Chapter 9
9
T he second I stepped into Vibrations, it felt like stepping back in time. The scent of aged vinyl, wood polish, and faint incense wrapped around me, settling into my bones like a song I’d known forever.
It had been years since I’d last been here, but nothing had changed.
Not the way the light spilled through the high windows, catching the rows of records stacked in their crates. Not the worn-in leather couch by the window where people used to sit and talk music for hours. Not the way this place made me feel—like a girl again, like the one who used to follow Amir into these aisles, pretending not to care when he stood too close.
That girl still lived inside me. And as I stood at the entrance of the shop, I felt her coming back, pressing against my skin, whispering all the things she had once wanted and never had the courage to take.
Amir brushed past me, his shoulder grazing mine, the heat from his body lingering longer than it should have.
"You good?" he asked innocently.
I blinked up at him, my pulse stuttering. Swallowed hard. "Yeah."
But I wasn’t. Not even close.
The air between us still hummed from what he’d said in the car—what he remembered, what he wanted. My skin tingled where he’d touched me years ago. My mind kept looping around one word from the past.
Please.
The vibe between us was thick. Charged. Like we were walking through an unfinished sentence neither of us knew how to end.
"Look who finally decided to stop by."
I turned toward the counter to see Mr. Reggie, leaning back in his chair, shaking his head like we were two kids sneaking back in after causing trouble. His beard was fuller now, more salt than pepper, his fitted cap still low on his head. But those dark, knowing eyes hadn’t aged a day.
"Been a long time," he said, sizing us up.
"Too long," I admitted, smiling.
"Much too long," another voice chimed in.
I turned to see Nia, Mr. Reggie’s daughter, walking in from the back. She was taller now, more grown, the kind of woman who carried herself like she knew exactly what she was doing.
"I knew y’all were overdue when I saw your names pop up liking the grand reopening post," she teased, arms folded.
Amir smirked. "I should’ve known you were lurking."
"I own this shop now, gotta keep tabs on my people," Nia shot back.
Mr. Reggie grunted, flipping through a crate at the counter. "I’m still alive and kicking. You just think you run things..”
"Uh-huh," Nia muttered, already walking past him.
I smiled, my chest warming at the easy familiarity of it all. Being here felt good. Like I’d stepped into a memory.
"So what brings y’all in today?" Mr. Reggie asked, leaning his elbows on the counter.
Before I could answer, Amir beat me to it. "I need to re-up. She does too, but she’s acting stubborn about it."
I turned toward him, brows lifted. "I’m not stubborn." I just don't want you to know how much I really want you to be mine.
"You’re real selective," he shot back, flashing that lazy, knowing grin that had always been my weakness.
Nia snorted from behind the counter. "Some things never change."
The second we started flipping through records, I felt it. The shift.
Amir pulled a vinyl from a crate, the sleeve worn at the edges, and flipped it between his fingers before glancing over at me. "Tell me you’re not about to just grab one and call it a day."
I rolled my eyes. "Tell me you’re not about to buy up every soul album like it’ll ever go out of style.”
He gave a low laugh. "That used to be your thing. I was strictly boom bap and breakbeats, remember? But I’ve been converted."
I paused, surprised.
"You converted yourself," I said, softer this time. "Started sampling Donny and Minnie like you were raised on it."
He smirked, but there was something else behind it—something reverent. "That’s because I was listening to you, Amaya. Always have."
My throat tightened. I turned back to the crates, pretending to be engrossed in the rows of vinyl. My fingers hovered over an Earth, Wind & Fire album before sliding past it. The speakers overhead crackled lightly—and then it came on. Golden Time of Day.
Maze.
The opening chords drifted through the shop like sunlight pouring through a window. Warm. Sensual. Lush.
I froze.
Beside me, Amir stilled too. His head dropped slightly, his fingers tapping against a crate—not randomly, but with purpose. Like he was working out a rhythm in his head. Constructing something. I didn’t have to look to know his brain was already mapping a beat, dissecting the layers, finding what could be flipped.
"You hear that bassline?" he murmured, almost to himself. "That’s crazy."
I nodded, something tightening in my chest. I knew that voice. That concentration. He was in the zone, even here.
The teasing, the casual ease—that had just been foreplay.
This was the real Amir.
Then Mr. Reggie passed by, grumbling under his breath. "Y’all still fussing over records? Ain’t nothing changed."
Amir and I both paused, catching each other’s eyes—and we grinned.
And then, the music shifted again.
The soft, sultry opening chords of Mel’isa Morgan’s “Do Me Baby” poured through the speakers, thick as honey and just as dangerous.
I inhaled sharply—suddenly, too aware of Amir beside me. Of how close he was. Of the heat radiating from his body, curling into mine like smoke.
Of how my breath caught when his fingers brushed mine at the edge of the crate.
“Let’s dance, A,” he said, voice low. Velvet-wrapped intention.
I looked up at him—my heart hammering against my ribs. “What?”
His hand slid gently around my wrist. Warm. Sure. Familiar.
“Come on,” he said, lips curling just slightly. “Just one.”
I looked at him. Really looked.
And I felt it.
The memory of his mouth between my thighs. His hands anchoring me. My whisper— please —still hanging somewhere between us.
His eyes held mine, steady and dark, pulling me into that current we never quite swam out of.
I should’ve said no. Should’ve made a joke. Something.
But I stepped toward him instead.
His hands found my waist, slow and certain, curling around me like they already knew the shape of my body. Like they remembered what it meant to hold me.
My hands slid up his chest, resting on his shoulders. Solid. Strong. Still home.
His scent wrapped around me—spice, heat, and memory. I tried not to tremble under the weight of it.
We swayed.
Slow. Deep. The kind of rhythm that came from something older than us.
The music faded into the background.
All I could hear was the rhythm of us .
The catch of my breath.
The soft rasp of his fingers slipping just beneath the hem of my shirt, brushing skin—hot, sensitive, exposed.
I sucked in a breath.
“I should’ve kissed you back then,” he murmured.
I didn’t look away. I couldn’t.
My heart thundered. “Amir…”
He leaned in. Eyes burning into mine.
And then—his lips found me.
Soft at first. A question.
Then deeper. A memory.
His tongue slipped past mine, coaxing me open with ease, with heat, with everything we hadn’t said.
I melted. My knees buckled.
He caught me.
One strong arm banded around my waist, pulling me against the length of him—thick and pulsing and unmistakably hard.
I gasped into his mouth. He groaned into mine.
His hand slid lower. Gripping me. Holding me like he didn’t plan to let go.
Our foreheads touched, breath tangled.
I was dizzy. Drenched.
Ready.
My body screamed yes.
Even if my mind was still catching up.
And then—the chime of the front door.
We jerked apart.
Nia walked back in, humming casually, but her smirk said everything.
I stepped away, heart still pounding, my lips tingling.
We had crossed that line and there was no coming back from it.