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One more reminder that she’s like no one else I’ve ever known.
We’re at a bar just off campus, a popular one that serves two-dollar street tacos and one-dollar beers. There was a high-top being vacated when we got here, and now, done with dinner and onto our second beer, we’re people watching while couples, and singles who are hoping to find a couple, shuffle to and from the bar.
“Come on, we’re up.”
Nala hops off her stool and heads to the giant-Jenga table that was just vacated. Directly behind her, I notice all of the eyes that follow her. All of the male eyes. Placing my hand on the small of her back, I let it slide down until I’m cupping her hip, half my palm covering her ass.
“You making a point to someone?”
She’s paused at the table, head cocked, eyebrows raised. “I’m making a point toeveryone.” Her eyes get darker, but she presses a hand to my chest when I step closer.
“Watch it, Mal. I’m not a piece of property.”
“No one’s treating you like one. You’re a woman,” I tell her, stopping her before she speaks again. “Mywoman. We both know it. Now they all know it, too.” I lean in and pause when she leans back. A challenge. Maybe she needs this, a moment where she lets me know she is strong and in charge of her own life, but fuck if I’m backing down, because I need this too.
I tighten my hand on her hip, using my other one to cup the back of her neck. “We’re together, Nala, and if other guys are going to look, I’m going to make sure they know who’s touching you. The only person who’s touching you.”
I lean in again, and though she resists for a second, I keep pushing until our mouths are only millimeters apart. “Just like you’re the only person touching me.”
Then I take her, crushing our lips together, heedless of where we are and who is watching. The taste of her, here in public, shows me why I needed to take her out. Maybe it’s not romantic, maybe it’s not what poets write about, but kissing Nala in front of a bar full of strangers has cemented what we are together. She’s mine, and I’m going to make sure the world knows it—starting with any guy who thinks he has a right to even look at her.
A tiny vibration rumbles near my stomach. I ignore it. When it happens again, we both pull away. Nala’s eyes are slow to open, and when they do, they’re clouded with passion, dark blue and beautiful.
“You’re vibrating,” I tell her, pointing to the purse she’s draped across her body. She fumbles with the zipper, and I sweep her braid aside to place another kiss on her neck. A guy two tables over groans, and I can’t help the surge of testosterone. That’s right, motherfucker, she’s mine and I can taste here wherever and whenever I want.
I might consider getting her a T-shirt that says that.
“Where are you?”
The intensity in Nala’s voice halts my progress toward her collar bone and has me stepping back. With the phone still at her ear, she points to the door and takes off, me close on her heals even with the awkward cast.
By the time we get to the Jeep, I’ve listened to her side of the conversation enough to understand it’s not anyone from our family in trouble. It’s some girl named Liza, and she needs help. Nala has asked things like “Have you called the police? Where are you? How long ago? Did you take a shower?”
When she guns the engine, she tells the girl she’ll be right there. Then she promises to stay on the line.
“No,” I tell her when she mimes taking me home. “I’m not letting you go alone,” I say when she scowls. “So don’t waste your time.”
I know she’s worried when she doesn’t argue. Instead, she points the Jeep south and pulls into a subdivision fifteen minutes later. The houses are midsize, and the cars parked on the street range from Civics to Mercedes and everything in between. The sheer amount of them lining the street tells me there’s a party somewhere.
“I’m driving down the street,” Nala says into the phone. “I’m in the Jeep without the top. Where are you?”
A small figure appears like magic in the middle of the road up ahead. Nala confirms that it’s her—Liza—and hangs up, putting the Jeep in park right in the middle of the road. “I need you to stay here,” she says.
“Fuck that.”
“Malcolm,” her voice snaps out, making me feel like a child. I hate it. Even more because I can see how scared she is, how worried about this girl. “Liza needs me, but she can’t see…she just needsme. You can watch from here, and I promise I won’t go anywhere you can’t see me, but you cannot come with me.”
She doesn’t wait for me to respond, and I’m half tempted to follow her, just because I don’t take orders, especially when my first order, always, is making sure Nala is safe. But before I can get out, I hear it, the sob from the other girl, and then I see her break, wrapping her arms around herself, and I know without being told that whatever happened to her was very, very bad.
