Chapter 15
Iloved going on dates with him.
Not the ones where we got dressed up and went out to show off, even though those nights always ended with my thighs open and his mouth somewhere swollen.
I mean the quiet ones. The thoughtful ones.
The kind of dates that gave me something to carry.
That made me want to write poems I didn’t want anyone else to read.
Tariq made me want to know things. Know him.
We were in East Liberty, tucked between a pawn shop and an empty lot, parked outside a laundromat that had burned a few days ago. He’d asked if I wanted to join him on a stop. I said yes before he even finished the question.
I liked riding with him. Riding him too.
I liked the way his hand rested on my thigh when he drove. Liked the bass and cadence of his voice when he pointed out buildings with history. I liked the way his mind worked.
He stepped out first, scanned the street, then opened my door.
“I should’ve brought you coffee,” he said. “Next time.”
“You think coffee is gonna keep me from noticing all this soot?”
He smirked. “Nah. But it would’ve softened the sting.”
We walked into the space—charred, empty, the ceiling black with smoke. Tariq crouched down like it was second nature, gloved hands tracing a melted electrical socket.
“This the kind of thing you do every day?” I asked.
He nodded once, then looked over his shoulder.
“Pretty much. But I’m selective. I got pulled into fire inspection years ago.
I was young. Still on engine duty. One of the battalion chiefs, older brother named Rawlings, noticed how I walked through scenes.
Said I had a nose for the shit most people ignored.
Started teaching me everything he knew.”
Tariq stood and dusted his gloves off.
“It’s like putting a story back together. You look for the moments—the burn marks, the smoke patterns, the melted pieces—and they all tell you where the heat started. And what it wanted.”
My breath hitched.
He looked at me. “You good?”
I nodded, slowly. “That was just... poetic as hell.”
He laughed. “You always like fire metaphors?”
“I always like you.”
That quieted him. But not just from surprise. It was something else. Something deeper—something vulnerable. His eyes lingered on me a little longer. His jaw tensed like he had more to say, but wasn’t sure how. And I realized something in that silence.
This wasn’t just a date.
This was him showing up. Choosing not to push me away again.
We didn’t speak for a while after that. Just walked through the building, him pointing out details I never would’ve caught—how the ceiling told the truth better than the walls, how accelerant leaves a trail, how heat has a language.
And I listened. Fully.
Because this was the answer to the ache in my chest. This—him letting me into something ugly, something sacred, something real—was how he told me he wasn’t going anywhere.
By the time we got back to the car, my skin smelled like smoke. My clothes held it too. He said he needed to shower. I told him I was coming with.
His apartment was quiet.
He peeled off his jacket, then my coat, then pulled me close like he couldn't stand the inches between us. We undressed in silence, our clothes heavy with ash, until we were standing bare in the warm light of his bathroom.
He turned on the water. Held out his hand. “Come here.”
The shower was slow. Tender. Water coursing over our shoulders as we touched, kissed, pressed close like we had nothing else to say. He washed me with careful hands, dragged his palms down my back, over my hips. I turned to face him, needing to see him. He pressed his forehead to mine.
“You know why I brought you today?”
“Tell me.”
“Because I wanted you to see what I see. How I think. How I put things together.” He paused. “Because it matters to me that you know who I am. Not just the parts that kiss you right.”
I kissed him then. Slow, deep, reverent.
He lifted me in the water, my back against the tile, and entered me with a groan so quiet it could’ve been a prayer. We moved like we’d been carved for this. Like nothing else had ever made more sense than this kind of closeness. Our bodies slick and hot, our breath catching in tandem.
He whispered my name when I came. Held my face in his hands like I was made of something sacred.
We stayed in the water until it ran cool.
That night, after we dried off and climbed into bed, I laid my head on his chest and listened to the beat of a man I was falling in love with all over again.