solemn eyes.
“They don’t know you,” she assured. “They don’t know half of your story. And anybody judging you from a screen probably can’t even hold a fuckin’ club.”
He huffed something close to a laugh.
She added, “And washed up men don’t make Instagram go viral every time they swing.”
His smile came back fully. “Oh, so you watched my games?”
She raised a brow. “Focus, Cooks.” She wouldn’t dare tell him she did.
He shook his head, finally standing to his full height. His eyes finally finding her, sweeping her and soaking her in.
His gaze dragged from her hair to her mouth to the way her outfit hugged every damn curve.
His tongue pressed against the inside of his cheek like he was stopping himself from saying something reckless.
“Damn, Meadow…” His voice went deeper, the curly swoon in it showing up even more prominently. “You look hella good.”
Meadow blushed.
“Fine,” he corrected, eyes still on her. “Like…I wasn’t expectin’ all this. You stepped out like you tryna get chose tonight.”
Meadow tried to hide her smile, but failed instantly. “Please, shut up.”
“Nah,” his head bounced up and down, his gaze lingering on her lips. “I’m serious. You look crazy sexy. Had me forgettin’ what the fuck we was talkin’ about.”
Her stomach flipped and her thighs hugged.
Zaire smirked, watching her pretend she wasn’t affected. “C’mon,” he soothed. “Before I say some more shit and you get a big head.”
She bumped his arm as they walked beside each other. “You already talking too much.”
“Only when the view fire,” he shot back, letting his eyes fall over her one more time.
And she felt every inch of it.
“Where the car at anyway? I ain’t seen nothin’ but Ray’s old truck since I been here. You got horses out back or somethin’?”
Meadow cackled. “No, it’s parked in the other shed.”
Zaire followed her across the yard to the far shed. She unlocked the door, pushed it open and there it sat. A vintage Cadillac. Clean as hell. Cream-colored with the chrome shining even in the dim light.
“Damn,” Zaire muttered, stepping closer. “This a church-step Cadillac... This a Black granddaddy classic right here.”
Meadow smirked. “Ray used to drive it every Friday. Said it made him feel like money.”
Zaire walked around it slowly. “I ain’t gon’ lie…you just earned points I didn’t even know I was countin’.”
“Whatever.” Meadow laughed, hitting him lightly. “I’m driving.”
“Aye, watch out, cuh,” he countered, running his hands down his face like are you kidding me? “Let me get behind that wheel.”
“You don’t know these roads, and it’s dark.”
He paused, then raised both hands. “Aight. But this the last time you drive when I’m around. I’m lettin’ you know that now.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She swayed her head loving the way it sounded.
She slid into the driver’s seat. Zaire took the passenger side, stretching out like he owned every ounce of space around them.
She started the engine and the Cadillac hummed like old money and good memories.
Zaire whistled. “Okay, baby. I see you.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled because his compliments felt better than anything she’d ever heard.
He said it like he meant it, like his sole purpose in life was to hype her up.
Meadow loved that. Having gone so long without praise, her ears forgot what it sounded like and her heart forgot what it felt like.
They rode in silence for a beat until Meadow clicked around on her phone and hit shuffle. The radio in the car was original and only played the local radio station so the music blared as loud as it could through her phone’s speaker.
Leon Thomas’ Crash & Burn played as loud as it could go.
Zaire’s head tilted. “What you know ‘bout this Cali shit?” His head bobbed to the music. The song made him feel like he could smell the ocean and taste the salt.
Meadow looked over at him, “I don’t,” she cracked up. “I tried to put an L.A. playlist together.”
Zaire chuckled, his hand jumping to his chest.
Bouncing her eyes from the road back over to him, Meadow teased him. “Don’t go soft on me now.”
Leaning back, looking too cool, he just smiled. “I’m just chillin’, cuh.”
“Mmhmm,” she pursed her lips. “Oh I didn’t even see the watch.”
Zaire couldn’t hide the grin that crept up. Meadow’s eyes were doing a slow walk over every inch of him in stolen glances as she drove and he felt it.
She dragged her gaze from his wrist up the length of his arm, taking in the tattoos, the cut of his muscles, the way his skin held that deep, warm brown glow even in the dim car light.
Her stare climbed up his face. His cut was clean with perfectly brushed waves.
And then her eyes dropped again, greedily seeking every detail this time.
His tee sat soft against his chest…designer, even though he never bragged.
The denim was fresh, crisp, sitting on his thighs in a way that let you see every hour he spent outside.
A rare pair of white sneakers, something you couldn’t just walk in the store and grab were on his feet. And he looked good enough to fuck.
Zaire stretched his upper body, one hand lifting behind his head, showing off the stomach that peeked out when his shirt rode up. A real body…a man’s body.
The watch was a six-figure vintage piece that collectors hunted for, while he wore it as casually as a Fitbit.
“Something light,” he played into her.
Meadow sucked her teeth. “Okay…money.”
Zaire’s lips twitched into a lazy smirk, his half gaze dipping right back to her thighs like he wasn’t the one being ogled. “Chill, baby,” he muttered, but it wasn’t shy. It was that quiet, cocky, tread lightly vibe.
He sprawled deeper into the seat, legs open, palms resting on his knees. The picture of a man who knew exactly what he had and didn’t need to sell it.
It didn’t take long for them to get to downtown Juniper.
Juniper Falls was small, but people showed up on Sunday nights. The bar glowed from the corner of the strip, music leaking out when the door opened, laughter filtering out onto the street from people who knew each other their whole lives.
Meadow parked the Cadillac and Zaire hopped out, stretching his shoulders.
“Aight,” he joked. “Lead the way.”
“Zaire, shut up.”
They walked in together and heads turned.
People noticed Meadow but not Zaire. Juniper was a small town founded by freed slaves.
It was a place where everyone knew everyone and only every ten years or so did they get a new resident.
Most of Ray’s other famous golf friends, never stepped foot in town.
They were only there for Ray’s calm wisdom before they disappeared never to utter his name or visit the town again.