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I brush them away and fight to keep my composure.
“The ear plugs will not pen—go further than they have to. It will not be too uncomfortable.”
She still looks squeamish.
“Would you like me to do it for you?” I offer.
She lowers her lashes, hiding her brown eyes from view. “Be gentle.”
The heat in my veins becomes a terrible blaze. I should stop to drink a cup of water and cool down, but I walk to Dejonae instead.
“Wait,” her gorgeous mouth trembles, pursing into a flat maroon line. “L-let me. I’ll do it.”
I offer the plugs to her.
She takes a deep breath and, with the expression of one about to saw her own limbs off, slips the first plug into her ear.
By the time she is done, her breath is labored and her curls are sticking to the sweat on her cheeks.
“I don’t think I can do this,” she pants.
“You have one more.”
“Here.” She stabs the ear plug at me. “You do it.”
How strange to see her confidence falter. Every time we meet, she has been strong and outspoken. To think that a little ear plug would shake her like this…
“Hold still.” I steady her shoulders.
She squeezes her eyes shut.
I brush a loose curl behind her ear to keep it out of my way. It springs right back, as defiant as the woman it adorns.
“Is it done yet?”
“Not quite,” I say, focusing on the curl. “Turn around.”
“What?”
“Turn around,” I speak forcefully.
With her eyes still closed, she gives me her back. I set the ear plug in the pocket of my blazer and gather my hands at Dejonae’s neck.
The moment she feels me taking out her butterfly clip, she whirls around. “What are you doing?”
“Fixing your hair.”
“I’ll do it.”
I brush her hand aside. “Stay still.”
“Don’t you know you should never touch a black woman’s hair without permission?”
“In this moment, you are a test subject, not a black woman.” I press the wings of her butterfly clip and watch her honey-tinged curls spring free. They fall against my knuckles, kissing my hands softly. “And your curls are in the way.”
“They do what they want.”
“Like their owner.”
