Chapter 10

"You know I want you baby
You know I do
I'll give you my heart and the rest is up to you
You ain't no good for me, I know it's true
But you don't have to be
Cause I do it for the thrill, for the rush
I do it for the pain, for your touch
When I OD, when it's too much
If I survive, baby you're the one
You're the one"

Kaytranada – "You're the One"

"…JobuJobuJobuJobu…."

Her voice through the phone made his body spiral out of control. The begging to make her orgasm. The snippets of noise he heard that could only be the toy between her toned thighs. That sharp cry she gave before she was tongue-twisting his name over and over.

He gripped his erection, the taut flesh spasmed once, twice, three times before he spewed hot semen across his bed, ruining his sheets. His balls ached from the draining even though his dick was still somewhat hard. That twinge of dull pain he felt was his body's way of yearning for physical contact with a woman. An orgasm that good only primed the pump for him to want more. And soon.

As he listened to Califia's measured breathing over the phone, he seriously thought of calling up one of his special friends to come take care of him properly so he could get Califia out of his system. He would have to suffer the fantasy of wondering what her face looked like when she came. Did she close her eyes? Was she a crier? Did her body bend or go rigid? Did her pussy grip tight and milk a dick, or become a soft receptacle of pleasure? What did she taste like?

His mind was full of pleasant thoughts until she mentioned that she could handle spanking. At that moment, he had to shut it all down. Spanking belonged to his women. His skills were immaculate when it came to that form of discipline, and he couldn't stand the thought of not being able to do it with her when she was tied up with some clown who didn't understand or value her worth. It was best not to play flirty games with her if he couldn't have her the way he wanted.

He made his voice neutral when he told her that he didn't want to be around her alone. He was adamant that she sever her relationship with Xavier.

When he finished the call with her, he stopped to analyze his reasoning for telling her that he didn't want anyone else touching her. It was a ridiculous notion, something he never said to his other women. But that's how he wanted it. He wasn't trying to pin down a girlfriend. Califia was just his newest conquest. He didn't want her distracted by anyone else before him.

Once he had her a few times, he knew she would simmer down to a low boil in his system and he would be onto the next. The excitement was the chase right now, and it was extra stimulating because she belonged to someone else. He was taking perverse pleasure in knowing he was provoking another man's woman to leave him. The moment Califia kissed him he knew he couldn't pretend to care about being respectful anymore. Her mouth, her tongue, her tits, and that thick backside of hers had him on edge.

Shit.

His dick was still hard. Jutting out between his thighs and ramrod straight. A shower would help. He changed the sheets on his bed first, then treated his horny body to a frigid shower.

When he was situated in his bed all warm and quite comfortable, he entertained the idea of letting her make all the moves from now on. He was still going to see other people, but he would wait for her to act. In fact, he wasn't going to touch her until some time had passed once she broke up with Xavier. When he had the opportunity to get her in his bed, he was going to make sure she would forget Xavier and any other man she rebounded with. He wanted her body to remember him forever once he left America and went home for good.

###

After his early morning run, and before his afternoon classes, N'Jobu took the time to look over betrothal march and coronation clothing designs. His mother fast-tracked sketches and photos of swatches to his computer, so he sat at his desk partaking of dark bitter tea shipped from home as he looked over the numerous pictures.

During the three weeks he would be in Wakanda he would change outfits three times a day on average. T'Chaka, once crowned, would wear traditional dark robes and slacks with the family coat of arms stitched into the fabric. N'Jobu, denoting his status of the second son in line, would bear the family crest on his shoulders or on a stole draped over his chest.

N'Jobu loved color, so he was pleased his mother was allowing vibrant shades in several of the suits and robes he scrolled through. One suit, in particular, caught his eye, a flashy iridescent blue silk number with tapered lines and deep folds in the waist. He decided to wear that for the crowning. A deep persimmon colored wool djellaba also caught his eye, and he filed it away as an afterparty outfit for when he snuck out from the palace and partied with his friends from the top tiers of nobility back home. He was already girding his loins for all the ribbing he would take from his still single childhood friends. He was also ready for them to bend his ear about favoring their sisters as potential Princess material.

