Chapter 15 #3
“You,” she blabbed without thinking.
“What I do?”
“Breathe,” she snorted.
Rena groaned. “Lord help me.”
Hayley dropped off another round of drinks including Meadow’s third and Zaire’s second.
“You good?” Zaire asked, his thumb brushing her knee like it was normal.
Meadow nodded, but she was lying. The high and the alcohol blended into a soft buzz that made the music hit deeper. Her body started moving on its own, hips swaying in her seat to the beat.
Brent watched her like a man starving. “Damn, you still dance like that?”
Meadow flipped her curls. “I still do everything like that.”
Zaire’s hand slid higher up her thigh, warm and possessive. “Like what?”
Meadow giggled, eyes low and red.
The difference between Zaire touching her thigh and Brent doing it earlier was night and day.
He didn’t grab her with lust. His touch felt protective, possessive, strong, and sexy as hell.
Meadow’s breath hitched. Zaire felt it because where she was at in her mind, he was there too. His thumb stroked her bare skin, dangerously close to promise.
Brent cleared his throat. “Meadow…I’m goin’ to Emerald City next weekend to see my brother. You could ride with me…see Tia.”
Meadow blinked. “Oh… uh…”
Zaire spoke first. “She busy.”
Brent lifted a brow. “You her mouth now?”
Zaire smiled. “She tells me things, cuh.”
Meadow flinched. “Zaire…”
He shrugged. “What? You did.”
Rena leaned back, arms folded. “This a hot mess.”
Meadow kept moving to the beat, body loose and warm, and suddenly she wanted to dance.
She stood up as best she could while being in the booth. “I wanna dance.”
Before Brent or Rena could speak—
Zaire pushed his leg out and stood allowing Meadow to get out. “C’mon.”
They made their way to the tiny little piece of a dance floor where some patrons were already grinding to a raunchy song by Nar. The music thumped, filling Meadow’s body.
Meadow stepped between Zaire’s arms, her back brushing his chest. His hands found her waist like they’d been looking for a place to land.
The lyrics made Meadow’s body buzz. Nar was talking that shit.
Left cheek, right cheek, do a lil’ spin,
Drop it to the floor, let me see it again.
Lil’ waist, fat ass, that’s a backbend,
Make that thing talk to me - that’s my best friend.
Meadow danced…hands on her knees, back arched. That ass sitting real pretty.
Zaire’s eyebrows jumped up before he even realized it. “Oh…okay, then.” His pink tongue swiped across his juicy lips.
Meadow hit a slow, deep bounce first, warming her legs up. Then she snapped into it, throwing that ass back to Nar’s filthiest line.
Zaire matched every move she threw, his fingers digging into her side with pressure that should’ve made her pull away. Instead, Meadow damn near jumped into him more. Heat rushed up her stomach like a flame had been dragged across her skin.
She never knew she liked being touched there, but the second his hand landed, her whole body reacted— blood pumping faster, heart skipping, something low in her tightening up without her permission.
His warm breath tickled her ear. “Got me trippin’ in this bar.”
She laughed, still twerking on him, her ass hitting him perfectly on every beat. “You trippin’ off this? Damn, you easy, Mr. Cooks.”
Zaire’s head fell back as he laughed loud, from the belly.
She loved the way it sounded in her ear. It was so soothing that it drowned out the music. Her skin prickled with bumps.
“Your mouth gon’ get you in deep trouble, baby.”
“Relax…I’m just getting started.” Her juicy ass clapped against his dick that she felt jump.
He bit into his lip, pulling her in more so she could feel what she did to him. “If I ain’t think you was too fuckin’ perfect, I’d take you in the bathroom and give you the best dick of your life…I’m trying to be good but you wildin’.”
“Zaire,” she whispered his name just as his finger started to inch up her short skirt. He could feel the heat between her legs the closer he got.
“Say my name like that again and I swear we’re leaving.”
Meadow only gulped but didn’t dare say it again. She knew her rose was going to get put to work later tonight, though.
Their bodies moved together like the song had pulled them into the same rhythm with her ass bouncing, his hips catching every hit, and their breaths brushing each other’s skin.
She felt the heat rolling off him, the way his chest rose and fell quicker than before, the way his grip got tighter each time she pushed back.
Zaire leaned in again, his breath hitting the side of her neck. Meadow felt the pulse in her throat jump…felt the beat thudding under her ribs…felt him steady her like he needed her body just as much as she needed the music.
“You a problem.” The scent of the bourbon and weed mixed against his skin like the best cologne she’d ever smelled.
She smiled without opening her eyes. “You started it.”
“You want me to finish it?” He slid one hand up her ribcage, just exploring the lines of her body.
