One Night by Eric Jerome Dickey Page A

had hair like mine. Then I reached up to him, touched his face.
    I did it without thinking. I touched his face and looked into his eyes.
    I took a step away, gave him an uncomfortable smile. He smiled back.
    Then he looked into my eyes, and his expression seemed to say that watching me was like smoking opium.
    When we made decadent eye contact, he laughed like a shy boy. I almost laughed a little girl’s laugh, too. I laughed, but I remained cold, an ice queen. Had to keep my walls high or the enemy would try to climb over. Cold rain fell again and he looked at me like I was beautiful, as if he were an ancient explorer who was desirous of crossing the Bering Strait and venturing deep inside another country. I was beyond my age of innocence, self-indulgent games no longer new or surprising to me.
    Then he broke the stare, shut down the moment, and checked the time on his cell.
    I looked at the time on mine, again checking for a text message, freeing myself from his gaze.
    When I raised my eyes from my Samsung, his erotic eyes were waiting to see mine.
    I tried to read his body language. I had lost that ability. I was without power. As we maintained eye contact, he confessed that he had wanted to feel my hair from the moment he had seen my locks. I nodded, told him that I was glad to fulfill that small wish, and said that I was glad that he had asked first or I would’ve been offended. Someone touching my hair—it was a personal thing.
    He said, “There was a second question.”
    â€œWhat do I win if I get the answer right?”
    â€œI’ll go across the street to TGI Fridays and buy you cheesecake, if you like cheesecake.”
    â€œOh, hell yeah. I love cheesecake. My thighs want the best cheesecake in L.A.”
    â€œSure you want to know the question?”
    â€œDude, we’re talking cheesecake. What’s the question?”
    He asked, “May I kiss you?”
    I stopped blinking. The six lanes of traffic stopped moving. That question made the world stop spinning. A chill ran up and down my spine. My hands opened and closed a thousand times.
    I cleared my throat, took a step away, and shook my head, folded my arms across my breasts.
    I said, “That came out of nowhere.”
    â€œNot for me.”
    â€œWell, it did for me. Why in the hell would you want to kiss me?”
    â€œHave you seen you?”
    â€œI’m not big on looking in mirrors.”
    â€œWhat did you think I was going to ask?”
    â€œYou have a wife.”
    â€œI do. Somewhere out there, I have a wife.”
    â€œI have a boyfriend.”
    â€œI know. You have Chicken and Waffles.”
    â€œWhatever. We have people to kiss.”
    â€œRegardless, before I go away and never see you again, I want to kiss you.”
    My breath fogged in front of my face, telling me the temperature had dropped.
    I looked at him. Tall. Well dressed. Intellectual swag. Successful. Professional.
    And he had some edge to him; some academic, lack-of-self-control bad boy was in his blood.
    I glanced at his car, then at his wedding ring. He had a cow to make go moo. I had someone to get the milk for free. I was an L.A. girl and he was an O.C. dude. We had nothing in common.
    I said, “Convince me. Tell me why you want to kiss me.”
    â€œYou’re a person of great wit, of great intellect.”
    â€œBut?”
    â€œThere is no but. You’re a beautiful bel esprit in dreadlocks.”
    â€œWow. That was a real compliment.”
    â€œIt was.”
    â€œAnd why should I want to kiss you?”
    â€œBecause we’ll never have the chance again. This is our once-in-a-lifetime moment.”
    We stared. He had held my hand. He had touched my hair.
    I said, “It would be just a kiss.”
    â€œCan I? May I? Will you? Can we?”
    â€œAre you a good kisser?”
    â€œDon’t know. Never took kissing classes in university.”
    â€œYou have to kiss the right people. Otherwise