Chapter 5
Ajori
The Uber app pinged just as I dropped Kyrin off with Lainey for the evening. Four hours was all I promised myself—and him—that I’d be out. Not to mention it was Thanksgiving.
Yup… I was working on Thanksgiving. Bills don’t take holidays, and neither does real life.
If anything, holidays were the best time to drive working for Uber.
People felt more generous when they were full, and drunk folks with money rarely argued about surge prices.
So while everybody else was with their families, laughing, arguing over who made the best mac and cheese, turning up for the night, or carving another piece of ham, I was out carving out another piece of survival in the bustling city.
My pickup was at an upscale cigar lounge downtown, a place known for its rich ambiance and clientele.
Passenger name: Marcos.
I glanced at the screen again before pulling off.
Upscale usually meant one of two things: a rider who tipped good… or one who acted like the person driving them didn’t exist. Either way, I needed the money.
The lounge sat on a corner where luxury cars lined the curb.
With a resigned sigh, I pulled up to the entrance and tapped ‘Arrived’ on my app.
A few seconds passed, then the door to the lounge opened.
Three men stepped out, but only one of them walked toward my car.
The other two stayed behind the rope, talking.
The guy approaching the car, who I assumed was Marcos, stood tall.
Although he looked Mexican, his style suggested he moved comfortably in different circles.
His fit was simple, but the quality spoke for itself.
“Marcos?” I asked, leaning over to unlock the door.
“That’s me,” he replied, his voice deep and smooth, devoid of the slurred undertones of alcohol.
That alone told me he wasn’t the average cigar lounge customer.
He seemed more observant than anything, casually taking in his surroundings as he slid into the back seat, placing a big duffel bag beside him.
Most riders would typically dive into their phones or engage me in small talk immediately… not him. He simply stared out the window; his expression contemplative.
For the first few minutes, the only sounds that filled the car were the distant wails of sirens, the faint bass from passing cars, and the occasional laughter echoing through the night air.
I took another glimpse of him in the rearview mirror. That time, he wasn’t looking at the view; he was watching me.
“You been driving long tonight?” he asked, breaking the silence with a conversational tone.
“Nope… you’re my first pickup.”
“Lucky me,” he replied, a hint of humor in his voice. “You always work on holidays?” he added, keeping the conversation light.
“Depends on the bills,” I shrugged. “They don’t celebrate Thanksgiving.”
He chuckled softly, a sound rich with understanding. “I feel that. Money doesn’t take a day off for nobody.”
After that, he leaned back against the seat and got absorbed in his phone. Unlike some male passengers, Marcos didn’t give off any flirting intentions; instead, it felt like he was studying me… assessing more than just my driving skills.
What exactly? I had no idea.
Be that as it may, Marcos was one fine ass Mexican…
and not in a pretty-boy sense either, more in that smooth, dangerous kind of way.
The dim interior lights reflected off his light brown skin, showing off his sharp haircut and perfectly laid hair, making him look put together without even trying.
His skin was so clear it almost looked airbrushed.
When he talked, a flash of a grill caught the light every now and then, but somehow it didn’t look corny on him…
it fit. And the way he spoke hinted he’d spent considerable time around Black folks.
The slang rolled off his tongue naturally, not forced.
We fell back into silence, but that time it wasn’t awkward; it felt intentional. Then, as we were passing under the highway, a black SUV suddenly swerved into my lane, missing my bumper by mere inches.
“Shit!” I muttered, slamming on the brakes hard enough to jolt us forward.
Marcos remained unfazed. He simply looked at me calmly and asked, “You alright?”
“Yeah.” I exhaled slowly, my heart still racing as I eased back into the lane. “Some people just don’t know how to drive.”
He gave a small, almost approving smile. “You always this calm in situations like that? Most women would’ve laid on the horn, cussed them out, maybe even chased ‘em down.”
“I’ve got better things to do than get shot at over a lane change.”
That made him chuckle, low and genuine.
