“You’re dramatic and full of shit, because you forgot you were talking shit and being rude to the first responders. That’s why I jacked you up.”
“My house was on fire,” he said, his thumb catching my chin. “I’d let you do that shit again, no kizzy.”
“I’m sure I’ll be jacking you up again,” I grinned.
“Okay, another one. Roller derby. How’d you get into that?”
“One of the ladies at the gym dragged me to practice after I had a bad week. Turns out I needed to hit something without getting arrested.” Ismirked. “I love it. It’s dangerous, it’s fast-paced, but it’s empowering, fun, and keeps me in shape.”
“Good shit, Angel. What do they call you?”
“Blaze.”
He threw his head back laughing. “Of course it is. That’s perfect. I gotta come see you do yo shit for real.”
“Can you skate?”
“Hell nah, my big ass is not built to be on skates. Never learned. I can barely ride a bike without looking goofy as hell. I ain’t missing out on shit, though.”
“You trust me to teach you?”
“I trust you to teach me anything, baby.”
I sat with that, lashes heavy as I looked up at him. He meant it, fully locked in and ready for whatever came next. And it wasn’t just about skating. He was letting me guide him into spaces where he didn’t have all the answers. That kind of trust wasn’t something I took lightly.
“Alright then,” I said, fighting the smile pulling at my mouth.
“What about you?” I asked. “Any hidden hobbies? Something that’s not basketball?”
“I restore old cars,” he said, his voice shifting. “I collect them, work on them, sometimes sell a few. Got some in storage I’m tinkering with now.”
“Old cars? Really?”
“Yeah. Another thing Stetson got me into. Growing up with a reformed gangster, car shows were a thing. I’d be in awe, everybody had custom something, rims, cars, paint jobs. You made it if you had a donk or some candy-coated shit. My first flip was a busted ‘72 Chevelle. It took us two years to get it fixed. I’ve been hooked ever since.”
“What do you love about it?”
“I like taking something beat up and bringing it back. Old cars, engines, paint jobs… all that. It relaxes me. And obviously I cook,” he added with a small smile.
I studied his face. He looked peaceful talking about it.
“That’s beautiful,” I said. “Men need stuff that’s theirs too. Not just work.”
“You got that with derby, right?”
“Yeah. I guess I do.”
“Maybe one day I can show you. The garage, the cars. All of it.” He squeezed my hand. “If you want.”
“I’d like that. You can show me when you show me the theatre.”
The car turned, and the lights ahead came into view. The gala.
He brought my hand to his lips and kissed my knuckles. “I got you, Angel. It’s a private gala.” He leaned in closer, “I get you.”
The car slowed.
“We’ve arrived.” DaVinci looked at me one more time. “You ready?”
