8. “I get curious, is all.”
“I GET CURIOUS, IS ALL.”
YASMINE
Iwas at Ricochet thirty minutes later.
The place was slow for a Tuesday. Not empty, but nowhere close to packed. A few regulars hunched over beers at the bar while two guys near the back murdered a game of pool one missed shot at a time.
I scanned the room and found him.
Back booth. Right where he said he’d be.
As expected, he wasn’t alone.
Ava sat on one side of the table with that smug little sparkle she got when she thought she’d done something clever. Across from her was a woman I’d never seen before.
Dr. Kimball, obviously.
Though obvious was where my expectations ended.
She was probably mid-thirties, with brown skin, high cheekbones, and tiny braids pinned back into a bun. Narrow glasses. Dove-gray sweater buttoned all the way up. The whole look should have been severe enough to warn people off. Somehow, it wasn’t. Her face was too pretty to sell the threat.
She leaned toward Hale as she spoke, and on the surface he looked relaxed, his smile easy. But I’d watched enough animals in the wild to recognize when one was calculating the distance to the nearest exit.
I didn’t hesitate. I walked straight to the booth and slid in beside him.
“Sorry I’m late,” I said, grabbing a menu. “Got held up.”
The woman blinked. “I’m sorry, who—?”
“Yasmine.” I flagged down a server. “Loaded fries and a margarita, please.”
Ava’s eyes narrowed. She mouthed, What are you doing?
I gave her a small shrug.
“This is Yasmine,” Ava said slowly. “One of our friends. Yasmine, this is Dr. Sasha Kimball. She teaches at the university.”
“Nice to meet you.” I grabbed a nacho and popped it into my mouth.
Dr. Kimball’s smile tightened. “Are you… joining us?”
“For a little bit, yeah. I’m starving.” I leaned back. “What were we talking about?”
“I was telling Hale about my research,” she said.
“Oh yeah? What kind?”
She glanced at Ava.
Ava sighed.
“Postcolonial narratives in Victorian literature,” the professor said.
“Huh.” I nodded. “Sounds intense.”
“It’s fairly demanding, if you’re not used to it.” Her tone thinned.
“I bet.”
My margarita arrived quick, followed a minute later by fries hot enough to burn my fingers. Tuesday-night service had its advantages.
Dr. Kimball turned back to Hale. “So you work with cars?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Interesting.” She took a delicate sip of her wine. “Do you work on all types of vehicles, or do you specialize?”
“Bit of everything. Whatever folks need fixin’.”
The drawl was the thickest I’d ever heard it, slow as molasses and twice as sweet. I half expected to blink and find a piece of straw hanging from his mouth, maybe a Stetson lowered over his brow. Hilarious, because Hale was absolutely not a cowboy-hat kind of man.
“And you enjoy it?” she asked.
He shrugged. “It’s honest work.”
I watched him shrink into her expectation. The small-town mechanic who probably skimmed headlines and called it reading.
Ava saw it too and looked vaguely horrified.
I grabbed the ketchup and settled in for the show.
“I—” Dr. Kimball regrouped. “Where did you study?”
“Here and there. Online mostly.”
“You have a degree?”
He scratched his neck and pondered. “Got some mechanic certifications. Does that count?”
She blinked at him.
He looked back, guileless.
I wanted to laugh.
Dr. Kimball took another sip of wine, her gaze moving over him with a new kind of attention. Like she had noticed something, but pride wouldn’t let her admit it.
“Certifications,” she repeated.
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And that satisfies you?”
Hale smiled. “Depends on the day.”
Her mouth tightened.
Finally, she set down her wine, checked her phone. “I should get going. Early class.”
“Of course,” Ava said.
Dr. Kimball stood. “It was interesting talking with you, Hale, but I suspect we may have different ideas of compatibility.”
“Can’t imagine many folks around here are into Spivak or Fanon,” Hale said mildly. “But good luck with that.”
Her brow lifted. “You’re familiar with the field?”
He tugged at his ear. “Me? No, ma’am.”
“But you know Spivak.”
“That’s just from poking around online. I get curious, is all.”
I snorted.
Her eyes flicked to me, suspicion sharpening. She knew she was being mocked, but not how.
“Have a good evening, doc,” Hale said.
She gave Ava a tight nod that clearly said you’ve wasted my time, shot me one last assessing look, and left.
“You in trouble,” I sing-songed at Ava.
“Think she’ll give her detention?” Hale asked, grinning.
Ava looked between us. “Both of you. What the fuck?”
“What?” I asked.
“You crashed my setup.”
Hale picked up his drink. “You sat me next to a woman who said, unironically, that biographies were the closest she’d allow herself to fiction. Yasmine showing up was an act of mercy.”
“She was—” Ava stopped, pressed her lips together. “Fine. It wasn’t the best match.”
“No shit,” Hale said.
“I need to go after her.” She pointed at him. “But we’re talking about this later.”
“Looking forward to it.”
She left.
