Page 17 of Before I Should Leave

I made it through security like a ghost.

Half in the moment, half still in the hotel shower.

Still tasting him on my lips.

Still feeling the ache in my thighs.

The terminal buzzed around me with people rushing, kids whining, gate announcements rolling on repeat, but I barely heard any of it.

My mind was back there, in that hotel room, under his body, in his arms, with his mouth on my neck, whispering things I wasn’t ready to forget.

“Final boarding for Flight 637 to Chicago.”

I tightened my grip on my carry-on, stepped forward, and handed the agent my phone. She scanned it, gave it back to me with that corporate smile, and nodded me through. I took a few steps toward the gate, but something made me pause.

I turned just for a second, and Diesel was still standing past security. Tall. Calm. Hoodie over his head now. Hands in his pockets. One foot planted like he wasn’t in any rush. Our eyes locked, and he tilted his chin just slightly and winked like he already knew I’d be thinking about him once I sat down.

I smiled because something inside me had been loosened and didn’t want to be tightened again. I turned away slowly and walked through the jet bridge.

Once I was in my seat, Birkin tucked under the front, seatbelt clicked, I leaned back into the window. The plane was still parked and prepping while people settled and babies cried somewhere. My fingers toyed with the edge of my phone, screen dark in my lap. I kept thinking about the way he kissed me last, like it was soft, but not finished. My screen buzzed. Jonnae.

I exhaled and answered on the second ring. “Hey.”

“Okay,”

she said, immediately loud.

“Are you alive? Are you in the air? Are you pregnant? What happened?”

I laughed, low and tired but honest.

“I’m fine. I’m on the plane. We haven’t taken off yet.”

“And him?”

“Diesel’s gone. I’m sure he’s on his way home to his daughter by now.”

“Mmm,”

she said.

“But your voice sounds like you just left your soul in that hotel room.”

I turned toward the window, smiling.

“Maybe I did.”

After hanging up, I buckled my seatbelt, eyes fluttering shut as the plane rolled back from the gate. The engine hummed, and the overhead lights dimmed.

A flight attendant walked past me in heels that didn’t flinch.

“Would you like a drink before takeoff, sir?”

she asked someone in the first few rows.

I didn’t hear the response. I wasn’t listening anymore. I leaned my head back against the window.

Still warm.

Still tender.

Still Diesel all over me.

His voice. His hands. That smirk. God, that dick. I closed my eyes. Just for a minute. Just long enough to feel the pressure lift as the plane sped down the runway. Just long enough to chase the last of that night before the day swallowed it up.

And when I opened them again, the hum was gone. The seat was leather. The sky was gray, but clear, and I wasn’t on a plane. I was in the back of an SUV, in the city. There was no rainstorm. No Diesel. My heart thudded hard in my chest. My head whipped to the side to see Jonnae next to me, tablet in her lap, stylus in hand.

And Marcus, my usual driver, was up front, bobbing his head to a low R&B station, like nothing in the world had happened.

“What the fu…?”

Jonnae glanced over at me, chewing gum, eyebrows raised.

“Well, hello, sleeping beauty. You good?”

“I—what the hell happened?”

She blinked.

“You fell asleep. Mid-convo. Like mid-sentence.”

I stared at her. She added.

“And then started talking and moaning.”

My whole body went still. “What?”

“Yeah, like sexy moaning. Breathy. Real grown. I was trying not to laugh, but I was concerned. Thought maybe you were having a medical episode or… just really into whatever fantasy your brain was playing.”

I looked down at my lap. My fingers still curled like they were used to gripping cotton sheets. My thighs still clenched. My chest still rising like someone had just told me to breathe deep and feel all of it.

“Oh my God,”

I whispered.

“This traffic is ridiculous,”

Jonnae was still talking.

“But anyway, if you’re awake now, we’ve got an updated time for your panel run-through. I emailed it to you and your PR team. Also, you have a light lunch with some execs from the equity firm around three, but I can move that if you’re too wiped.”

She paused.

I didn’t respond.

I was staring out the window again.

Watching the streets blur past.

Waiting for the sound of rain.

Waiting for the weight of Diesel’s hand on my thigh. Waiting for something I knew wasn’t coming.

“Okay…”

Jonnae said slowly.

“You’re zoning out again.”

I blinked, hard. I tried to laugh, tried to shake it off.

“Sorry. I just had the... wildest fucking dream.”

Jonnae grinned.

“You dream about work stuff or…?”

I hesitated. Then smiled to myself, low and quiet. By the time we hit the freeway, my head was clear. Mostly.

I was back in it with emails pulled up on my phone, flight check-in complete, and talking points reviewed. My panel was in less than twenty-four hours, and I had two execs, a stylist, and a publicist waiting to make sure I didn’t show up looking or sounding like anything less than that woman.

Jonnae was mid-sentence again, tapping through her tablet with one perfectly manicured nail.

“So they’ve moved the fireside chat to after lunch, which honestly works better, and yes, they requested that specifically. Also, I told the hotel to have your green juice ready when you arrive and double-checked—yes, your suite has a soaking tub and blackout drapes.”

“Good,”

I said, eyes scanning the last few lines of my itinerary.

My voice was calm now.

My energy? Locked in.

That dream—if that’s what it really was—had been fading like morning fog.

Diesel’s hands, his voice, his weight? Gone.

Mostly.

I leaned back in my seat and adjusted my sunglasses as Marcus came to a smooth stop at the red light.

I glanced down at my phone again, scrolling through my inbox, when I heard it.

Jagged Edge. Old school. Faint but clear.

“Let’s get married… baby, let’s get married…”

It wasn’t coming from our speakers.

It was coming from the vehicle that pulled up next to us.

Something about the tone—warm, bassy, wrapped in nostalgia—made my head turn, slow. And then?

I saw him.

Beard sexy.

Tats peeking from his forearm to the back of his hand and on his neck that I swear I remembered.

He sat behind the wheel of a black matte truck, one arm slung over the steering wheel, the other resting casually on the windowsill.

Hoodie sleeves pushed up.

Gold chain.

Fresh braids. And fine. So fucking fine.

Our eyes met and I froze.

It wasn’t just the resemblance.

It was the way he looked at me, like he’d seen me before, too.

No smile.

No smirk.

Just a slow, subtle nod.

Like yeah… I remember you, too. Then the light turned green, and he tapped the gas, pulling off. And just like that, he was gone.

Jonnae looked up from her tablet.

“Why’d you just suck your breath in like that? Who was that?”

I blinked. Swallowing hard, I shook my head and looked back out the window. “No one,”

I said quietly.

“It was no one.”

She kept watching me. “Uh huh,”

she said slowly.

“Well, for ‘no one’… you look real emotionally stirred.”

I didn’t answer. Because maybe it was just a coincidence. Maybe I’d just projected a dream onto a stranger. Maybe that night, that storm, that kiss, that dick was all a fantasy. A reminder of what I’d been missing. And I’ll be damned if it wasn’t a good one.