Chapter 3 #3
I sank into my seat and tried to focus on the court. The Skylines were warming up, red jerseys flashing beneath the lights. My chest finally settled, right until the aisle behind us filled with a low rumble of male voices. Mel’s eyebrows lifted first.
“Oh, no way,” she said, eyes widening.
I turned, and there he was again—him—fresh shirt, same calm swagger, eyes sharp. Behind him trailed a sibling-looking copy with a chain and a grin that could start problems. They stopped at our row, tickets in hand.
“What’s up, wifey?” His voice came in deep and lazy, but there was purpose underneath it.
“You in your man’s seat. Look at you, getting comfortable in my atmosphere.
” His mouth tilted, amused. “Slide over for me, mama. Let me sit where I can protect my peace.” His deep voice drawled, amusement curling at the edge.
My mouth parted, but my brain stalled out somewhere between Who he calling wifey? and Why it sound like a future instead of a joke? No sound made it past my throat.
Mel, however, was already in motion, mischief dancing all over her face like it was housed there. “Oh, we absolutely moving for your man,” she announced, making an executive decision on my behalf. She traded seats with me before I could gather my dignity.
He dropped into the spot beside me, his long legs folding into the narrow space like he belonged there, as if the seat had been waiting for him.
The scent of cedar and soap moved with him, smooth, confident, wrapping around me like a good song when the bass hit.
My throat betrayed me as I swallowed twice.
Get it together, I scolded myself. He just sat down. He didn’t propose.
My body didn’t hear the logic. My body heard his voice. It heard the way he said mama as if it was more than just a nickname. It felt intimate, like he knew my middle name and all my soft spots, and I desperately yearned to hear him say it again.
“I’m sorry about your shirt. I can pay for the cleaning,” I managed, because my manners were the only thing standing upright.
He laughed low, warm, and unbothered. He turned to me, eyes steady, present. Intentional. He was choosing this moment on purpose.
“Don’t insult me, baby,” he said, soft but firm, correcting a thought that didn’t deserve to live in my head. “That’s a small thing to a G.”
I blinked, still nervous. “I’m serious.”
“I am too,” he replied, and something about the calm in his tone made my stomach flip. “Listen—”
He lifted a hand like he was breaking it down in simple math. “A little spill isn’t a loss. It’s a trade.”
“A trade?” I echoed, because my brain wanted to argue, but my heart was already leaning in, invested.
He nodded, his mouth curving. “Yeah. The shirt got stained, but I got introduced to you. That’s a profit.” His gaze dipped to my face like he was reading me, then came back up. “I don’t pay attention to temporary mess when it leads me to permanent alignment.”
Permanent alignment? Lord. Why is he flirting like he has a degree in it?
My cheeks heated, and I attempted to look away, but it felt like his eyes had gravity.
“Besides,” he added, his voice dropping an octave, “if you hadn’t spilled it, I would’ve walked right past my blessing like I don’t have no sense. And I’m not that kind of man.”
The wink that followed was controlled and calculated. He knew exactly what it would do to me—he was soft crash-out energy wrapped in tenderness and theology.
I looked for an exit that didn’t exist. My lungs forgot their job. My heart started acting like it had a crush on my future.
This man is dangerous. But I wasn’t afraid of him. I was in awe.
Mel clapped her hands once. “Yaaasss, accountability and flirting: my favorite combo.”
The fine stranger didn’t break his composure. He glanced at Mel like she was background noise, then looked back at me as if I was the main event.
“See?” he murmured, voice for me only. “The universe already co-signing.”
His look-alike leaned forward, elbows on his knees, looking me over like déjà vu. “Damn, you pressed over that shirt, ain’t you, pretty lady? You don’t remember me from The Pour House, huh?”
I blinked. “You were—Oh, the guy that asked about Mel when she left?”
He snapped his fingers. “I knew you’d remember. I told this fool you were fine and professional. Didn’t know you’d be adorable as hell too.”
“Ease up, Cuzzo,” he said, his voice low but edged calmly enough to sound sharp. “I’ll lay you out behind this one, on everything. Stop flirting with my wife. What you on?”
He lifted just a little, shifting his weight like a warning sign. His shoulders squared, his jaw tight, eyebrow raised up like he was inviting a choice and prepared for the consequences, daring his cousin to continue.
“Respect the line,” he added, his tone steady. “Play like that again, and we’re gonna have a whole lesson right here.”
His cousin laughed and raised his hands in mock surrender, retreating. “My fault, Roman. I’on want no smoke, fam. You got it.”
Mel laughed loud enough to draw stares. “Ms. Pureheart here never leaves the house unless it’s work or her granny’s appointments. I’ve been praying for this very moment. All praises be to the King of Kings, and the Lord our God. He is won-der-ful.” This damn fool sang aloud.
Roman—because, of course, the universe would give a man like that, a name so powerful—turned toward me with his eyes half-lidded. A soft grin tugged at his mouth like he already knew where this was headed. “We gon’ have to change that, wifey.”
“What do you mean?” I asked, forcing my voice to stay even, like my pulse wasn’t tapdancing.
He looked me up and down slowly—just appreciating with manners, then settled his gaze back on my face like that was where the real treasure was.
“Putting your pretty self in last place when you clearly number one,” he said, his tone warm but certain. “I got you though. That’s done. Consider it handled.”
I arched a brow, trying to hold on to my little bit of pride. “How you know I want anything to do with you, sir?”
His smile widened like he enjoyed the fight in me. He leaned closer, and the space between us tightened, the air turning thick with intention.