The bar noise rushed back in. I ate another fry.
“So,” I said. “Guess you’re not into postcolonial literature or whatever.”
Hale smiled. “I liked the field. Still read in it when I get the chance.” He turned his glass a slow half circle on the table. “Achebe. Ng?g?. Fanon’s better in French, but I ain’t fluent enough to argue with it.”
“Seriously?”
“Seriously.”
I laughed. “Clearly you didn’t need the backup.”
“I’m glad you came anyway.”
“You’re an entertaining man, Hale Henry.”
I checked my phone.
Diana: Nothing available yet, unfortunately. Sorry. I’ll keep you posted.
My chest tightened. I was stuck in this town with Mama and Shaun and whatever fresh drama I’d definitely be pulled into.
Me: Thanks.
“Bad news?” Hale asked.
I shook my head. “Family stuff.”
“Want to talk about it?”
“No.”
He nodded and nudged his drink closer to me.
I took it and drank, letting the burn give my body something else to do. Then I looked at my phone again, like something might have changed in the last few seconds. It hadn’t.
“There is something you can do for me, though.” The words slipped out before I could cage them.
“Name it.”
“Bathroom’s down the hall,” I said, voice low. “Sixty seconds.”
His body went still. The smile dropped away, and whatever joke had been waiting at the edge of his mouth went with it. He held my eyes, read correctly what I was asking for, and everything I wasn’t saying with it.
For a second, I thought he might make me say it plain.
Then he gave me one slow nod.
I slid out of the booth and walked away, past the empty stools at the end of the bar, past the pool tables, past the hallway where the bathrooms sat under a neon exit sign.
Nobody was waiting outside the single-stall door. Nobody was close enough to care.
Only bad judgment followed me in.
I closed the door and counted to sixty.
The handle turned at fifty-eight.
He stepped inside and the deadbolt snicked behind him. For one hot second we only stared at each other.
The room was too small. The music from the bar hummed faintly through the walls, crawling into my bones. Hale stood with his back to the door, jaw tight, chest rising like he’d been holding his breath since the booth.
One short stride and he was on me, his mouth crashing into mine.
My back hit the door hard as he shoved both hands under my shirt, rough palms scorching my skin, thumbs flicking my hard nipples until I was moaning into his mouth.
“Yaz,” he rasped.
“Yes. Now.”
He kissed down my neck, his hand at the button of my pants, dragging them impatiently down my legs. I clawed at his belt, yanked it open, shoved everything down just enough. He was already hard, already leaking when I got my hand around him.
“Condom,” I gasped.
He handed it over. I ripped it open and rolled it down his length, hands steady even if I wasn’t.
Hale didn’t waste time. He grabbed my ass and lifted me, pinning me to the door. I wrapped my legs around his waist, ankles locked behind his back.
The first thrust stole the breath out of me.
“Hale.”
He swallowed the sound with his mouth and fucked me like a man possessed.
Hard, deep, punishing strokes that made the door rattle in its frame.
My back scraped against the metal with every slam of his hips.
Skin slapped loud and wet. Sweat slicked between us.
His dick stretched me so good I couldn’t think, just feel every thick inch of him dragging in and out.
The handle rattled once.
“Occupied,” he barked, never breaking pace, voice gravel-rough.
Whoever it was moved on.
“Hale,” I whimpered.
He kissed me then, almost sweetly, then slowed. The change in pace was worse. Meaner. He held me there and dragged pleasure out of me with grinding strokes that made my whole body shake.
“Take as long as you like, darlin’,” he rasped against my neck. “I got you.”
His hand slipped between us. Fingers found my clit, rough circles that built instead of chased, pressure that lingered just long enough to make me twitch under it.
I couldn’t get away from it. Couldn’t outrun it.
I came hard, pussy clenching and fluttering around his dick, biting down on his shoulder to keep from screaming the whole damn bar down.
He groaned low, thrust twice more, erratic, then locked deep. He pulsed inside me as he came, breath shattering against my skin.
We stayed like that, panting, trembling, his forehead pressed to mine.
The handle jiggled again, pulling the outside world back in.
He set me down carefully. My knees wobbled.
We fumbled clothes back into place, all sticky fingers and crooked zippers and the metallic tang of sex in the air. In the mirror, my reflection looked wrecked and reckless. Eyes too bright, lips puffy.
“Yasmine—”
“Thank you,” I said. It sounded wrong the second it left my mouth.
His face changed.
“This is…” I swallowed. “We’re good. Right?”
“We’re always good,” he said after a beat, careful with the words, like I was something wild deciding whether to run.
I nodded, unlocked the door before he could say more and stepped out.
The hallway felt colder. I walked through the bar without looking at the booth. Outside, the night air slapped my face, and I welcomed the sting.
A few minutes later, when Hale stepped out, I was already in my car with the engine running.
We held each other’s gaze across the parking lot.
He took one step toward me.
I put the car in reverse.
He stopped.
I didn’t.