There was some traditional attire he would have to wear regardless if he liked it or not, but it was part of the royal protocol. Lately, he was favoring rather tight suits and robes. A brother liked to stunt back home, and if he had to go on public display for an arranged marriage, he was going to outshine a prancing peacock. After checking for shoes and sandals, diamond studded earrings and silver rings, N'Jobu headed for class.

He would be returning to the states a few days after the new term started, so he needed to collect syllabus materials and books to take with him during winter break. He floated through his classes, ignored texts and voicemail from Andrea and Ren, but took calls from Serah and a woman, Bridgette, who he had been crazy about but she dumped him for being secretive. The one woman he thought he could be serious with. The one who accused him of being an arrogant African prick. She was back in town after being away on a project for her job in another city.

Bridgette was doing well, and he felt like she was fishing around for a hook-up excuse. He gave her one, mentioning his idea of having a holiday party at his apartment before he left for Wakanda. He knew he was clutch when she texted him back after they spoke to tell him to remind her of the party. She'd be checking for him again real soon, he was sure of it.

When he was done with his classes for the day, he used the school gym to work out a bit, working on his biceps, thinking of the women he had chosen for the first round of possible wife material. He had made a list of five that he found favorable. He would go back and forth with his parents because he knew they had their own list of picks. His paternal grandmother held considerable weight in the choosing, but he hoped his parents would favor his list and back him against his grandmother if she started throwing her influence. The intense vetting process would begin in the new year; however, the first step was to formally come out to his people and the circus of speculation that would start as to who the newest royal in the Udaku family line would be.

By the time he returned to his apartment, Bakari was back home on his phone and using his gaming console in front of the tv.

N'Jobu showered and changed into a comfortable pair of lounging slacks and a university t-shirt. He worked in the kitchen to prepare a meal of sautéed vegetable medley with a pork loin roast that he'd left marinating in spices all day. He played music on his phone and worked with quiet efficiency, the tantalizing smells of the pork roasting in the oven wafted throughout the apartment. He could hear Bakari on his phone with the occasional curse word thrown out when one of his RPG characters died.

Eventually Bakari came into the kitchen to be nosey about what was cooking, still on his phone yammering away and popping open a bottle of hard lemonade. He sat at the kitchen table watching N'Jobu stir his vegetables on the stove then directed his attention back to his phone. It was then that N'Jobu overheard that Califia had left Xavier. She wasted no time, he thought. The urge to call her came over him, but he pushed back on that. He wanted her to come to him when she was ready.

A fleeting thought of her on his lap made him smile a bit as he sat down at the kitchen table and went through his phone for messages. Bakari didn't mention any more details over the phone, but when he hung up, N'Jobu thought it was a good time to let his friend know his intentions.

"Califia broke up with Xavier?"

Bakari put his cell down on the table.

"Yeah. I stayed with her last night at her grandma's."

N'Jobu gave Bakari a quizzical look.

"Soliel and Rolita were with her, and I went over to check on her. She was feeling really bad about it. But she was good this morning when I left. The grapevine got out though, so I know dudes are lined up ready to get at her."

"You think she'll start dating right away?"

"To me, that's the best way to get over a breakup. Just jump back out there. She really liked Xavier though."

"Was she in love with him?"

It was Bakari's turn to give a questioning look at N'Jobu.

"Why you care if she was in love?"

N'Jobu just flexed the fingers in his left hand and Bakari put both his hands on the kitchen table leaning towards N'Jobu.

"Wayment, you checking for her?"

"Yes."

Bakari leaned back and gave N'Jobu a long hard stare.

"You serious? You know that's my homegirl right? Not just my friend, but like, my sister. Family."

"I know this."

"Dude. You hit 'em and quit 'em. That's not Califia."

"She is an adult."

"You not hearing me, man. She's not to be played with."

"I like her."

"A lot of niggas like her, bruh."

"Do I need your permission to check for her?"

N'Jobu's eyes hardened in expression as he tried to determine Bakari's true feelings about his desire to pursue Califia.

"Look, Cali can do what she wants. I'm just telling you that I don't like the idea of you with her because you're not into relationships for the long haul. And if you two get into something and it goes south, then I'm stuck in this fucked up triangle of awkward interactions. You my boy, but she's family. I need you to comprehend that."

"So if she and I end on a negative, we can't be friends anymore?"

