Page 167 of Invisible Bars
Imanio’s eyes swept over my body like he could already see how I’d fall apart for him.
“I’m not gonna touch you until I know you can handle all of me. And I don’t just mean the sex; I mean the obsession that comes after… the kind that ruins you for everybody else.”
My breath hitched.
He nodded toward the open door. “Get in, Naji.”
I swallowed hard, then slid into the car.
A few minutes later, we were gliding through the city, leaving Giselle’s drama behind like a bad season finale.
The ride was... easy. The kiss definitely cracked something open between us. We didn’t talk heavy—not about his mom or the chaos we left. Instead, we drifted into other things.
Light things. Comfortable things.
Imanio asked about the music I used to listen to growing up, and I told him about how I’d record over cassette tapes with my own mixes. He said that explained why my playlists were “weirdly fire.”
I laughed, more than I expected to.
We also joked about my grandmother’s obsession with soap operas—how she never trusted anyone with a deep voice or a leather jacket on TV. He told me about the time he snuck out to meet a girl in middle school and got chased by a raccoon. I laughed so hard.
Somewhere between his stupid raccoon story and him asking what tea I wanted stocked on the yacht for next time, I realized something.
I was comfortable… not just in the car, but with him.
I found myself leaning against him, body relaxed. I didn’t have to brace for judgment or side-eyes. My tics had slowed; not completely—but enough that I noticed.
Imanio glanced over at me. “You good?”
“Yes,” I said, voice low. “Actually... I think I am.”
He gave a small nod.
“Good. You deserve a night that’s just about you.”
And that was the thing—Imanio didn’t say it to impress me; he said it like a promise.
When we arrived at the docks, his private yacht sat glowing against the water, lights twinkling like a floating palace. Imanio helped me up the walkway, guiding me onboard.
I’m ready to see where this version of us might go. Because for once, I’m not scared of what came next.
The breeze off the water was softer there—gentler than the night we’d just survived. A candlelight flickered between us, casting gold against Imanio’s sharp jawline and danced across the silver trays of crab legs, grilled oysters, and buttery lobster tails. The yacht swayed just enough to remind me that we were floating far from judgment, far from Giselle.
I cracked a claw with practiced fingers, then dipped the tender meat into warm garlic butter. But my appetite wasn’t all the way there and Imanio could tell.
He leaned back slightly, watching me, then reached for a shrimp skewer.
“You keep looking out like the water gon’ tell you something. You good?”
I nodded. “Yeah… just taking it in.”
We ate in a stretch of silence after that. Unspoken things floated between us. I tried to focus on the taste of the lobster. But my fingers kept tapping against the linen napkin, the wine glass stem, and my thigh.
Imanio wiped his hands on a cloth, his eyes never leaving me.
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
