“I like the way your heart beats,” I said. “And I like the way you say my name. Rodelle. It makes me sound pretty.”
“You are pretty.” He paused mid-step, like I’d thrown him off. He lifted my chin gently and watched the play of golden light across my face. “You’re insanely beautiful.”
They were not words I would have used to describe myself, but in that moment, I believed him. I felt insanely beautiful, even though I wasn’t wearing a lick of makeup, and my clothes were wrinkled, and my nails were bare and ragged. I believed him because he said it with the simplicity of an observation, one that seemed to hold him arrested, as if he had just noticed it himself.
The blood rushed to my cheeks, my lips, the arch of my brows, the tip of my nose—everywhere his eyes seared my skin.
“No.” I averted my gaze. It felt wrong to feel so alive, wrong to feel this burst of exhilaration. “Mo was beautiful. And fun. And funny. I miss her. So much.”
Jack didn’t move away, but it was as if we both took a step back from whatever had momentarily blazed between us, turning instead to our private thoughts, our private grief. As we swayed in silence, I found myself burrowing deeper into the comfort of his arms. He was so warm—warmer than the fire.
“Is that Bahati laughing?” I mumbled, my cheek pressed flat against his chest. Jack was tall, the tallest guy I had ever danced with. “What’s he doing here?”
“I don’t know what you smoked, Rodel, but that’s not Bahati. It’s a hyena. Somewhere out there.” He laughed.
“I like it when you laugh. I mean, when you really laugh. It starts here.” I touched his throat. “But I feel it here.” I splayed my fingers across his chest.
We both felt it then—the flare of something wild and combustible, like a flickering ember leaping from the bonfire. Our eyes locked and Jack turned stone-still, every muscle in his torso locking down in taut, tight tension. His chest was red hot under my hand, as if all of our senses had fused there, in a scorching, molten mess. Then he cleared his throat and stepped away.
“I think we better get you to bed,” he said.
I nodded, feeling a bit like I was standing in quicksand. My legs were wobbly and my heart was pounding. It must have been from the pipe, because I stood there, limp and drained, like a stewed noodle.
I can’t remember if I walked, or if Jack carried me back to our tent, but he tucked me into bed and wrapped the blanket tight around me.
“Goodnight, Rodel.”
“’Night, Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack.”
I heard the soft thud of his shoes and the creaking of his bed. The buzzing of night beetles and the drunken warmth of the bonfire had almost lulled me to sleep when there was a loud roar.
“Is that a lion?” I mumbled. It sounded like it was just outside our tent, but I was too gone and too tired to care.
“Yes. But it’s not as close as it sounds. A lion’s roar travels a long way.”
“Are they doing it?”
“Doing what?”
“Mufasa.” I yawned. “That’s why he’s the motherfucking king of the jungle.”
“Mufasa?”
I turned around to face him, but I was sliding into a deep fog. “Nevemrind.”
I heard Jack chuckle in the dark.
“You make me laugh, Rodel,” he said softly. “I haven’t laughed in a long, long time.”
MY EYES WERE heavy as they fluttered open. It took a moment to focus on the beams running across the ceiling. There was a bitter taste in my mouth, and my tongue felt like it was coated in thick wool. Something wasn’t right.
Then I remembered. The tent. The pipe. Dancing with Jack. The fire. The drums. His heartbeat. Jack, Jack, Jack, Jack. Something roaring between us.
I flipped to my side and moaned. I was hungover from whatever I had smoked.
“You all right?” Jack’s morning voice was raspy and rough.
We were lying in our beds, facing each other.
“I’m fine.” Mine came out like I had sucked on helium. It wasn’t every day that I woke up in the same room as a big, lumbering man. Or a mid-sized one. Or anything that can grow stubble overnight.
The pale light played up his hair, giving it a soft, bluish cast. One hand was under his pillow, while the other dangled off his bed, his fingers close enough to touch. Even through all the layers, it was easy to make out the solid sinew of Jack’s body.
When I get home, I am going to get a life, I promised myself. Meet some hot men. Date. Have lots and lots of sex, so I’m not so miserably ill-equipped around a male body.
Now you’re talking! Mo popped into my head.
Really? This is when you choose to show up? When I’m having R-rated thoughts?
You owe me. Big time. You never had any juicy stories to share when I was around.
Well, nothing juicy is happening here right now.
Not yet.
Mo! He just lost his daughter, and I’m still getting over you.
So? There’s nothing more life-affirming than sex.
You know I’m not about a quick romp in the hay.
No. You want more. You’ve always wanted more. But you don’t always get what you want. Sometimes you get exactly what you need. And good God, look at him! Don’t tell me you don’t want a slice of that.
I sighed and closed my eyes. Tell me something, Mo. Are we really having these conversations or am I making you up in my head?
Whatever floats your boat.
You’re absolutely no help.