“Lord,” I echoed under my breath, because she wasn’t lying. Not even a little bit.
The rest of the game passed in a blur of points, music, and near touches. Every time I moved, his knee brushed mine. Every time I cheered, he smiled like he was watching something better than basketball.
When the final buzzer sounded and the Skylines won, the arena thundered, and lights flashed. Speakers were booming,and strangers hugged like family. Roman stood and stretched, his shirt riding up just enough to confirm every suspicion I’d ever had about gym memberships and dedication.
“C’mon, wifey,” he said, holding his hand out as if it belonged there. “We’ll walk y’all out.”
Mel’s eyes sparkled. “You heard the man.”
I had just met this man, a stranger, a random collision in a stadium seat, but his presence did not alarm me. It steadied me. So, I let him walk to the car with me.
Outside, the night air was cool, crisp enough to clear your head if your thoughts weren’t busy doing somersaults. The parking lot buzzed with laughter and horns as people spilled into the dark. Roman and his cousin, Bryce, flanked us like security, with easy conversation filling the walk. Bryce talked junk, and Mel matched him word for word, both loud and playful like the night owed them joy. I was quiet because my pulse hadn’t found its normal yet.
At my car, Roman stopped and turned to me like the noise didn’t exist unless he allowed it. “Are you going to give me your number,” he requested, his voice smooth, “so your pretty little self can text me when you make it home safe, . . . or you going to have me over here creating scenarios in my head worried about you, mama?”
His smirk was there as he looked down at me licking his lips, but behind it, beneath the teasing, there was something softer—concern dressed up in charm.
Mel was already unlocking her door. “Give that man your number, Solé. Don’t be stubborn with ya husband now.”
I hesitated long enough to see the softness behind his smirk. He held his phone out to me, patient. He wasn’t rushing anything, but he wasn’t backing away either. My fingers typed before my brain caught up.
When he looked down at the screen, he grinned like he’d just won something.
“Future Wifey,” he said aloud, saving the contact like a signature on a contract he meant to honor.
My jaw dropped.
Mel squealed so loud half the lot turned. “I love it! He already manifestin’!” she yelled, acting like she was part of the wedding party already.
Roman winked, stepping back as I fumbled for words. “Drive safely, beautiful,” he said, voice lowering, softening. “I’ll see you soon. Don’t forget to text me when you make it in. I would follow you, but I don’t want to scare you off by beingtooforward.” His gaze held mine, steady, respectful, and warm. “Say you’ll text me, mama.”
“Good night. I will,” I said, but it came out more like a whisper.
“Good girl,” he murmured, and that praise was gentle, but it rearranged things.
He opened my door, waited until I got in, closed it like I was precious cargo, and walked away.
As we pulled off, Mel clapped her hands together excitedly, still squealing. “Girl, he called you wifey! And you let him! I can’t wait to sing at your wedding. What the fuck am I gonna sing? You used to love some Brian McKnight, but we ain’t fuckin’ with his ass no more. Maybe some Luther or . . . I’ll figure it out. Don’t even worry about it.” Her crazy ass rambled on excitedly, spiraling into playlists and vows like the ring was already ordered.
My heart kept replaying the night in little scenes: his voice in my ear, his body blocking mine, him walking us to my car, and the way he looked at me like I was something worth handling gently. A smile snuck up on me before I could stop it.
Maybe NanNan was right. Maybe it was time to stop blocking my blessings.
After walkingthe two beauties to their car, guarding them as if our lives depended on it and seeing them off safely, Bryce and I headed to the other side of the lot to my truck. I was a Temptation feeling fine on Cloud Nine—no suit, no mic, just a stupid grin I couldn’t wipe off.
I left that arena walking like the floor knew me. I couldn’t help it. The night air hit differently. I didn’t make it ten steps into the lot before Bryce thumped my shoulder.
“Damn, Cousin,” he said, grinning like he’d been waiting his whole life to talk trash. “You act like you hit the game winner or won the lottery or some shit.”
I kept my face neutral because I liked to be a mystery, but my mouth betrayed me and bent. “Might be both,” I said.
He squinted at me. “Oh, yo’ ass is gone. I knew it when you damn near turned into a linebacker behind that seat.”
I side-eyed him. “What are you talking about now?”
“That moment when I said shorty was adorable,” he said, laughing. “You looked at me like you was ’bout to swing on me at center court. I had to tell you, ‘I mean no disrespect to your future wifey, sir,’ in my spirit.”
“You lucky you kept it in your spirit,” I said, chest rumbling. “Don’t be putting adjectives on my woman that sound like you’re shopping. Let compliments be neutral, or shut up.”
