Chapter 23 #4
“Well,” he continued, stepping closer with a relaxed confidence, “since you’re already here, you might as well have a cup of coffee with me.”
My brow furrowed in confusion. “Coffee?”
“Yeah. I want to know more about you."
My heart skipped a beat. “Me?”
“You,” he confirmed. “The girl who has been the topic of discussion these last few weeks.”
There was no flirtation in his tone, just the straightforward curiosity of someone genuinely interested.
I hesitated for a moment, weighing my options, then nodded slowly, feeling a mixture of curiosity and nervous excitement. “Oh. Okay.”
Domino reached for a shirt draped over a nearby chair and pulled it over his head, effectively concealing the very things I had been trying not to stare at. With a casual motion, he beckoned me to follow.
“Come on.”
As I trailed behind him outside, my mind couldn’t shake the image of that tattoo. I made a mental note to ask him about it later.
We sat across from each other at a quaint glass table in a cozy breakfast nook that offered a breathtaking view, overlooking the water.
Domino poured two steaming cups of coffee from a carafe without a word, sliding one toward me.
“Drink,” he commanded lightly, a charming glint in his eyes. “It’s strong.”
“Thank you.”
I took a sip and winced, caught off guard by the boldness of it.
“Whew! You weren’t lying. It's strong, but good.”
“Only the best,” he bragged.
“Question... how did you know I like my coffee black?"
A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he quickly curtailed it. “You don’t strike me as a sugar-and-cream type.”
I lifted a brow. “You don’t know me like that.”
“Not yet,” he replied, a teasing lilt in his voice.
We settled into an unexpected silence, each of us studying the other.
“So,” he finally broke the quiet, folding his hands on the table. “You ever been out of the country before?”
“No… first time.”
He nodded slightly, his expression momentarily softening. “You settling in okay?”
I shrugged. “So, so. All of this still feels so unreal.” I hesitated before blurted out, “Why do you always look so mean?”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard by the unexpected question. “Mean?”
“Yes,” I insisted, pointing at his face as if his expression could be analyzed like a chart. “You look like you wake up mad at the air, like the world has done you a disservice.”
A low chuckle escaped him, surprising me. “I look mean because I have to.”
"Have to?” I retorted, trying to grasp the logic in what he was saying.
“If you look soft, people will think you are, and in my line of work, that gets you tested,” he explained, a hint of seriousness threading through his tone.
“So you just… wear the face?”
He nodded. “Every day. Keeps folks from trying me.”
I took a moment to study him, searching for something beneath the stoicism.
“I think beneath that hard face is probably a really thoughtful man… maybe even a good one,” I ventured, hopeful that there was more to him than what met the eye.
At my words, his eyes darkened slightly. “You don’t know what you talkin’ 'bout."
“Maybe not,” I conceded, “but I’m usually good at reading people.” My voice held a hint of confidence as I held his gaze.
He shook his head slowly, like my words entertained him more than they should have.
“People like me ain’t meant to be read; we’re meant to be feared.”
I smacked my lips lightly, unfazed. “Everybody ain’t trying to fear you; maybe some of us are just curious.”
That earned me a look… the kind that lingered.
“What you curious about?” he asked, his tongue dragging slow across his bottom lip, almost daring me to probe deeper.
And for a split second, my mind went somewhere it shouldn’t have.
Curious about how that mouth feels when it’s not talking.
I blinked, snapping myself back.
Yeah… absolutely not.
Clearing my throat, I forced my thoughts back into place.
“I'm curious why you’re so invested in what I did, why you wanted to meet me… and why you keep looking at me like you’re trying to solve a puzzle," I stated, trying to regain some control over the conversation.
He leaned back slightly, appraising me with a piercing expression before letting out a quiet breath.
“You thinking on shit too hard. It’s just a conversation. Ain’t no hidden agenda behind every question… or look."
I narrowed my eyes at him, skepticism creeping into my mind. “You sure about that?”
“Positive,” he asserted. “You’re not the only one who knows how to read people; you’re just the only one announcing it out loud.
You came into this world, handled business cleaner than people who been doing this shit for years, and now you want to disappear.
I understand why. Still, I wanted to know a little more about you…
that’s it. Ain’t no mystery to solve.” He shrugged slightly, dismissing any confusion on my end.
I huffed softly, a smirk playing on my lips. “Mm-hmm.”