Her knees wobbled but she wouldn’t dare fall. She had too much going on to fall.
Rena scoffed, storming onto the dance floor and physically cutting between them like she was breaking up a fight. “My turn.”
Meadow stepped back with her hands up. “Have fun.”
Zaire’s jaw ticked. He tried to step around Rena, but she grabbed his arm and dragged him into a sway she thought was sexy.
Meadow cackled, shaking her head.
Brent immediately appeared at her side. “You wanna dance?”
She lifted her brows. “You’re fast.”
He shrugged. “You looked lonely.”
“I’m not,” she said, but she took his hand anyway.
Brent pulled her in close, his hand on her hip. “You good?”
“I’m vibin’. You?”
“Jealous,” he admitted with a smirk.
“Oh.” She was too high to say anything else.
He laughed. “You cold as hell.”
“I’m not,” she laughed, knowing she could be tough on men.
Usually, she’d play along with Brent’s flirting but tonight all she wanted to do was touch and tease Zaire.
But for how long, though? How long would Zaire be around until he packed up and went on his merry way like all the other golfers?
Meadow didn’t know, so it was best for her to keep Brent tucked in her pocket for when life went back to normal.
He was handsome and had a little money. There potential was there.
But while Brent talked, Meadow’s eyes drifted over his shoulder to Zaire dancing with Rena.
He didn’t touch her like he’d touched Meadow…
wasn’t growling in her ear and was barely in sync with her choppy movements.
Zaire looked at Meadow, watching her like she was gravity and he was being pulled whether he wanted to or not.
Every turn…every sway…every step she took with Brent…Zaire tracked her like a wolf in the woods.
Their eyes stayed locked across the floor… hungry… annoyed… amused… curious and full of everything neither of them wanted to say.
The four of them eventually drifted from the dance floor after a few more songs.
Meadow slid into the booth first.
Zaire followed, his jaw tight from Rena’s little performance.
He finished the rest of his bourbon in one slow swallow, then he looked at Meadow.
Her cheeks were flushed…her eyes glossy…her smile lazy and dangerous.
“Yeah,” Zaire tapped the table, making decisions for her. “You done for tonight.”
Meadow blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You’re high,” he announced like she didn’t know. “And that last drink wasn’t little.”
“I’m fine,” Meadow pouted.
“You’re not.” Zaire stood up. “Get up, Meadow.”
“Nigga…” Brent jumped up, only coming to Zaire’s chin.
“Meadow.” Zaire kept his voice calm. “C’mon, baby.”
Meadow stood there frozen with every pressure point in her body thumping on beat. She wasn’t scared, but his assertion stopped her dead in her tracks because that tone wasn’t optional.
Zaire was a man.
A protective one.
Independent women could spot them a mile away. They were the only kind of men that could tell you what to do, because they could tell you what to do.
And she folded just like he knew she would. See, Meadow wasn’t that hard to figure out. Not when he’d been raised by the same kind of woman. Zaire knew the ins and outs of women like her. Women like Lesha.
Brent stepped forward. “If you need a place-”
“She don’t,” Zaire cut him off.
Brent narrowed his eyes. “I wasn’t talkin’ to you.”
“But I answered, cuh” Zaire challenged, unbothered and daring him to make the wrong move.
Rena perked up. “I could take her home…”
Meadow turned to her. “Girl, you gotta be at work at seven. You need to go home too.”
Rena deflated instantly.
Zaire placed his hand on Meadow’s lower back. It was warm, firm, and guiding.
Meadow wanted to snap at him but her body melted instead.
There was no more back and forth because when it came to being a man and saying what he said, Zaire didn’t negotiate.
They stepped out into the night, Meadow sucking it in with a deep inhale.
“Baby?” Zaire pulled her attention to him and off the passersby who didn’t matter. “When I say something, don’t talk back, just move like I tell you to move. I told you, I ain’t with all that arguing. Everything is not a debate.”
A shiver ran up her spine so fast she didn’t have time to brace herself.
Her body swayed and her pulse flipped against her throat.
Meadow hated to admit that the firmness in his voice was like an aphrodisiac.
It shut her the fuck up and contrary to what most men who encountered would believe, she liked the idea of shutting the fuck up.
“C’mon.” He gritted, before they made their way back to the car.
Zaire took the keys out of her hand so smoothly she didn’t realize it. “Move.” He sidestepped her, walking around to the driver’s side.
“I can drive,” she protested, wobbling only a little.
“You can’t drive a damn thing,” he muttered. “Get yo’ ass in.”
She went to snap back but stopped when those brown eyes seared into hers.
“What I just say, cuh?”
She slid into the passenger seat, limbs loose and floaty.