Chapter 3 #4
Iron didn’t lie. It didn’t sugarcoat or gaslight; it simply was what it was.
I was two sets into my chest presses when I saw her.
Jonay, in all her glory. She had on a hoodie, and her pretty hair was slicked back.
She was confidently showing off her sexy, toned thighs, and her ID was securely attached to her hip.
She was on the treadmill, row four.
Her legs moved as if she was trying to outrun something. But her eyes, those lovely brown eyes, were focused on nothing in particular. It was as if her body was in motion while her mind was trapped somewhere in a moment of betrayal.
I froze mid-curl, uncertain if I should speak or leave her pretty ass in her solitude. She hadn’t noticed me, and I wasn’t sure if I should interrupt her peace.
She slowed to a walk with her towel casually draped over her shoulder and sweat glistening across her collarbones like diamonds in defiance.
Stepping down from the treadmill, she reached for her water bottle.
When she turned to face me, our eyes locked for a moment that felt timeless.
Everything else in the gym seemed to vanish.
It was just me, her, and whatever God was trying to write into this chapter.
She blinked, and I nodded in response. With a subtle tilt of her chin, she communicated a clear message: “I see you, but I’m not trying to do this right now.”
I approached her slowly, making sure not to crowd her, just allowing my presence to be felt.
“You good?” I asked.
She didn’t smile, but her eyes weren’t cold either.
“Depends on what day you ask.”
“That bad?”
She took a sip of water and leaned against the wall, her body language guarded but not closed off.
“That real.”
I rubbed the back of my neck, trying not to look at her lips for too long. “You always run like somebody chasing you?”
She looked me straight in the face and said, “Aren’t they always?”
Damn.
That stopped me for a second. I nodded slowly. “Fair point.”
She looked me over once, not with lust. With discernment.
It was as if she were trying to see what kind of man I was without asking.
“Are you here to work out?” she asked.
“Nah. I came to emotionally spiral on the rowing machine.”
That got her pretty ass. She laughed softly; it was enough for me to feel like I had captured something sacred.
I took a small step closer.
“Look, I’m not tryna press you. I know you have a lot going on. I can feel it on you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “So, you read women now?”
“I read energy, and yours been screaming since the hospital.”
She crossed her arms. “So what do you want? A thank you for speaking peace over me like some poetic patrol officer?”
I grinned. “Nah, I want your name to stop echoing in my head every night like it paid rent.”
She blinked, caught off guard. Then she smirked, as if trying to figure out if I was being sincere or flirting on the clock.
I was doing both.
“Are you always this smooth?” she inquired, a playful arch to one brow as a mischievous smile danced across her lips.
“Only when I mean it.”
We stood there for a second too long. The silence between us stretched like elastic about to snap.
She then took a step back.
“I gotta finish my reps.”
I nodded. “I’ll let you get to it.”
She turned and walked away. But halfway down the row, she stopped, a flicker of uncertainty crossing her pretty face. She turned back and said, “Elias, right?”
I nodded slowly in agreement.
“Let me give you my number,” she said, her voice casual, but her eyes were focused on me as if she were testing my reaction, trying to see if I would fumble or flex.
“Are you sure?” I asked, eager as fuck and trying not to seem too excited as I pulled out my phone.
She smirked. “I’m not sure about anything except that you’re consistent and quiet.”
I chuckled as I handed her the phone. She typed slowly, paused after entering her name, then looked up.
“Don’t blow me up.”
“I won’t,” I said. “Just a ‘you good?’ type dude.”
She handed it back and started walking.
Then she turned, glanced over her shoulder, and added, “Elias?”
“Yeah.”
“I remember things that feel real, genuine. Don’t make me regret that.”
I watched her leave, my jaw clenched. I didn’t know what this feeling was, but I knew one thing for certain: Jonay Jacobson was a storm I was ready to face.
As I slipped into the cozy booth at Crème & Chill with EJ, I felt as though I was about to take flight from sheer exhaustion.
Yet, despite the weariness weighing on me, I kept a smile on my face and made an effort to be present.
That was the essence of fatherhood. It was about showing up, even when your spirit felt heavy and your energy was spent.
The shop was a Black-owned gem in the heart of Self Ridge, Texas, alive with flavor and culture.
Murals of legendary jazz musicians and Black authors stretched across the walls, painted in bold purples, deep golds, and strokes of midnight blue.
