Page 96 of You've Got a Place Here, Too
His pink, wet lips tempt me to bite the bottom one and his mouth is perched slightly open, panting hard. All I can think is how I went from a devoted lover to a free spirit and find myself starved for his touch. It’s almost scary.
Letting my lips graze his, I tell him all my fears. “This is irresponsible, Assad,” I whisper on his breath.
He chuckles. “You do this often?”
“Not at all,” I reply, anxiously checking the window one last time.
He cups my chin, and my eyes are planted back on his. “I can tell,” he responds, using his thumb to rub lipstick off my jaw since I’ve managed to transfer most of my makeup onto his lips. Then he traces his finger down to my neck, and I begin to think about things I shouldn’t. Don’t bethatloose, I remind myself.
“You can trust me,” he says as I let his hands trail down to my chest and watch his contentment as he softly cops a feel of my full breasts. “I really like this outfit.” He smirks, giving the right one a playful squeeze.
I giggle, then lean in and kiss him again. And the time passes through songs, exploring our tongues and our mouths on ourselves, smiling and moaning and learning our bodies in the way it seems we’ve always wanted since we first laid eyes on each other.
“Can I?” he asks, looking up at me after kissing every part of my exposed skin. He grazes the collar of my bustline, then slowly teases his way to the strap of my jumpsuit, begging to pull it down.
Without hesitation, desperate, I nod.
Bang-bang-bang!
I yelp and grab my chest as Assad quickly yet sternly moves me off his lap and onto the seat beside him, away from the door. Then he positions his broad back to shield me from whatever is outside the window.
This is not the proper time to be turned on, but I love how quick he is on his feet, and his protective instinct. I tuck myself into the corner as he rolls down the window.
“ ’Sad, you tryna get my car robbed—oh, hello, beautiful lady.” Jared smiles, waving.
“Jared, chill out,” Assad says. He turns to look at me. “You okay?”
I nod and wave back. “Hi, can we have like one minute?”
“That’s all this bama needs…”
“Jared!” Assad yells, and Jared chuckles and walks away.
Assad turns to me, trying to suppress a laugh. “I walked right into that joke, didn’t I,” I say, and we both crack up.
Lynetta
Loose Lyn. That nickname keeps popping up in my mind because that’s how I feel. I’m really into Assad, and now all I can think about is how I must look to him. I want to actually date him, and for him to respect me, which he seems to, but I’m too embarrassed with how I conducted myself to be so sure.
Assad joked as he gave me his number, telling me at least he’s giving it to the right person. But between my recent breakup and this swelling chemistry, I want to be sure he’s not a rebound either. That I’m not swiftly attaching myself to the first cute guy that’s giving me some attention, even if my heart feels strongly that it knows what it wants. My head’s been spinning. Does hereallywant to get to know me or just finish what we started? In my overwhelm, I opt not to call.
At least not yet.
I flash my student ID as I walk into Blackburn’s brightly lit space, adorned by its beautiful floor-to-ceiling windows, my nerves through the roof. When one of our reporters caught a bug, I offered to cover an event where activist Angela Davis is being honored and if the whispers are true, her editor would be escorting her to the event. Toni Morrison. I couldn’t miss my chance.
As I walk farther into the room, I spot Assad at a table with a D.C. Public Library–embroidered tablecloth.
No escaping him.
When I walk over, his smile greets me before we speak. “Stalking Toni?” he jokes, getting up from his seat and setting his hands on the table.
His coworker laughs and walks off, giving us space. I smack my lips. “I’m covering for Windy, who usually covers this beat. She’s got the stomach bug that’s going around.”
Assad nods. “If you called I woulda told you about it…”
“I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s been a busy week and—”
“It’s cool. I’m happy to see you now though.” His head motions to a table and I look in that direction. And sitting there with the same elegance as her author photo is Ms. Morrison, talking to faculty. “You should go say hi before the program starts,” Assad nudges. I look back at him, my eyes fearful, and his smile grows brighter. “Trust me, Lynetta, she’ll appreciate it. I would if I were her.”
