Page 8 of Tell Me I'm Not Dreaming

“Do you have a man?”

“Sir.” Lyric playfully frowns at him.

“What? I’m curious. A beautiful, captivating and intelligent woman such as yourself has to be taken.”

“I’m not.” Lyric sips her soda.

“Interesting. So, when was your last serious relationship?”

“Oh, wow.” Lyric rolls her eyes upward as she thinks it over.

“About five years ago. His name was Evan. We met at a bar and hit it off. He asked me out, and we dated for two years. Then, one day, I realized I was dating him because he looked good on paper but for not much else. I asked the girls what they thought, and my friend Bridget so eloquently said, ‘Ric, we were all waiting for you to realize that guy is duller than dishwater.’”

Ranson’s shoulders shake with mirth.

“So, you haven’t dated anyone since Evan?”

“Nope, not seriously. A few casual hookups and some dates that didn’t lead anywhere, but I’ve been single since him.”

“May I ask another question?”

“Yes, you may.”

“Why didn’t the dates lead anywhere?”

“Because men are …” She lets out a defeated sigh.

“Yeah, I know. A lot of us need work.”

“A lot of work,” Lyric agrees.

“What was the worst date you’ve been on recently?” He sips his soda.

“Oh, definitely the Hotep who was twenty minutes late on purpose talking about, ‘Time is a social construct invented by the white man.’”

His eyes widen in surprise, and he almost spits out his soda. “Please tell me you made that up.”

“Nope. I am not that creative.”

“Oh, man. I can see why the homies are lonely. Those fools are shooting themselves in the foot.”

“Which is why there was no second date.”

Ranson claps his hands and lets out a belly laugh. “I’m sorry, but I just keep picturing Allen Payne in CB4 talking about, ‘I’m Black y’all, and I’m Black y’all’ over and over again.”

Lyric cackles. “That’s not too far off. I love how that scene pops up on the Black side of social media almost daily during February, and it’s never not funny.”

“We are truly an unserious people.”

“Agreed.” Lyric picks up her hot dog and takes a bite.

Ranson follows suit and takes a bite of his. “Holy shit!”

“So good, right?”

“Damn good.” Ranson gets up and buys two more sodas. Another cherry for Lyric and a vanilla cola for him. He pays the $4 and uses a money transfer app he invested in and sends Frank $10,000.

Frank hugs his wife and waves, smiling at Ranson. He has tears in his eyes and mouths, Thank you .

Ranson smiles back and nods.

Lyric notices their exchange. “What was that?”

“Nothing. Just gave Mr. Frank a nice tip.”

“How nice of a tip?”

“A nice hefty one.” Ranson winks at her.

“Okay, Mr. Angel Investor,” Lyric jokes.

Ranson gives her a toothless grin.

“No, seriously, that was so sweet of you.” Lyric takes his hand and squeezes it.

He squeezes her hand back. “These hot dogs are amazing, and supporting Black-owned businesses with a quality product is what I do.”

“Frank’s been talking about getting another truck. They only have the one, and with food truck festivals popping up all over SoCal, it hasn’t been easy for him and Eleanor. You may have just changed their lives.”

“That’s why I can’t let my dad tear down everything I’ve built.

Changing folks’ lives is a huge reason why I do what I do.

” Ranson takes a moment and thinks about his next statement.

“It’s funny, folks say things like, ‘You’re a grown man’ whenever I talk about my dad’s hold over us, but they don’t get it.

Ex-wives can cut and run, some with a nice chunk of change.

My mother, Momma Dola and Momma Peyton weren’t able to escape completely due to us kids, but my father’s hold on them isn’t as strong as his hold on us.

And that’s how it is for rich kids. You’re born into a world most folks dream about, but you’re constantly reminded that if you don’t fall in line, it will all get taken away.

And by that point, a life of leisure is all you know.

Powerful men like my father have no problem reminding their kids of that. ”

“I’m so sorry, Ranson.”

“Thank you.”

Lyric scoots from the seat across from him and sits next to him. They gaze into each other’s eyes, and without warning, Lyric touches his face and scratches his beard.

The feel of her nails against his face sends tingles down Ranson’s spine.

He takes caution to the wind and wraps his arms around her waist, pulling her closer. Rubbing his nose against her neck, he inhales.

Fuck, she smells like Heaven .

He presses his lips against her skin, and she lets out a contented sigh.

She turns her head and looks at his lips as if silently asking him to kiss her. He happily obliges.

Her lips are plush, full and soft. They peck each other over and over, unable to stop.

It’s chaste by most folks’ standards, mainly just their lips pressing together, but the urgency makes it hotter than any make out session Ranson has ever experienced.

He could kiss Lyric like this forever and never get tired.

Her hands cup his face, and his hands hold her waist. As much as he wants to grab her ass, he’s still a gentleman.

Until she gives him the green flag to go farther, he won’t… but the minute she does, it’s on.

They break apart and stare at each other.

“Wow,” he finally says.

“Yeah,” she replies before going back for more.

Sorry, Patrick, but I’ve got to listen to Granddaddy Roosevelt, cause this woman is going to be my wife .