He checked for traffic and pulled out, watching his muscular arms maneuver the steering wheel. A few moments later, the sounds of Michael Jackson’s “Butterflies” came through, breaking up the silence. I grinned, easing back in my seat, putting my head against the headrest. Despite the sexual tension, I felt at ease next to this man with one of my favorite artists singing in the background. My head began to sway to the beat, and I sang the words under my breath.
“You like this song?”
“It’s Michael. How could I not like it?” I answered, and sang along a little louder.
“You’ve got a nice voice,” he said, looking at me as we came to a stop at a red light.
I rolled my eyes. “Anyone can sound like they have a nice voice with Michael singing in the background.”
He shook his head as he laughed. “You’re not one of those women who can’t take a compliment, are you?”
I raised my eyebrow as he hit the gas pedal when the light turned green. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
He gave me a sideways glance. “Just what I said. There are some women who can’t take compliments. Always have some snappy comeback when one is given.”
“Well, maybe if people didn’t spend so much time trying to ‘humble’ women for our perceived cockiness, we wouldn’t do that,” I retorted.
“And what do you mean by that?”
“Just whatIsaid. Women are taught from day one to be pretty but not to think or act like we are. We should be smart or beautiful, but pretend we don’t know we’re either of those things because it needs to be left up to some man to remind us. Oh, but don’t get too needy when a man comes along, because then you’re some type of ho, but don’t be too independent either, because then you’re not letting a man be a man.”
“Damn,” he responded, stopping the car to look at me. I hadn’t even realized we’d reached my father’s place.
I shrugged.
“That’s how you feel?”
“No. That’s what Iknow. And no, I didn’t read that in some damn Twitter thread or Beyoncé album, although her last two albums were dope,” I pointed out. “My life experience has taught me those things.”
“Shit. All this because I tried to compliment your singing. I’ll keep my li’l compliments to myself next time.”
I tried to keep my face neutral, but the play of a smile at the edges of his lips is what got me. I broke out in laughter, swatting his arm. He caught my hand and brought it to his lips, staring me in the eye as he kissed it.
“Nah, for real. I feel you on that womanist shit.”
My head shot back.
“What, you didn’t think a brotha knew the word womanist? Can't I read a li’l Audre Lorde? Now, who’s the one with misconceptions?”
“I didn’t even say anything,” I defended weakly.
“You didn’t have to. Let’s go.” He pressed another kiss to my knuckles before dropping my hand and getting out. Before I could even reach the door handle, Xavier was there pulling the door open, helping me out the car.
“I can still open doors for you, right?” he joked.
“Shut up,” I giggled.
Looking up at him, I reached up to re-tuck one side of his collar that had become untucked. Suddenly, his hand was around my wrist, pulling me into him and pressing those soft-ass lips to mine again. It seemed we’d both forgotten we were standing right outside my father’s home, because this was no innocent peck on the lips.
“Hey, can you two get a room?”
I jumped in Xavier’s arms at the sound of a female voice behind us. I pivoted slightly, Xavier still holding onto me, to see Tori trying to look serious, but the laughter swimming in her eyes gave her away.
“Hey, Tori,” Xavier greeted.
“Hey, X. Your boy’s been waiting for you. Everyone’s in the back,” she stated, pointing over her shoulder. “I need to catch up with my sister-in-law,” she added.
I frowned.