"I'd still be your friend, but it would be weird for me. Can't you be happy with the baddies you already banging? You got like half a dozen. Why her too?"

"I just like her."

Bakari squinted his eyes at N'Jobu, then wagged his finger at him.

"See, I knew something was up at that karaoke shit. And the museum. The vibe between you two was a little off."

N'Jobu smiled then went to turn off his rice cooker.

"Bakari, I enjoy women. Smart women with passion—"

"And ass."

N'Jobu chuckled at that.

"I would never intentionally try to hurt Califia. I really am interested in her as a person and not just sex—"

"Ugh, don't say that."

"It's your fault that I'm into her."

"How's that?"

"You made me go to that BSU meeting. You brought her here to our apartment. If I never saw her, I wouldn't be at this point."

"She might get back with Xavier though."

"No, she won't."

"How you know?"

"I know. I talked to her."

"You've only hung out with her like, what, two times?"

"Enough time to chat."

"This is making me hella uncomfortable. You better not hurt her. On God, if you ever make her cry I will kick your ass."

"I won't hurt her. You should worry about me. You know she can handle herself. She'd probably kick my ass with her capoeira."

"I'd be right there with her. Believe that."

N'Jobu pulled his pork loin roast from the oven and let it sit on the stove to rest. Bakari watched him scoop seasoned rice out of the cooker and fill up a ceramic serving dish. Fixing them both plates of food, N'Jobu wanted to reassure Bakari.

"Califia is a smart woman. She can handle herself with any man, including me. Who knows, she may not even want me."

"Nigga, stop tryna downplay your game. I can see she's into you. You just need to know one thing, don't fuck with her. She not only has me but some hard ass cousins that do not play when it comes to her. Street niggas, bruh. Like 'keep that thang on 'em' niggas. Tread carefully."

"I will."

Bakari shook his head. They both ate the food N'Jobu cooked, music still playing on N'Jobu's phone.

"I want us to have a winter break party," N'Jobu said.

"Here?"

"In the all-purpose room. Management has been turning on the heat lamps by the pool, so we can have a nighttime pool party."

"Pool only stays open until ten though."

"We can start the party at five. If the pool is too cold, we can use the jacuzzi. I'll cater food and drinks so no one has to bring anything."

"Make it BYOB, that way if people drink too much, it's not our problem. We can provide soda and water."

"Sounds good. You can invite your friends from your drumming group and really shake it up around here. I already reserved the room for December twenty-first."

"Am I inviting Cali, or will you be wanting to do the honors?" Bakari had a smirk on his face.

"You do it."

They ate the rest of their meal in silence, both occasionally peeking at their cell phones. N'Jobu found Bakari staring at him while he finished up his second helping of rice and vegetables.

"What?"

"I feel like I need to warn you about Cali."

"Warn me?"

Bakari pondered what he wanted to say, causing N'Jobu to feel some unease.

"She's not like these women you deal with. I told you before she had a rough home life, and that is real talk. She doesn't trust a lot of people and she's really sensitive about her dad. I wasn't expecting you to like her in that way, so I wasn't going to speak on her personal shit."

"Personal shit?"

"You know her dad is in prison."

"My first fumble with her."

"He's in prison for life. He killed this dude that was molesting kids from our hood. This eats at her all the time. She can close up real tight sometimes when she comes back from visiting him."

Bakari's face became pensive. N'Jobu pushed away his plate.

"The dude he killed was a cop. A bad one. Nobody could prove shit on him, that whole blue wall bullshit, but he was going after little Black girls. He went after Cali's friend and messed that little girl up. Dante, Cali's dad, he filed complaints about the cop. Nothing happened. So he confronted dude. Cop pulled a gun on him and Dante cold-cocked him and dude fell and hit his head. Went into a coma and later died. Blood clot in the brain."

N'Jobu took it all in, trying to imagine a young Califia losing her father after he tried to stop a monster.

"Dante was a big-time community activist, so this all blew up on the news. Cops got a little funkier with the hood and Califia's family got death threats for a long time. That's why her grandma lives in the Outer District and not in Oakland anymore. I think the cops still keep tabs on her family. Even after all these years."

"There's no chance of parole for her father?"

