Page 10 of Rome: The Ballerina

“It is. It’s collateral.”

“For?”

“Your company. I don’t want to dine alone this morning. I want to hear more about this internal stopwatch and why your nervous system is ever shattered. Somehow, I’m wondering if I can calm whatever parts of you are in an uproar.”

I pushed the lump down my throat. Soundlessness wasn’t my intention. A rebuttal was. Yet, I didn’t have one. I had nothing.

Prrrrrrt.

The sound of the whistle jarred my memory. We were here to run, and that’s exactly what I’d do. The runners started in the opposite direction, urging me to do the same.

“Keep quiet. Keep up. Do not slow me down. Do not try to talk while running. Reserve your energy and mine.”

Without waiting, I took off behind the crowd of Black professionals who had come together to make Mt. Clarke Run Club a reality.

“Yes, ma’am,” the familiar stranger yelled behind me.

Instinctively, I turned and found him behind me, pushing my AirPod into his ear. Brown skin covered every inch of his frame. While he was born to a Black parent, there was something more in the blood he bled. His sun-kissed skin, sandy waves, and amber eyes were my evidence.

Saving my soul while I still had the chance, I faced forward and retrieved my cell. Without unlocking the screen, I pushed the play button, resuming my playlist.

Sade.

SZA.

Cleo Sol.

Frank Ocean.

dvsn.

6lack.

Sevyn Streeter.

Pip Millett.

Snoh Aalegra.

Khamari.

Though short, the list of artists was solid. Quality sounds were released from the small device lodged in both of our ears. Slowly, I pieced myself together after being completely destroyed by the man of my dreams.Literallyand figuratively.

He closed the gap between us, taking his place beside me. The heat from his pensive gaze increased my body temperature. Curiosity wouldn’t allow me to keep my focus. It was divided against my will. I peered in his direction, meeting his eyes while simultaneously inviting him to steal something else of mine.

My heart. You can have it. It’s been yours in every lifetime. It belongs to you in this one as well. Have it.

His thumb lifted from his fist. It flipped almost instantly as his lips retracted, nearly touching his nose as if he’d smelled something foul. Something inhumane. Something downright awful.

Bullshit, he mouthed.

His disapproval of the first track made it clear he wouldn’t be keen on the rest. However, he was borrowing my property. His opinion didn’t matter. Not when it came to my music selection.

Still, I couldn’t stop the earthquake in my chest before it happened. Medium brown, toned legs were placed one in front of the other. The torn shirt revealed his thick, muscular arms. His skin was free of tattoos or blemishes, just like in my dreams.

His nostrils were wide. His lips were the perfect size. His ears were large. His eyes were slightly overwhelmed by the width of his eyebrows. They were to die for. Large. Bold. Thick. Shapely.

God, help me.

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