Meadow’s mind took her back to the gutter wondering if his dick was just as thick, dark, and veiny.
The coupler turned with a loud creak. Water sputtered then stopped, drips turning into a trickle.
“There,” he said, standing back upright. “You just needed some help. Ain’t no shame in that, cuh.”
She made a face to hide how good that small victory felt. “I loosened it.”
He grinned. Lips so sexy, it hit her dead in the chest.
“Yeah, aight,” he said. “You loosened it.”
Meadow’s pulse kicked up for no damn reason. “Thank you,” she forced out, because her parents raised her right.
“You’re welcome,” he replied, not making a big deal out of it.
He glanced back toward the bay where his club rested against the stand. Something heavy flickered across his face for a second. She caught it before he smoothed it over with another small smirk.
She could tell golf was his comfort but also his demon - that twisted bond, only Black men carried, along with the whatever thing that saved them and destroyed them in the same day. And it messed with her how quick her body warmed for him, how fast her loyalty grew for a man she barely knew. Just loyal enough to hate every suit and camera that ever made him question the power he walked with.
“You always out here?” his voice interrupted her thoughts of wanting to pull up on people she didn’t know.
“Middle of the day, sweatin’, fightin’ hoses?”
“Who else gon’ do it?” she answered like it was obvious.
“Your Daddy.”
“He over there,” she nodded toward the far end of the property where Ray was hunched over messin’ with the mower, “and Mama can’t. So…”
He watched her for a long beat. “You ain’t never tired?”
In Zaire’s mind, Meadow had to be exhausted because he was and his plight was mental while hers seemed more physical.
“I stay tired,” she admitted with a shrug. “But it doesn’t matter. Work gotta get done.”
Something in his expression shifted…less teasing, more understanding. “Yeah,” he murmured, “I feel that.”
Because Zaire understood carrying shit that made you proud and pissed you off at the same time.
She looked away first. The hold of his gaze was too damn intense. Meadow was a flirt on most days but with Zaire, she stumbled over that fire she had for other men.
“Go drink some water,” she ordered to change the subject and give her body a reprieve. “I ain’t tryna have you pass out on my grass.”
He chuckled. “Your grass, huh?”
“Who you think keeps it pretty?” Meadow raised a brow. “It sure ain’t the golf fairy.”
He laughed again, richer this time. “You’re funny.”
“Be thankful, I’m letting you witness it,” she shot back, but the corner of her mouth twitched.
He started to walk away, then glanced back. “You check the back right sprinkler yet? Pressure sounded low when I was over that way.”
Her head tilted. “You know about irrigation now?”
“I know what soft turf feel like under my feet,” he countered. “Feel a little off in that corner. Thought you should know since you’re the grass queen.”
She stared at him for a second, begrudging respect slipping in. He’d only been here a day and already noticed details she usually caught before anyone else.