"She tries to get money and good lawyers for her dad, but most folks don't want to take the case. My parents don't practice criminal law, but they helped get Dante a lawyer who was fighting for him. But it's Oakland. Cops get away with shit. They actually got rid of three cops who stepped forward and said ole boy was trash. I think those good cops got pressured or threatened. Two were transferred and one was fired. The fired one was Black."

N'Jobu felt his heart filling with sadness for Califia.

"She rides a bike so she doesn't have to have car expenses. The money she saves she puts towards trying to hire this lawyer from back east who has an excellent track record. She's been saving for three years. Her mom got divorced and re-married. She doesn't get along with her mom and her step-dad. She also has two younger siblings she doesn't see because she feels like her mother didn't hold it down for her dad. My parents took her in when her mom moved to Jersey, so when I say we are family, I mean that shit dude. I grew up with her, lived with her, fought knuckleheads in the streets with her. She ain't no regular chick," Bakari's voice broke a little, and he wiped a tear from his eyelid.

"I hear what you are saying, my friend," N'Jobu said.

"Don't tell her I told you all that. I would prefer she tell you on her own when she wants, but I couldn't hold it in. Especially now that you want to get with her. She carries a lot of hurt and I try my best to keep her happy and upbeat. She's finally gotten to a place where she can chill a bit. She'll get through the Xavier shit, but I don't want her—"

"Bakari…stop. I said I hear you."

"I hope you do."

N'Jobu cleared their dishes, placing them in the dishwasher, and then put away the leftover food. Bakari still sat at the table, watching N'Jobu move around the kitchen.

"If you don't want me to get with her Bakari, just say so."

"Y'all grown."

"I don't want you to be flippant about it. Be honest. You want me to leave her alone."

"I know you can't. You look at her the way women look at you. I just want you to be honest with her every step of the way."

"I am always honest."

"I mean letting her know that there's no future for y'all."

N'Jobu stopped in his tracks.

"I don't want her to fall in love with you."

"You are getting way ahead of yourself—"

"Look at Andrea. Dude, you have that girl's nose wide open. Her and Ren fill up the answering machine all the time. I'm not letting you do that to Cali—"

"Can we even have a first date to see if we are compatible?"

"Compatible, nigga you funny."

Bakari left the kitchen and N'Jobu followed him.

"You wanna play?" Bakari asked, holding a control console out to him. N'Jobu sat on the couch with him as they fired up a zombie apocalypse game. Playing through various levels, N'Jobu wondered if he should give up on Califia. It clearly bothered Bakari.

Maybe she was just an itch he wanted to scratch. He was used to getting everything he wanted in life that he never considered the idea of leaving some things alone. Maybe going after a wounded woman was asking for trouble. Could he give up never kissing her again? Never knowing what it would be like to wake up with her after a night of invigorating sex? Never having her sit on his lap again so he could look up into that freckled face of hers? Never touching her breasts again? Never knowing what magic could lie between her thighs?

Bakari would never verbally tell him to leave her alone. But he would pout. Give him looks. Lay in wait for N'Jobu to find a new girl and then berate him for being how he always was with women. Was it worth all that?

The apartment phone rang, and they both sat on the couch listening for who it was. Bridgette's peach cobbler sweet southern drawl oozed from the voicemail. N'Jobu picked up the phone. Bakari only smirked at him again.

"Hey, Bridgette," he said, not bothering to leave the room and still playing the video game.

"City Lights Bookstore has Gabriela Amador coming in on the tenth. Would you be interested in going? We can have coffee afterward and catch up."

"Sounds cool," he said.

"Great, I'll text you deets. Can't wait to see you."

"This coming from the woman who told me I was a prick."

"Arrogant prick, don't forget," she laughed.

"See you on the tenth."

He hung up with a smile on his face. Perhaps this was divine providence. Bridgette coming back into his life.

###

The second floor of the City Lights Bookstore was crammed with people eager to see the writer-dancer-activist Gabriela Amador. Rain and light fog made N'Jobu dress in a thick blue jacket with a dark blue scarf wrapped around his neck.