Halfway down Riverside, my phone lit up with Lainey’s name. I usually let calls go to voicemail when I have a passenger, but my gut said to answer.
I glanced at Marcos in the mirror. “Sorry, this is my friend; she’s watching my little brother. I have to pick up for her,” I explained, my voice steady despite the rising tension in my chest.
He nodded, his attention still fixed on the screen of his phone, his fingers scrolling through whatever distraction was drawing him in. “Go ahead," he said absently.
I pressed the button on my steering wheel to connect my phone. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
Lainey’s tone was low, almost hesitant. “Jo, Kyrin’s saying his chest feels tight. He’s been sitting on the couch since you left. I gave him his meds, but he still looks really tired.”
My own chest tightened hearing that. “Put him on.”
There was a shuffle, and then Kyrin’s voice came through, small and shaky. “Hey, Jo. I’m okay. I just… got tired.”
“Are you short of breath?” I panicked, forcing myself to keep my voice calm.
“A little,” he replied honestly, each word a soft breath against the phone.
“Alright, sport. Listen, I’m on my first and last ride. As soon as I drop them off, I’m coming to get you. Just sit still and relax, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I love you,” I added, feeling a wave of relief wash over me as I heard the slight smile in his response.
“Love you too.”
Lainey came back on the line. “Drive safe, and you don’t have to rush. You know I got him.”
“Thanks, Lainey.”
I ended the call, my heart thudding faster than the tires on the road beneath me.
When I glanced up in the mirror, I found Marcos’s gaze fixed on me. His expression was subtle but scrutinizing. Something about his look felt heavier, more curious than before.
“Look… I’m not trying to pry, but I did overhear that call. Is your brother sick?”
“Something like that,” I answered, perhaps too quickly, divulging more than I intended in front of a stranger.
“Must be serious. I heard that Uber’s real strict about phone calls during rides.”
Of course he’s one of ‘those’ passengers who treats the Uber rules like they’re the Ten Commandments. He probably reminded the teacher about homework back in school.
I tightened my grip on the wheel, a reflex to ground myself. “Look, if you want to report me or complain to Uber—”
“Whoa!” Marcos interjected, lifting a hand slightly. “Relax. It’s nothing like that.”
I flicked my eyes toward the mirror again, my curiosity piqued despite my unease.
“I was just curious,” he clarified. “And for what it’s worth, I’m not the type to mess up somebody’s hustle… especially not someone out here clearly trying to hold things together.”
His understanding felt genuine, and for a fleeting moment, a platonic connection sparked between us, however brief.
He leaned back again, voice calm. “People who choose to work on a holiday when they clearly don’t have to, usually have a good reason.”
I looked back at the road. “I do," I admitted, the words slipping out before I could second-guess them.
And that was all he needed to hear. Instead of pushing for details, I could feel him studying me with the kind of look that took in more than just my face. He seemed to see the weight I carried.
“You ever get tired of driving for scraps?” he asked, breaking the silence that hung between us.
We had come to a stop at a red light, allowing me to glance back at him fully.
“Is that supposed to be a pickup line?” I quipped, trying to lighten the mood.
He smirked, a hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Nah. I just know people… people who pay damn good money for someone dependable. No games. No drama. You look like you’d fit their qualifications.”
I shook my head lightly, unwilling to entertain the thought. “Thanks, but I'm good.”
He chuckled. “I haven’t even told you what the job would consist of yet. But you don’t have to give me an answer tonight.”
Marcos reached into his pocket and retrieved a sleek black business card with silver lettering that caught the light as he presented it. It had no name, just a number.
“Think about it. Call if you want to make more in a week than you make in three months. It’s legit enough… for the right person.”
What does he mean by enough?”
I took it, sliding it into the console without committing to anything. “Have a good night, Marcos.”
“Already did,” he replied, stepping out with a duffel slung over his shoulder. “Don’t lose that card, pretty girl. Opportunities like this don’t stay on the table forever.”
I told myself I wouldn’t call, but my eyes kept flicking to it all the way to pick up Kyrin.