“Question is,” Antwan continued, “you gon’ be brave with it or you gon’ be scared?”
Zaire didn’t answer.
But Antwan had one more thing to say before the call ended. “But son… I was gonna end up here anyway. I didn’t love y’all enough to stay out them streets. One more thing and I was gon’ be here or six feet. This ain’t on you, my boy.”
Meadow was folding clothes in her room, half-distracted when a soft knock hit her door.
“Meadow?” Zaire’s voice drifted through the wood— sounding low, tired, and a little impatient.
She didn’t even have to guess who it was. His airy words and the curve of his vowels would give him away in a lineup.
“Yeah?” she called back, fighting to smile.
The door cracked open and Zaire leaned against the frame, in a wife beater showing her more of his sculpted body. His chain rested against his chocolate collarbone. “You busy?”
Meadow studied him, soaking in all his Black man sexiness. “Not really.”
“Good.” He rubbed the back of his neck, nervous about his impromptu proposition. “Let’s step out, baby.”
“Out where?” Meadow blinked, hanging onto the way he kept calling her baby.
“Anywhere.” He shrugged. “Show me the town. The range cool and all, but I need a drink… wish I had some weed. And I need some air that don’t smell like fresh cut grass twenty-four-seven.”
Meadow cracked a smile. “You wanna go out? With me?”
“You making the shit weird,” he murmured. “I just need somethin’ to do that ain’t me pacing around that old-ass house like a ghost.”
She stared at him, thinking…considering, trying not to read too deeply into the excitement pooling in her chest. “Fine,” she agreed. “Give me time to get ready. I take forever, so don’t try to rush me.”
“Take your time,” Zaire bit his lip. “I’ll never rush a Black woman doing what makes her feel good.”
Meadow’s heart did a full tumble. She masked it with a fake scoff. “You real smooth, ain’t you?”
He shrugged one shoulder. “Watch out, cuh.”
She pointed at him. “Go away. I’ll come out when I’m done.”
Zaire saluted her with a smile as big as a kid on their birthday.
As soon as he turned the corner, Meadow rushed to shut the door and pressed her back against it. Her stomach flipped frantically like she’d swallowed electricity. She wasn’t mad at him anymore. She’d sat with her feelings and decided his heart was in the right place. Plus, Magnolia was having a good day which meant Meadow could enjoy the outing without the guilt.
Meadow stepped outsidein a tennis skirt and a ribbed top, with her curls pinned back, and her perfume floating behind her in warm waves. For shoes, she wore cute platform heels that gave her a little height though they still didn’t have her tall enough to reach his chin. She looked good and she knew it.
Zaire sat on the porch steps, scrolling on his phone. His temples jumped and his expression was darker than before. Heheard her come out the door and felt her presence but was too occupied to pull his eyes from his phone.
Meadow slowed. “You good?”
He finally turned the screen toward her. A gossip blog headline blared:
IS COOKS WASHED UP? TALK OF A SUSPENSION & SLIPPING SKILLS
Meadow rolled her eyes. “Lord…y’all famous people really let anybody with a phone talk crazy.”
He didn’t say anything knowing what she said was the truth. Being famous came with its own set of obstacles. Ones that had you second guessing everything about yourself all because strangers had unsolicited opinions of you.
“Zaire,” she huffed, nudging his knee with hers. “Look at me.”
He looked up with solemn eyes.