Standing next to Bridgette, he noticed a few admiring stares aimed their way. Bridgette was his height with bone-straight blue-black hair that reached her collar in a stylish asymmetrical cut. She wore a vintage Burberry coat that clung to her form in all the right places. Her face was heavily made-up, the tawny coloring of her skin a bit moist from the drops of rain that fell on her when they walked inside the bookstore. Two hours before they had a quick dinner together at a Korean noodle shop, so they were both feeling quite full and very caught up. His instincts had been correct with her; she wanted him to be open to getting back together.

A fine-boned and elegant woman the same rich color of his mother stood in front of a lectern and spoke with a full-bodied Spanish accented English. Gabriela Amador was fifty-five years old and looked forty. She still had a dancer's body that she carried like a young ballerina with delicate flourishes from her arms when she waved them to make a point. Her lecture was on Post-Colonial Afro-Latino Dance in the Americas, and she touched upon quite a few political points as her talk grew more passionate. Her audience was spellbound, and N'Jobu found the content of her talk fascinating.

As the talk ended, a short Q & A followed and a young sable-haired hipster with a fancy mustache asked Gabriela about the connection between dance as an act of rebellion in today's society. Gabriela spoke of West Indian stick fighting and when she mentioned capoeira and its history, a large group of people to the right of the lectern started cat-calling and pointing at someone in the front row. N'Jobu strained his neck trying to see who they were pointing to.

"You know capoeira? I should've known when I saw you on campus earlier, come, " Gabriela said, clapping her hands.

N'Jobu still couldn't see who the people in front were making noise about.

"Here, someone move this, I want to Ginga," Gabriela said.

A bookstore employee moved the lectern and Gabriela took off her heavy sweater and handed it to a woman standing behind her.

"Now don't worry everyone, we can play in this small space. Capoeira was a secret martial art that enslaved Africans in Brasil brought with them from the Congo. It is in the dance that you can see the warrior. Slaves had to practice this craft in secret, so they hid it as a dance in front of their slavemasters. What we call play is really fighting in plain sight."

There was movement up front and then N'Jobu felt his insides shiver when Califia stood up to face Gabriela.

"Normally we would have a berimbau playing…what is that? Oh, wonderful," Gabriella said to the bookstore employee who had her cell phone out.

"This young lady is going to pull up some music for us on her phone," Gabriela said.

The employee held her phone to the mic on the lectern, and as soon as the music hit, Gabriela shuffled forward with her hands held up. Califia wore only a loose yellow blouse and leggings, her 4C hair in thin two-stranded twists as her hands matched up with Gabriela's. They took turns rocking forwards and back, Califia letting the older woman lead the demonstration. Gabriela wasted little time in kicking out her legs within her snazzy green culottes and showing Califia that age did not diminish skills.

The room grew tense watching the women move so fluid within the tight confines they were in, and then Califia did a handstand and play fought Gabriela with only her legs and purple sock covered feet. The skill it took to use only her core and legs impressed the audience until Gabriela did a handstand move that had her posing in midair with one hand. Califia jumped back on her feet and hugged Gabriela hard and the audience gave Gabriela a standing ovation.

"I still have a few tricks up my sleeve!" Gabriela told the crowd.

N'Jobu was beaming ear to ear watching Califia. Gabriela put her arm over Califia's shoulder.

"Listen…listen, this afternoon I was at San Francisco State with Professor Delaney's dance class and I want to tell you, the most brilliant talent is in her class. And this young lady right here, oh my, you must all come and see their Winter Program. I saw a bit, and it is outstanding, this woman here is outstanding. Can you tell them a bit about it, maybe the piece you are doing?"

Califia turned to face the audience for the first time and when her eyes caught N'Jobu's, she seemed flustered for a moment, but then looked away from his face.

"Uh, yeah. Hi, I'm Califia Stevens, I'm here with some of my classmates from SFSU School of Theater and Dance, and we are doing eight performances starting next week, November seventeenth in the McKenna Theatre. Actual dates are online…" Califia glanced at Gabriela to see what else she needed to say.

"You must see them. They embody a lot of what I spoke of here tonight. There is a section they do where they take songs that are fairly well-known, but they subvert the lyrics to interpret it with dance in fresh new ways, and this jewel right here…she takes "I Put A Spell on You" and turns it into a love letter for the African diaspora and Indigenous peoples in the Americas and it is magnificent. Who was the young lady singing for you?"

"One of my best friends, Rolita Nose."

