Page 32 of Lennox Lane

He put the car in park. “Absolutely yes.”

“Why are we at a lounge?”

“You sound surprised. “ Let’s have some fun,” he offered.

“I’m surprised you know how to take a woman somewhere without ruining her night first.”

“I ruined Devin’s night. Yours is still salvageable.”

“My night was fine until you arrived with geriatric supplies and untreated jealousy.”

Lennox smiled and killed the engine. “My jealousy can be treated.”

“With what? More jealousy?”

“With you being mine, Lane.”

Lane stared at him, then the neon sign above the entrance washed the sidewalk in amber and green light. A line curled near the door, thick with laughter and beautiful black bodies already moving before they made it inside. Music thumped through the brick, and the bass was heavy enough to vibrate in the floorboards of the car. A banner stretched above the entrance.

LET YOUR HAIR DOWN REGGAE NIGHT

Lennox let his gaze travel over her again—slower this time because he was tired of pretending she wasn’t fine ass hell. “You’re wearing orange and radiating trouble.”

“You keep talking, and I’ll be wearing your blood as an accessory.”

“See? Trouble.”

She rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth showed an almost-smile that was enough to make him feel like he had hacked God’s private server and found a blessing with his name on it.

Lane reached for her handbag. “One drink.”

“Two.”

“One.”

“And a dance,” Lennox negotiated.

“No.”

He leaned closer, letting his voice drop. “You scared to dance with me, Lavender?”

Her head turned slowly. Lane could be furious, insulted, embarrassed, violated, exhausted, and inconvenienced, but scared? Never.

“You got some nerve,” she said.

“I have a lot of things.”

“Sense isn’t one of them.” She quipped.

“No,” he agreed. “But rhythm is.”

She opened her door. “We’ll see.”

Lennox got out, smiling, knowing the vibe in Sol & Smoke was alive. Not crowded in the suffocating way, but full in the way a room got when everyone inside had agreed to leave stress at the door. Warm lights glowed against exposed brick. Plants hung from the ceiling, and the bar was backlit in green and gold, with bottles shining like stained glass. The DJ booth sat above the dance floor; he literally had the crowd in the palm of his hand. He went from Marley into Buju Banton seamlessly, making people shout before they even realized the song had changed.

Lane tried to keep her face unimpressed. She failed before they made it to the bar. Lennox saw it happen. Her shoulders dropped first. Just a little. Then her head tilted, catching the rhythm. Her fingers tapped against the side of her handbag. By the time Sister Nancy rolled through the speakers, Lane was still mad at him, but her body had stopped being committed to the cause.

That was the thing about music like this. It made your body catch di riddim. It got into the hips and spine. Into the soft and hidden places where joy waited for a reason to come out.