“Mmm,” he hummed, eyes dipping to my mouth for a heartbeat before returning to my eyes. “Call me that again.”
My breath caught like my lungs forgot the assignment God permitted for them. Heat climbed up my neck, blooming into my cheeks—loud, obvious, traitorous. He noticed. Of course, he did.
“I love how your freckles get all red when you get shy,” he said, voice deep, making me melt in my seat.
I turned back to the court before my brain misfired completely. “Can I enjoy the game, please?”
“Of course, love,” he said, chuckling. “Just answer me one thing . . . Where am I taking you after it’s over, beautiful?”
I choked on my drink. “I don’t know you!”
“That’s the point,” he said simply, like it was the most reasonable thing in the world. “I want to fix that.”
Mel covered her mouth, shaking with laughter. “Girl, he smooth like butter.”
I ignored them both and locked in on the court just in time to see Amil Baker, my favorite player, snatch a rebound, run it down the court, and dunk so hard the arena shook.
The crowd jumped to its feet like one body, electricity rippling through the stands.
I was on my feet screaming, all teacher composure gone.
“Let’s gooo!” I screamed, hands cupped around my mouth as if my lungs belonged to the Skylines.
Behind me, somebody in the opposing team’s jersey barked, “Aye, shorty, could you sit the fuck down already? Damn, I can’t see through yo—”
Before the sentence could finish forming, Roman was already rising. Not fast or frantic, just inevitable.
He stepped between us like a door closing—broad shoulders, solid stance, his presence swallowing the space so completely it felt like the air itself changed its mind.
“Aye, watch your tone and your mouth when you speaking to her. You understand me?” he said, voice low, controlled, and lethal.
The man blinked, hands lifting in mock surrender. “Aight, man. Chill. Damn.”
Roman didn’t move back until the dude looked away first. When he did sit, it was smooth and unbothered, like he hadn’t just put fear in somebody’s chest with his voice. Then he turned to me, and his tone changed instantly, gentle. “You good, baby?”
I nodded, my cheeks hot for a whole new reason. “You didn’t have to—”
“Yeah, I did,” he said, simple as truth. No speech, just a statement, as if protection was a reflex he didn’t debate.
Mel leaned across me, stage-whispering, “Lord, protectiveness looks good on a man.”
“Lord,” I echoed under my breath, because she wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit.
The rest of the game passed in a blur of points, music, and near touches. Every time I moved, his knee brushed mine. Every time I cheered, he smiled like he was watching something better than basketball.
When the final buzzer sounded and the Skylines won, the arena thundered, and lights flashed. Speakers were booming, and strangers hugged like family. Roman stood and stretched, his shirt riding up just enough to confirm every suspicion I’d ever had about gym memberships and dedication.
“C’mon, wifey,” he said, holding his hand out as if it belonged there. “We’ll walk y’all out.”
Mel’s eyes sparkled. “You heard the man.”
I had just met this man, a stranger, a random collision in a stadium seat, but his presence did not alarm me. It steadied me. So, I let him walk to the car with me.
Outside, the night air was cool, crisp enough to clear your head if your thoughts weren’t busy doing somersaults.
The parking lot buzzed with laughter and horns as people spilled into the dark.
Roman and his cousin, Bryce, flanked us like security, with easy conversation filling the walk.
Bryce talked junk, and Mel matched him word for word, both loud and playful like the night owed them joy.
I was quiet because my pulse hadn’t found its normal yet.
At my car, Roman stopped and turned to me like the noise didn’t exist unless he allowed it.
“Are you going to give me your number,” he requested, his voice smooth, “so your pretty little self can text me when you make it home safe, . . . or you going to have me over here creating scenarios in my head worried about you, mama?”
His smirk was there as he looked down at me licking his lips, but behind it, beneath the teasing, there was something softer—concern dressed up in charm.
Mel was already unlocking her door. “Give that man your number, Solé. Don’t be stubborn with ya husband now.”
I hesitated long enough to see the softness behind his smirk. He held his phone out to me, patient. He wasn’t rushing anything, but he wasn’t backing away either. My fingers typed before my brain caught up.
When he looked down at the screen, he grinned like he’d just won something.
“Future Wifey,” he said aloud, saving the contact like a signature on a contract he meant to honor.
My jaw dropped.
Mel squealed so loud half the lot turned. “I love it! He already manifestin’!” she yelled, acting like she was part of the wedding party already.
Roman winked, stepping back as I fumbled for words.
“Drive safely, beautiful,” he said, voice lowering, softening.
“I’ll see you soon. Don’t forget to text me when you make it in.
I would follow you, but I don’t want to scare you off by being too forward.
” His gaze held mine, steady, respectful, and warm. “Say you’ll text me, mama.”
“Good night. I will,” I said, but it came out more like a whisper.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and that praise was gentle, but it rearranged things.
He opened my door, waited until I got in, closed it like I was precious cargo, and walked away.
As we pulled off, Mel clapped her hands together excitedly, still squealing.
“Girl, he called you wifey! And you let him! I can’t wait to sing at your wedding.
What the fuck am I gonna sing? You used to love some Brian McKnight, but we ain’t fuckin’ with his ass no more.
Maybe some Luther or . . . I’ll figure it out.
Don’t even worry about it.” Her crazy ass rambled on excitedly, spiraling into playlists and vows like the ring was already ordered.
My heart kept replaying the night in little scenes: his voice in my ear, his body blocking mine, him walking us to my car, and the way he looked at me like I was something worth handling gently. A smile snuck up on me before I could stop it.
Maybe NanNan was right. Maybe it was time to stop blocking my blessings.