I leaned back in my chair, tapping my nail lightly against the cup, a tiny frown of contemplation crossing my features.
“Well… since you’re so curious,” I said, a hint of sarcasm creeping in, “let me give you the highlight reel. I’ve been working since I was old enough to lie on an application. Fast food, retail, cleaning up after people who look at you like you’re invisible… the usual.”
I paused, the words heavy with meaning.
“Then I upgraded to two jobs,” I added dryly, letting the irony settle. “Because apparently one struggle doesn’t pay enough bills. I did all that just to stay afloat, not even to get ahead, just… not drown.”
As I spoke, I could feel the memories washing over me, each struggle a wave threatening to pull me under.
“And that’s the part people don’t tell you,” I continued, my voice growing more animated.
“You can do everything right and still be one bad situation away from losing it all. My brother has had his condition since birth, but a few years back, he got really sick. And suddenly… surviving wasn’t enough.
Because when it’s just you, you figure it out, but when it’s somebody depending on you, you don’t get the luxury of failing. ”
My fingers curled slightly against the table.
“So... I became what I needed to be; not because I wanted to, but because I didn’t have the option not to. And before you say it, yeah, I know it was risky, but so is being broke with responsibilities.”
Then I leaned back again, masking it with a small smirk.
“So there you go,” I finished, trying to sound nonchalant. “Nothing special. Just a girl out here doing what she had to do.”
His expression didn’t pity me; if anything, it sharpened.
“That ain’t nothing, that’s everything. Most people talk about doing what they gotta do, and you actually did it. That’s the difference. That also tells me more about you than anything you just said.”
I held his gaze, feeling exposed in a way I didn’t quite know how to process.
“And what does it tell you?” I asked, impatiently awaiting his answer.
“That you’re not soft; you’ve just been forced to move like you are. And that kind of woman?” He sat back, more relaxed but still focused. “Yeah… I was gonna be curious about her.”
A different kind of curiosity bloomed within me. “Well, can you at least tell me what that tattoo on your back represents?” I asked, my tone shifting to one of genuine intrigue.
His expression didn’t change, but something about him went a little more still, as if he was carefully considering how much to reveal.
“The black king?” he quizzed, tilting his head slightly.
I nodded.
“It represents power and position. It’s also the one piece on the board everybody moves for or tries to take.”
His fingers tapped lightly against the table.
“But it also means responsibility. Everything falls if that piece does.”
“And the red?” I pressed further, wanting to peel back another layer.
His jaw tightened just slightly. “That’s the cost. Blood… sacrifice… the shit people don’t see when they’re looking at the title.”
It didn’t sound like a metaphor; it sounded like experience, hard-earned and etched in scars.
“So… Domino. That’s really your name?” I asked, seeking clarity.
He turned his head slowly, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made my pulse quicken. “That’s the name people use around here."
“That wasn’t my question,” I challenged lightly.
“That’s what you should call me,” he stated firmly, as if that title held significance beyond just a name.
“What I should or what you’d prefer?” I nibbled at my bottom lip, gauging his reaction.
“Both,” he answered, the tone leaving no room for argument.
I rolled my eyes playfully. “Well, I’m more interested in your real name.”
His jaw tightened visibly. “You don’t need that.”
I chuckled. “See… mean!”
Domino stared at me for a moment that felt suspended in time, just looking, maybe even admiring. Then, breaking the silence, he introduced himself, “My name’s Damari. Don’t get comfortable using it," he called himself, trying to give me a warning.
I scoffed, the slight offense rising in me. “I had no intentions of saying it too many times… or ever,” I replied, making it clear that I didn’t plan on getting too familiar.
A curious brow arched above his deep-set eyes, clearly amused by my reaction.
Oh, God… why did I have to phrase it that way?
His tongue swept lightly across his bottom lip, an indication that he was wrestling with an inappropriate comment. “You sure about that?” he mocked playfully, a hint of mischief evident in his voice.
Heat surged up my neck instantly, an involuntary response to his provocative tone.
Yeah… he definitely twisted that in a way I hadn’t intended.
I straightened in my seat, scrambling to recover. “What I meant was—”
“It’s cool,” he interjected smoothly, cutting me off before I could clarify my words.
I cleared my throat, attempting to shake the moment off while shifting nervously in my seat.
“Anyway... so Damari,” I repeated, letting the name roll off my tongue deliberately, testing both the name and him.