Page 14 of Broken Clocks
PAST
Agonizing.
That was the only way to describe the forty minutes I sat there waiting. Every time I shifted in my seat, I prayed a big-ass wet spot didn’t end up on my skirt. Watching ten sweaty Black men run up and down the court was doing something to me. Too much for one girl to manage, honestly.
Donte’s team won. He spent a few minutes talking to his teammates, exchanging money and daps. Then he finally gave me his full attention.
“Let’s go get something to eat,” he said, grabbing my hand and tugging me toward his car.
I pulled my hand back.
“I’d rather drive myself,” I said, trying my best to sound sweet so my words didn’t come off sour.
He didn’t look happy about it. Oh well. Granny taught me never to be stranded without a way home, and I lived by that.
I followed him to a little hole-in-the-wall fish market. He waited for me by the door. After we were seated and ordered, he leaned back in the booth with his arms folded behind his head, eyes on me like I was dessert.
“What?” I asked.
“Just wondering’ what those lips would feel like wrapped—”
An elderly waitress cut him off before the vulgarity finished falling out of his mouth. Bless her. Because I was already halfway wet. His words would’ve made me wetter.
She dropped off our drinks. I squirmed in my seat.
Once she walked away, a beat passed before he spoke again.
“I want to be honest with you. Up front.”
“Okay?” He sounded way too serious for this to be a first date, but I was listening.
“This ain’t a regular occurrence,” he said, waving one hand between us. “Going out with women. I don’t usually have time for this. Matter of fact, I don’t have the time—or the want—for all that romantic shit women like you want.”
I raised a brow. “Women like me?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Women like you. Got that hard outer shell, but all soft and gushy on the inside.”
I was almost offended. “You know that about me after what—thirty minutes of interaction?”
“Yes.”
Just like that. No hesitation. No apology.
I nodded slowly. “Whatever.” I wasn’t about to argue with a practical stranger over what he thought he knew about me.
“So what are you telling me exactly?” I asked.
“I want to fuck you,” he said, calm and direct. “But that’s all I want. No dates, no long phone calls, no titles, no obligations.”
Blunt. Surgical. The words hit like a slap, but somehow I respected it more than the usual game.
The food came out and saved me from responding right away. We both ate in silence. Awkward silence. I’d never had a man be that blunt before—so callous about it. I felt a way, but I couldn’t even find the words to name it.
Still, I knew I couldn’t be mad. Most men lied, wasted your time, made you believe they wanted a future when all they really wanted was pussy. Donte had skipped all that. Gave it to me straight.
After we ate, he paid the check and followed me out to my car. Quiet.
“It was nice meeting you,” he said, opening my driver’s side door.
