Page 38 of IRL: In Real Life
“Maybe.”
I smiled into the glass in my hand. “What is it?”
She took just long enough to make me picture her over there in her kitchen, one hip against the counter, deciding whether she wanted to tell the truth or be cute first.
“Grape Kool-Aid.”
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“What’s funny?” she asked immediately, mock offense all over her voice now. “You don’t drink Kool-Aid? You too good for it?”
“Nah,” I said, still grinning. “Love it. And grape is my favorite flavor.”
That quieted her for half a beat, and when she laughed again it came lower this time, softer too, and that little exchange got under my skin more than it should have. Maybe because it felt regular in the best way. Black as hell. Fully her. No polished little answer, no trying to sound like she lived on sparkling water and mystery. Just grape Kool-Aid in a grown woman’s kitchen, and me liking her harder for it than I already had two minutes earlier.
We sat in that for a second, both of us smiling into the silence. I could feel it even without seeing her, that easy littleshared grin people got when a conversation had started feeling good in the body, not just on the surface.
Then she cleared her throat.
“So,” she said, her mellow voice smoothing back out, though I could still hear the smile tucked under it, “what else you like?”
I leaned my head back against the window.
“Besides you?”
The silence that followed stretched just enough to let me know it got where I meant it to.
“Yes,” she said.
And I knew from the sound of it that she was smiling.
I looked out at the city lights and let myself enjoy that for a second.
“I like good bourbon,” I said.
“What’s your favorite?”
“Woodford Reserve Double Oaked.”
“Fancy.”
I smiled but said nothing because I couldn’t. I like what I liked and that was the best.
“ I love, not like, old school R&B. A steak cooked right.”
“Medium well?”
My dick got hard.
Clearing my throat I said, “Yeah. That’s how I like it.”
We were silent a moment.
“What else?” She sounded genuinely interested, which made my typical reservedness turn into loose lips.
“Pittsburgh in the evening when the city stop pretending to be in a rush. Fresh white tees. My mother’s mac and cheese. A woman who knows how to take my breath away.”
“Mmmm.”