"Por favor, if you want to have an early Christmas present go see the show."

There was applause, and then Gabriela gave Califia a deep hug. Afterwards, a few people from the tightly packed audience approached the writer with copies of her books.

"Folks, we have a table set up downstairs for Gabriela to sign, so if you could please meet us downstairs, we'll have more space," said another bookstore employee.

Bridgette and N'Jobu each had a copy of Gabriela's book, so N'Jobu retreated with her downstairs.

"I want to go see that dance show now," Bridgette enthused finding a spot in the line that was waiting for books to be signed. N'Jobu nodded. But kept his eyes on the stairs waiting for Califia to come down. When she did, she was surrounded by people asking her questions.

When she saw N'jobu again, she nodded in his direction. Bridgette held open the book to show N"Jobu a picture of Gabriela doing capoeira when she was younger, around twenty. N'Jobu could only watch Califia hanging out with her classmates. He wanted to go speak to her, but he opted to stay in line with Bridgette to get his book signed. He wanted to let her know he knew about Xavier, but he felt tacky about approaching her when he was there with Bridgette. He reminded himself that she had to make the moves, so he composed his excitement at seeing her.

Gabriella Amador was escorted to the signing table and the line moved at a nice pace. Bridgette and N'Jobu were sixth and seventh in line, so it didn't take long for them to get their books signed and for Bridgette and him to ask Gabriela a few questions about her home back in Honduras and to take a few pictures. With their books signed, Bridgette seemed excited and leaned into N'Jobu.

"This was so much fun. Actually, this whole time has been great with you. I missed you. I'm glad we had a chance to talk."

"I'm glad too."

N'Jobu kept fighting the overwhelming urge to turn his head and search for Califia's face. He didn't want to give off facial cues that Bridgette may see and know that he was interested in someone else. All day today he had been looking forward to being with Bridgette and maybe really catching up with her in the biblical sense. Why did Califia have to be at this bookstore? It made sense that she would be given the fact that her class was here and the author had been at her school earlier, but damn, the circumstances were not working in his favor.

Bridgette glanced at her watch.

"You want to grab some coffee?"

He didn't.

"Can we take a raincheck on coffee?"

Her lips tightened and her eyes seemed to go clouded with disappointment.

"I'm just a little tired. I think the change in weather is wearing on me. How about we do dinner next week?"

Bridgette ran her fingers on his scarf.

"Are you cooking?"

"I want to try this new restaurant that opened on the wharf. Are you agreeable to that?"

Once again, she looked disappointed.

"Sure."

"Great. Let's say Saturday around six?"

She nodded and he pecked her on her cheek.

"You ready?" he asked.

"I can catch a Lyft. If you're not feeling well, I don't want you having to drive me home and then doubling back, especially in this weather."

She ordered a ride from her phone app and he walked with her outside. They waited on the corner and within five minutes, her ride appeared.

"See you next week," she said. He opened the door to the back seat for her. She waited for another kiss, but he simply smiled and held his hand out to protect her head from hitting the car roof.

He waved her off and held his left palm up in the air. It was drizzling again. He walked back into the bookstore.

###

Califia saw N'Jobu walk back inside the bookstore. He was alone. She felt a nervous tickle in her belly as she watched him scan the room. Was he looking for her? Oh please…

She scooted behind a bookshelf with a large gap where she could trail his steps without him seeing her. He glanced about and then he headed towards the stairs. She watched him carry his frame to the floor above and she stayed put, feeling her heart thump like a rabbit in her chest. It was thrilling watching him move through a room, and just as thrilling to see other people watch him. That magnetism of his was a joy to behold, especially in public.

Should she go upstairs and pretend to be nonchalant while bumping into him? Or go stand outside in front of the bookstore so he could see her through the glass all dramatic? She felt giddy, her cheeks stretching from the hard smile on her face. How did he know about Gabriela Amador? Who was that woman with him?

Califia moved around to another bookcase, one that was close to the entrance so she wouldn't miss him, but it would still be hard to see her. She ran her fingers along a row of books, pretending to look at them with eager inspection, but all she could ponder was how dashing N'Jobu looked, especially with that scarf twisted around his neck and his fresh line up. His goatee which he had kept light was visibly thicker and made his face even more handsome.

