“Yeah, I guess I’ll just go to a hotel room for the night. I have money left over from Crew’s birthday present deposit that I never spent.”
“Alright, bet.” He continued down the road.
My stomach let out a loud growl, the sound filling the quiet space of the car. Amir glanced over at me, the corner of his mouth lifting.
“You hungry or something?” he asked, a chuckle tucked behind his words.
“Yeah, kind of,” I admitted, pressing my palm against my stomach like I could quiet it down.
“You want me to stop somewhere and grab something? Shit, it’s about time for me to eat, honestly. I haven’t ate anything all day.”
“Oh yeah, that Ramadan thing, huh?”
“Yeah,” he replied, licking his lips like he could already taste whatever we were about to get. His eyes stayed on the road, but his expression softened at the thought of food.
“Well, I’ll eat wherever you wanna stop. You're the one who’s been starving all day”
“Not really starving. I’m used to practicing Ramadan. There’s just too much to choose from. You got pizza, Italian, Jamaican, Latin.”
He started counting off with his fingers against the steering wheel.
That motion drew my attention to the watch sliding down his wrist. It was a gold, clean watch with no flashy diamonds, but you could tell it cost money. Same with the chain around his neck. It wasn’t iced out or anything, just a simple piece that looked heavy enough to cost real money.
I've noticed that Amir wasn’t flashy at all, but he still had an undeniable swagger about him without doing too much. Everything about him fit the style of the plain clothing he wore. He was quiet money, no extra shine.
Amir slowed at the light, glancing left and right like he was debating which way he should go in his head. The glow from the streetlamps slid across his face, and I admit, I was staring hard as hell at this beautiful ass man. He was gorgeous, not just the gangsta kind but the kind that could be on the cover of magazines. It was his skin, the glow underneath, the way his eyebrows were dark, but perfectly shaped, just like his beard.
“You ever had halal off the food trucks?” he finally spoke up after deep thought.
“No, I can’t say I have, have you?”
“Yeah, plenty of times. I used to always break my fast with Hala food. I remember as a kid, after sunset, my pops would pull over and grab four plates for my brothers and me to eat in the car before we even got home. I remember, I couldn’t see what was in front of me in that dark ass backseat, but I knew it was good.”
“Really? That sounds nice. I wish I could say I had memories like that with my dad. You are lucky,” I said, watching him.
He shrugged like it didn’t matter, but the corner of his mouth twitched.
“Yeah, well, those memories were good, but not all of them.”
“I hear that,” I replied. I could tell the conversation was heavy on him, so I tried to change the subject.
“So, you say the food is good. I didn’t think I would like it, so I never tried.”
He smirked, like he expected that answer.
“That’s because you're not open-minded, but that’s okay. It took me years to get a turkey sandwich from the bodega around here.”
“Shut up, you for real?”
“Yeah, my father, Mecca, always said that was trash food. I believed him, too, up until I saw a lady on the train ride home a few months ago eating one, and I almost asked her for a bite.”
He and I shared a laugh.
“Why were you on a train when you have more than one car?”
He looked at me and raised his left eyebrow before staring back at the road.
“I was handling business that involved me not being in my car.”
