• Jeida K.

Him & Her | Part Three

This is the final installment of HIM & HER! Need to catch up? Read Part One and Part Two now. Enjoy!

HIM:

The chemistry between us was intense. Strong enough to make you dizzy. In one afternoon, she made me want to jump in front of a moving train for her. I don’t usually trip this hard over a woman, but, man, I was gone. It’s wild.

Photo by Gianpaolo La Paglia

One exchange and I already wanted to hold her hand, run my fingers through her braids. I yearned to unearth the essence of her beauty, to find out what made her laugh, or cry, or feel brave. I wanted to discover the secrets hidden behind her eyes.

Those eyes.

After we parted ways, I had nothing on my mind but that yellow dress and the way she peered at me like she was ready to change my life. I intended to wait a few days before calling her but I couldn’t wait. I hit her up, but she didn’t answer. I admit, I felt a little defeated and immediately started second guessing myself. She really had me bent, making me wonder if I’d imagined the connection.

I started to leave her a message, but an incoming call beeped before her voicemail did. I glanced at the screen.

It was HER.

The moment her sultry voice said my name, I was cheesing harder than a kid at Disney World. My heart knocked against my chest like a caged animal trying to get free. She said it again, slower, like she understood the power she already had over me. This time, my name on her lips calmed me, brought me from the clouds back to the ground. This girl was something else.

Our conversation grew from light and flirty to heavy and deep. She started breaking me down, asking me questions that made me think, like ‘How do you express anger or disappointment?’ or ‘When was the last time you cried?’. She told me about her irrational fear of goldfish, and we laughed together over the story of how she got lost in Spain on her first solo trip overseas. I never cared to know any of that stuff about other women, but coming from her, it might as well have been the gospel. Every story she shared was a revelation, a deeper understanding into how she saw the world. I longed to be a part of it. I just laid there with my eyes closed, enjoying the airy note of her laughter and her sexy sighs as sleep started to sneak up on her.

Every time she grew quiet, I asked her another question. Anything to keep her talking, anything to keep myself swaying in the wind of her mystique. She told me she had a craving for her favorite dessert. I knew the perfect place where we could get some after midnight. Suddenly, she was wide awake. She asked me to stop keeping secrets, asked me to take her, asked me to give it to her right now. I could only smile because I was already out of bed and putting my pants on.

Told her I had nothing to hide, told her to text her address and I’d be on the way, told her I planned on giving her everything she wanted.



HER:

Down in the country, my auntie Wanda’s peach trees produced the biggest, juiciest, sweetest peaches I’ve ever tasted. And I’d never had another peach cobbler come even close to hers… until now. Still, I didn’t know what was more delicious: the cobbler or the man sitting across from me.

Photo by Krisztina Papp

I offered some of my dessert to him but he shook his head, continued to smile in my direction, and sipped on his drink. I wouldn’t take no for an answer. I crooked my finger at him, beckoning him closer, and he leaned in. I grabbed a clean fork, scooped a small bite, and held it to his mouth. I studied his lips as he savored the cobbler. When I lifted my eyes, he was staring at me, his eyes twinkling. He grazed his bottom lip with his tongue, teasing me, daring me. I placed the fork on the table and dropped my hands to my lap, crossing my legs as a feeble attempt to extinguish the arousal gathering between them.

The quaint bar was pretty packed for nearly one in the morning on a Friday. There was a duo performing on stage: a man playing the upright bass while a curvy sister with big hair and a gold tooth sang with him. I bopped to the groove and tried to ignore the effect my date was having on me. After several attempts to keep conversation in the loud bar, he finally left his seat and slid into the booth beside me.

My breath caught when he leaned in to whisper in my ear. I think he was telling me something about the local artists onstage, but I couldn’t focus. I couldn’t even eat my damn cobbler. I was captivated and enthralled simply by his nearness. Normally, I would have been offended by his close proximity—I like my space—but I surprised myself when I slid my hand against the cool material of the booth until my pinky grazed his. He looked down at our hands, then right into my eyes. Intense. I wanted to pull my hand away—afraid my heart might explode out of my chest from the heat burning between us—but he hooked his pinky over mine, gently caressing my fingers until his hand covered my own. Our eyes remained connected and a tiny smile pulled at one side of his mouth.

We may as well have been alone together; I lost awareness of every other person, every other sound. I could only see and hear HIM. We stayed like that for what felt like hours—my hand nestled underneath his, fingers now laced, and our bodies turned inward. We were a book: his body, the front cover displaying beautiful artwork; my body, the back cover hinting at the depth of the story hidden inside. Our hands between us, the inscribed pages of a love story I yearned to discover.

I picked up my fork. He picked up his. I tasted another bite of the cobbler. Entranced, he did the same, bringing the last bite to his lips. It was our communion. We ate together, broke bread filled with gooey, peachy goodness, chewing slowly, but our eyes feasted on each other.

His hand trembled. All I could think in that moment was, Dude. Same. I was nervous but the intensity of his gaze both unsettled and thrilled me.

Clank!

He dropped his fork onto the table and leaned in until his soft lips brushed mine. The kiss was so light and left me wanting more. I whispered his name but before the last syllable could leave my tongue, he cupped my cheeks and kissed me deeper. It was just like cobbler. Sweet, savory, decadent, satisfying, firm but also soft, an array of textures that tantalize the tongue.

I’d decided: he was much more delicious.



T H E E N D


Thank you for reading the HIM & HER flash fiction series. I hope you've enjoyed these two as much as I have. Who knows? Maybe we'll hear from them again in the future.

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© 2021 by Jeida K. Storey.