It felt like forever since she had been with him, and in all that time (nearly two weeks) neither one of them had called the other. When she needed to practice with Bakari, he came to her grandmother's house or they met in the community center or in the park. Dance rehearsals had gotten so intense that she could only think of practice twenty-four seven. She had to take a break from working at the community center and dropped teaching dance classes in Richmond.

Gabriela Amador was a friend of her dance teacher, so she was thrilled to meet her at school. Gabriela stayed through the second half of their full rehearsal, so she was able to see a lot of Califia's work. She could only beam thinking about the kind words Gabriela told the people at the bookstore. She was too nervous to ask her about capoeira at the theater, so when her classmates gassed her up at the bookstore, she was beyond geeked to play with a woman master of the art. Capoeira seemed to be blossoming in many Black diasporic communities lately.

For her, dance and capoeira gave her control of her life. Mastery of her body. For so long after the imprisonment of her father and the equally felt loss of her childhood friend whom her father tried to stand up for, Califia never felt safe. Or protected. Predators were everywhere, and once her father was taken away and her mother fell into indifference and despair, it was capoeira and dance that gave her some power back. Made her feel less afraid. Her body was hers and she could protect it, make it do things that other people couldn't do. If boys or men groped for her when she was younger, she would knuck and buck with the best of them. Mastery of her body helped her get through the chaos that often consumed her surroundings. This vessel she carried was all that she needed. She was grounded in that belief. And if she ever had children, she was going to make sure they knew how to fight just like her. Shake the table of the world if they needed to.

"Califia Stevens."

The hairs on the back of her neck rose with the sound of her name coming from his lips. She closed her eyes and held her hands close to her chest. Jesus, this man. She turned around and looked up slightly to see those dark dreamy eyes peering back into her own.

"N'Jobu."

"At your service."

"I guess we can talk to one another here."

He smiled.

"Seeing as we are not alone, I think we are safe," he said.

"Didn't expect to see you here."

"I was quite surprised to see you doing your thing in a bookstore."

"Ohmigod, was Gabriela not the shit?"

And just like that, they were going back and forth, like two weeks had never passed, like this giddy energy was always going to be between them. Califia felt her eyes taking in the minutiae of his face, a silent desperation to hold onto to every detail of him just in case time marched ahead of her, taking him with it for another long-term separation. How could this man possibly get finer in fourteen days?

She didn't want to ask him, but she hoped he would come to see the dance concert.

"My friend Bridgette told me about this place."

"Oh, that's who you were with. Your friend. Bridgette"

"It is what it is, Califia. The good thing is, I got to see you."

He reached up and rubbed her arm. She leaned into his touch.

"I broke up with Xavier."

"I heard."

Her eyes widened a bit.

"Word gets around," he said.

She only stared at him, not sure if he was expecting her to say more about where that put them. She decided to play it close to the vest.

The initial shock of the uncoupling had passed her. She was confused at how much she grieved over Xavier considering she broke up with him first. She spoke to a counselor at school who explained to her that break-ups could feel like a sort of death, that relationships went through their own Kübler-Ross type grieving stages too.

At this point in time, she felt strong. Open.

"Just so you know, I'm doing fine."

"Good."

Was he going to "properly step to her"? That's what he said he was going to do once she broke up with Xavier. He only stared back at her with platonic eyes. Perhaps she missed her chance. Perhaps that Bridgette chick had already taken up all his interest. She was feeling less excited now about her chances. Maybe she should've called him right away to at least let him know that she was free. A thought flashed through. She could play the book game with him and maybe gauge his interest in her.

"You want to look around? This bookstore has three floors," she said. He smiled.

###

Califia found herself sitting across from N'Jobu inside a random mom and pop coffee shop not too far from the bookstore. They both sipped thick espressos, and both had their cell phones out. They had finished browsing through City Lights, and Califia had mentioned grabbing warm drinks and getting to know each other via books.

"It's simple. We each list five books that best describe either who we are, our worldview, or something we are passionate about," she explained.

"And this is supposed to reveal our true selves?"

"Something like that. One thing I was happy to see when I went into your apartment was a bookshelf. With pretty decent books on it, I might add."

"Couldn't we just talk about those things?"

"We could, but I feel like reading can be a little more intimate," she said.