The air was thick with the scent of brown butter waffle cones crisping on hot irons, roasted pecans drenched in caramel, and fresh strawberry purée that made the whole place smell like summer.
Behind the counter, two sisters in matching tees that read Scoop Dreams Are Made of This laughed with a customer, their energy warm enough to melt even the hardest heart.
EJ bounced beside me, his little hand still gripping mine like I was his favorite security blanket. He wore his Spider-Man hoodie zipped all the way up, his cheeks flushed with excitement, as if trauma had never tapped on his window. That was because I made sure it never got close enough to knock.
“Daddy,” he whispered with sticky lips, “can I get sprinkles and the gummy worms?”
I feigned a frown, raising an eyebrow playfully. “Are you tryna have a sugar stroke before bedtime?”
He chuckled softly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “I promise I’ll brush for real this time,” he declared with a playful grin.
“You ain’t even brush your tongue this morning.”
“I did!”
“Boy, your breath smelled like broken promises and Capri Suns.”
He laughed so hard that his shoulder bumped against mine. For a brief moment, I didn’t feel the ache.
After we placed our order, he eagerly dug into his cup as if joy were a topping he needed two scoops of. I just sat there watching him, thankful that I hadn’t given up on life when it seemed to give up on me.
This boy saved me. He inspired me to want to be better and to stay. Even amidst this sweetness, Jonay still crossed my mind. That face, those guarded eyes, that sharp mouth, and heavy silence. She lingered in my thoughts.
She was the kind of woman who didn’t seek attention, yet it found her effortlessly. She made people want to understand her on a deeper level, rather than just being with her.
I pulled out my phone and stared at the screen for a few seconds.
Elias:
You good?
It was simple. No pressure, no games, just a genuine man checking in on a deserving woman. I set my phone aside, took another bite of EJ’s ice cream, and leaned back in the booth.
That was when the little silver bell over the door chimed.
I looked up, and there she was. Jonay.
She had on distressed jeans, a yellow cropped hoodie, and locs pulled into a messy bun that somehow looked like a crown.
The shop lights kissed the gold flecks in her brown eyes, making her look like honey drizzled over fire.
She caught sight of me and paused, the corner of her mouth twitching like she was fighting a smile.
“Fancy seeing you here,” she said, stepping inside fully.
Before I could reply, EJ shot up in his seat. “Miss Pretty!” His voice was sticky-sweet, just like his ice cream.
She came over, leaned down, and without hesitation, looked at EJ’s ice cream and went back to hand the cashier a few bills. “Can you add extra sprinkles to his cup? On me.”
EJ lit up brighter than the neon sign above the counter. “Yesss!”
I shook my head. “You spoiling him.”
Her gaze slid back to me, playful, teasing. “Maybe I’m spoiling you too, and you just don’t know it yet.”
Damn. She said it so softly, but it hit harder than any shot of espresso.
I smirked, leaning back, trying to play it cool, even as my chest tightened with want. “Careful, Jonay. You keep talking like that, I’ma start thinking you like me.”
She blushed and ordered her ice cream then came to sit with us, handing EJ sprinkles to dump over his ice cream.
She dipped her spoon into the Strawberry Dream ice cream she’d ordered and lifted it slowly, letting the ice cream linger before sliding it past her lips.
Her tongue flicked against the silver, catching the drip, and my whole body went on alert.
My throat locked, my pulse hammered, and I had to lick my bottom lip just to ground myself.
Her eyes caught the movement, and she didn’t look away. “And if I did?” she asked, voice low, laced with something daring.
I wanted to groan right there in that booth.
Watching her eat ice cream felt like watching sin dressed up as Sunday best. The way her mouth curved around the spoon, the way she closed her eyes briefly to savor the taste—I wanted that to be me she savored.
I wanted to be the flavor melting on her tongue or her lingering on my tongue.
Damn. Get it together, E, the fuck? Ya baby boy is here, man.
I leaned forward, elbows on the table, voice rougher than I intended. “Then I’d have to make sure you never regret it.”
She arched a brow, swirling her spoon in the cup. “That sounds like a promise.”
“It is,” I shot back.
Her lips tilted, a sly grin forming. “You think you got that much pull with me already?”
“I know I don’t,” I admitted, honestly, because she deserved it. “But I want to. And I don’t half-step with what I want.”
Her laugh was soft but sharp enough to slice through my defenses. “You always talk this smooth, Detective, or am I special?”