A stretch of silence passed before Andrew stepped in, his hand liftin’ like he was breakin' bad news gently. “I don’t fuck in beds, sweetheart. I fuck standin’ up.” He tipped his Coke bottle at me. “You ain’t got what it takes to lay me down.”
Chaotic laughter broke out, drinks flew up, sneakers scuffing pavement.
The guys sounded locker-room-rowdy, no coach around.
“Yo, your five minutes is up, mama!” Maria shouted from across the lot, hands cupped around her mouth. “And I don’t see nobody beggin'.”
Josalyn nearly doubled over while Carlos pounded the hood of his car, both losin’ their shit.
I turned—hips swingin’, chin up, whole body sayin’that was the plan all along.They were watchin’ my ass bounce as I walked away, and I knew Andrew was already flexin’, playin’ the game:Yeah, she fine as fuck. Don’t mean I’m gonna make it easy.
I stepped into the glow of the headlights, slidin’ back into my circle. Carlos was tryin’ to hold in his grin, keepin’ his eyes on the ground. Josalyn cocked her head, one brow up. “Tried to tell ya.”
After an hour, the lot thinned out, engines turnin’, car doors slammin’.
One by one, the night peeled away in tail lights.
I spent the full hour leaned against Carlos’s car, lightin’ cigarette after cigarette, checkin’ my reflection in every window that rolled by, collectin' compliments while Andrew across thelot stood there like nothin’ but the night was allowed to touch him.
As if I were nothin’ but a leaf that once blew past, gone and forgotten.
I convinced myself he either didn't like women or his dick had issues.
Carlos swung his keys, metal janglin’ like he had better shit to do. “You ready to head out? We’re hittin’ a party in Edgewater. Some rooftop spot, DJ from Brooklyn who thinks he invented techno. I’ll drop you at your car.”
I was only half-listenin’, still tastin’ the bitter and cheap rejection from this game he was tryin' to run. His words kept echoing in my head: ‘I’m not your guy.’
The fuck he wasn't. I'd spent the last five years eatin', squatin', sweatin', chasin' a body no man had ever looked away from. Curves I carved out my damn self. I had DJs beggin’ on their knees, married men still blowin’ up my phone. But rejected by some guy who fuckedbusted-faceVic?
That guy? Tellin’ me no in front of his boys? Not fuckin’ happenin’.
Maria brought up a wreck on 495, but I was already walkin’, fire in my heels and vengeance in my veins. I cut through the group, stoppin’ square in front of Andrew, who was still posted up against the hood, feet spread.
“You gonna walk me to my car or what?” I said.
Andrew barely looked at me, grippin’ a water now instead of Coke, hand droppin’ onto Frankie’s shoulder. “Yo, you good to walk her?”
He was still actin' like he'd rather fuck a guitar, still playin' Mr. Hard-to-Get, while I was standin' right there, seein' through every second of it. I scoffed, shakin’ my head and hand at the same time.
“Nah. I didn’t ask him,” I said. “I asked you.”
Then his eyes hit me hard, face holding ano. I could see the word sittin' in his mouth, the rejection waitin' to drop. But he stalled, studyin' me like he wanted a reason not to say it, a reason to drop the saint act and give in.
If he said no again, I'd've made it a joke, blamed the heat, the full moon, admit I was just messin'. It wasn't that serious—I was only playin' hard to see how close I could get before he cracked just to prove he'd fuck me if he got the chance.
Then—actin' all reluctant as hell—he sighed, kickin’ off the bumper. “Let’s go.”
I led the way, heels hittin' pavement. Behind me, his water bottle crunched in his grip. Boy couldn't keep his cool, followed like a good little puppy.
We left the view of the skyline, the boys’ laughter fadin’ into the hum of the Hudson behind us. Bass shook my heels each time a car flew by, and under every step, the sidewalk was still steamin’ from the day’s heat, our path littered with cigarette butts, bottle caps, and old MetroCards.
The streetlamp flickered once overhead, catchin’ me in gold, stretchin’ my shadow long and hungry, chasin’ his down the sidewalk. And from a third-floor window,Renegadeby Styx coughed out from some speaker.
When we turned down a narrower side street, the song faded.
Half the streetlights were out, and cars were wedged up on driveways and curbs. One had a shattered taillight. Another had a baby shoe hanging from the rearview. At the end of the block, my Dodge Charger waited, tucked under another buzzing streetlamp.
I finally slowed, then stopped, then turned.