A sly look crossed N'Jobu's face when she said the word intimate.

"You go first," he said.

"Octavia Butler's 'Kindred'. The Autobiography of Malcolm X—"

"I have read that one."

"Read it again. Toni Morrison's 'Beloved'. Angela Davis' 'Blues Legacies and Black Feminism'. Edwidge Danticat's 'Krik? Krak!'"

N'Jobu typed into his cell.

"You read all of those first, then you give me your list of books when you're done."

"Why don't you want my list now?"

"It works best if one person starts. In my experience, it gives deeper meaning in the thought process of choice for the second person."

"Does your list ever change?"

"Sometimes, it depends on my mood. And the person."

Califia looked outside the coffee shop window. It was sprinkling.

"I better go before it starts pouring," she said. She pulled on her biker jacket and adjusted her boots. Cradling her helmet at her side, she stood up.

"Let me give you a ride home. You can get your bike tomorrow. It's not safe in this rain."

"It's just sprinkling and I'm not leaving my bike out here. I know how to ride in this weather."

Califia headed out the door and N'Jobu fell in step behind her.

"Listen to me, Califia. I'm right around the corner. I'll get my car—"

"I'm good."

She squeezed his arm and strolled around the corner.

###

N'Jobu ran to his car like he stole something. He felt the light rainfall as he booked it two blocks with his newly purchased book shoved into his jacket. He wanted to follow her in case the weather turned worse, and he could maybe convince her to get in his car.

Once he was strapped in and started his motor, he saw Califia zip past him, her helmet bright and shiny and beaded with raindrops. He made an illegal U-Turn in hot pursuit. It was a little after eleven at night, late, but still enough traffic that forced N'Jobu to really focus on keeping Califia in his sight as well as watching for other cars.

He thought she would head in the opposite direction towards her Grandmother's house, but she was whipping through lanes in the direction of the Bay Bridge. Where was she going? Who was she going to?

He was able to catch up with her and actually pull alongside her at a red light. He honked his horn and rolled down his passenger window. She lifted up her visor.

"I'm going to follow you in case it comes down harder," he yelled just to make sure she heard him.

She gave him a slightly annoyed look, but then she smiled.

"N'Jobu, I've ridden in actual rain before. I also have excellent tires made for this."

His eyes traced her entire appearance and he was in awe of how sexy she looked. The aerodynamic helmet. The matching jacket and boots. The sleek bike. Her body outlined in her leggings in that perfect way of hers draped across the seat. She was made for that motorcycle. He was ready to drag her into his car and back onto his lap. She swiped her hand on her visor and the moment the light turned green, she shot off down the street, cutting in front of his lane. A smile curled his lips. He was ready to chase her down.

She tried to shake him down a few streets, but he kept close, the weather actually clearing up but still curling with light fog. He was worried about oil slicks from the fresh rain, but the way she was handling her ride with the expert cruising, perhaps he didn't need to worry at all.

She started showing out once they approached the bridge and got past the toll with their FasTrak passes. She got far ahead of him allowing other cars to get between them on purpose. He saw her do a quick lane switch and he couldn't help but feel his chest swell with admiration at how thrilling it felt to speed across the bridge, his eyes on her ass as she actually sat up a bit and looked behind herself to see where he was. She flipped him off and he laughed loud and long in his car as he sped up and got behind her.

She eased up on her speed when there was some slight crowding on the bridge once they got closer to the end. He pressed a button on his steering wheel and pulse scan shot out and traced the heat signature of her body and bike. Her image showed up onscreen on his dash, and now he could have his own personal GPS of her in case she tried to shake him again once they got off the bridge. The body heat scan only worked as long as she was at least two hundred feet near him. He thought of shooting a tracker onto her bike from the car, but that seemed a bit much. The scan was working fine.

Off the bridge, she headed into Oakland with a swiftness and he kept up pretty well. At a yellow light, she gunned it, leaving him to sit at the red. He shook his head as he watched her turn into a small dot on the horizon. By the time the light turned green again, he had lost her.

"Call Califia," he told his car's internal communications system.

Her voicemail kicked in.

"Califia, where are you staying tonight?"

He didn't really have to ask. Looking around where he was, he recognized the area. She was going to Xavier's.

###