Page 15 of Another Constant

“What about people’s feelings? Their emot—” I started, but he interrupted.

“None of that is my problem.”

“And your girlfriend’s feelings?”

“Don’t got one of those.”

Him saying he didn’t have a girlfriend shouldn’t have sent a jolt down my spine, but it did. Why did I care when I had surely written men off for the foreseeable future, plus this man was my mechanic, nothing more.

“You telling me you care about everybody’s feelings, so you lie to them?” he then asked.

“No. I show people who I am from the beginning, so I never have to lie and they never have to wonder what side of me they’re getting.”

“Respect. Do me a favor and go sit in that oldie over there, ma. I’m about to have to weld some shit and the last thing I need is your fine ass going blind on my watch.”

I did as he asked, taking my phone with me. For the remainder of the time, he fixed my car and we made small talk, allowing me small glimpses into his personality with responses to any question I asked.

* * *

“Where are you headed after this?” he asked, eyes trained on me as he leaned against the side of my truck.

I glanced at my watch, noticing it was way into the evening. “Probably take it in.”

He looked at me for a minute, then he spoke again, “Come eat with me.”

My whole body panicked. Why was this fine ass man asking me to eat with him at eleven o’clock at night? The only thing open at this time of night was legs. Shit I didn't mind if it was mine, but that wasn’t the point. “What’s open at this time of night?”

“A lot of shit. You're just thinking uppity, ma.”

“Oh really? Like what?”

“Mama’s or Billions?” I watched as he pushed the work suit down his frame, showcasing a pair of gray sweats he’d been wearing underneath.

When he said Mama's, a big ass smile filled my face. “A rib platter from Mama’s with the homemade potato wedges on the side sounds like a plan.”

He smiled. “What do you know about that?”

“Enough. Do you want me to meet you there?”

“Hell nah. While the metal dries, we’ll leave your car here. You're riding with me. I mean, unless that’s a problem for you.” He had a coy smirk on his face.

“Why would it be a problem for me?”

“I’on know. You tell me.”

I waved him off, then went around my car to grab my purse. Once I had it across my shoulder, I met him at the front of the garage where he was busy tapping away on his phone.

I was shocked when he opened the passenger side door for me to get into his truck. Shit, even more shocked when he waited for me to get in and closed it. He was impressive in a “damn I didn’t expect that” type of way.

Once we were settled and I was seat belted, he pulled out of the garage. I thought he was about to blast some of that YN-remixed R&B. He struck me as the type. He didn’t though, instead he let whatever was on the radio play.

“You ’ont got a nigga somewhere tracking your moves, do you?” he asked out of the blue, making me look in his direction while he stared ahead at the road. God this man was fine.

“No,” I responded simply. I’d heard of guys tracking their women, but that was overboard for me. If a man wasn’t married to me, then what did he need my location for?

“Why not?” he asked, as if it was a simple question. That it was not. I also wasn’t expecting him to ask me so coolly.

“Because he needed a break and I gave him that. Now he has a baby on the way and believes things are supposed to go back to normal.”

---