“Her man was still inside, fans taking his picture like he was Muhammad Ali. I opened the back door. His woman eased inside like a lady. Did it with class. She sat down first, then brought her legs in at the same time, kept her knees together. Femininity was an art she had mastered. She looked up at me, those two blue oceans made contact with my eyes. I said, “I didn’t catch your name.” “Sade.” “Like the singer.” “Yes.” I told her about the broken zipper and spilled bobbleheads. She didn’t give ...a damn. I got in. Seconds passed like minutes. Wetness trickled down my neck. I freaked, touched my skin, and it came back wet and clear. Not blood. Sweat was dampening my collar. Hadn’t noticed what was going on inside the terminal. A tall sister was hugged up with Freeman while her shorter, flirty friend took picture after picture. Then they switched up. My breathing had evened out, but my heart hadn’t moved from my throat. My passenger hissed. “This is brilliant. Just brilliant.”MoreLessRead More Read Less
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