Then he winks that same fucking wink from Ajaih’s kitchen.
Walking away just like he did that night. Like he didn’t just leave me flustered, irritated, and painfully aware of my own body’s arousal in the middle of this crowded bar.
I stand there for a second too long, heart racing, skin warm, thoughts dangerously loud.
Damn him.
Damn his confidence.
Damn his smartass mouth.
Damn the way Lena’s name lives between us like a bridged connection and we can’t decide if we’ll traverse it or not. And whether I like it or not, Calil Black made himself a problem.
I tell myself not to look for him.
I fail.
Calil stands across the room, easy and composed, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a drink he barely touches. Women drift toward him like gravity pulls them in, bold smiles, curious glances, bodies angling for invitation.
He turns them down one by one.
Politely. Firmly. Unapologetically.
And every so often, like he can feel it, he lifts his head and finds my eyes.
Each time I scowl.
Each time my pulse jumps anyway.
I don’t know when annoyance turns into curiosity, but it does, slipping under my skin like a slow burn I don’t ask for.
I move out from behind the bar to clear glasses from the nearby tables, stacking them carefully, staying focused. That’s when a hand clamps around my arm.
Hard.
“Hey,” a man slurs, breath thick with alcohol. “Where you going?”
I freeze for half a second, then school my voice into calm. “You need to let go of me. Don’t put your hands on women without permission.”
He laughs, grip tightening. “Relax. You should be grateful for the attention.”
My jaw sets. “Last warning. Let. Go.”
His face twists, ugly and emboldened. “A chick with dick like you doesn’t get to be picky. You’re lucky anyone looks your way.”
The room feels quieter, tighter, like it’s holding its breath.
The thing about me is I’ve never tried to hide being a trans woman. I was beautiful and proud. I never lived my life as if who I am is a secret. I was beautiful with a body to die for a dick that stayed hard.
I meet his eyes, steady and unafraid. “You’re shaking because you don’t know where you stand. Yet your dick does and that's why there's a tent in your pants as we engage. However, your insecurities about rejection are not my problem. Now, take your fucking hand off me.”
He bristles, anger flashing, but before he can say anything else, the weight of the room shifts.
I don’t look back to know Calil has noticed.
I feel it in the sudden stillness.
In the way the man’s grip hesitates.
