A fierce breeze rattled the windows like they owed it something. That kind of wind didn't deserve all the drama it stirred up.
Kemi walked into her studio apartment, worn out from another long shift. She needed a hot bath, soothing music, and a decent dinner to go. What she didn't need was her perverted neighbor from across the street blowing her a kiss in the dead of night.
Disgusting.
She slammed the window shut, annoyed down to her bones.
Her night was nearly ruined, but she could still feel the cold breeze sneaking through the tiny opening in the window. Perfect. She'd done all she needed to; now, if the heavens wanted to crown her night with a chill breeze, she wasn't complaining. She smiled. Then frowned. If only she didn't have work tomorrow.
Deep breath.
"That feels so good. What's your name? I want to know who you are. I want to meet you again. I want to feel you again. I want you to hold me like this forever. Can I know your name, please?"
Oh God. Am I dreaming?
Kemi looked at the hand cupping her chest. She couldn't see his face clearly, but his features were… breathtaking. She grabbed his left hand and placed it on her waist. He got the message. He caressed her gently, like he'd done this a thousand times—with her.
She couldn't see him smile, but she felt it in his touch.
"Oh, don't stop."
His lips brushed her ear. She let out a soft moan—something no one had ever drawn from her before. She felt high, light, like a kite in the clouds. Eyes closed, heart racing, she let him go on.
He made her feel wanted. Not love—no, not yet—but seen. Beautiful. Like a woman.
Warm air danced across her face. Oh, he's about to kiss me.
She tightened her eyes in anticipation.
And opened them in shock.
"Girl, are you going to sleep through your pay? Get your sleepy ass up!"
Tasha's voice had zero business being in this dream.
Why was it louder than the soft romantic blues playing in her hotel fantasy?
"Kems. For God's sake," Tasha groaned, this time with the urgency of someone trying to save both their jobs.
Kemi blinked herself into reality. No red lights. No blues. No butterflies. No man.
Just Tasha standing at the door, and the wall clock screaming you're late for work.
The commute was a mess. Since they'd missed their usual ride, they had to wait what felt like forever for the next bus. Kemi sat by the window, trying to keep her peace, while Tasha vented about her boyfriend—ex, apparently—who she'd broken up with again that morning.
But honestly? It was their 999th breakup. No one was counting anymore.
Kemi slid in her earphones as a polite shut up.
Then came the music.
Loud, offensive, vulgar music.
"Why do people enjoy playing noise at 8am like it's a public service?"
She frowned. A cherry red Bugatti crept up beside them, booming music like it was trying to start a riot.
She hissed in disapproval.
"It's so loud I can hear it through my headphones."
She glanced out the window—and locked eyes with the driver.
No way.
There was no way a Black man could look that good this early in the morning. His brows were perfectly arched, his lips too defined to ignore.
She stared.
Then her eyes wandered—his hand on the steering wheel, the way his head moved to the beat, owning the chaos.
"Okay… maybe he's just appreciating music differently."
Classic Kemi. Always softening judgment with fantasy.
She leaned against the window, still watching his hands, lost in daydreams.
The God who made fine men like this wasn't a partial God. He gave us something to dream about.
She didn't understand why he looked familiar. Or why her chest ached with curiosity.
Jeddah felt the stare before he saw it. He turned toward the bus—and there she was.
Shades on. He couldn't see her eyes, but he could feel the gaze. She was either drooling over his $18.7 million ride—or admiring him. Probably both. Who could blame her?
His eyes dipped to her lips. Suddenly, two minutes at the traffic light wasn't enough.
Her head still faced him.
He smirked. That annoying, self-satisfied signature smirk. Then looked away.
A man must maintain dignity in the face of temptation. I am the prize.
He chuckled to himself and sped off like a kid fleeing candy he wasn't allowed to touch.
Kemi snapped out of it. She sat upright, adjusted her posture. Tasha was already asleep beside her.
This girl has zero worries in this life.
"Once is an excuse. Twice is a habit—and I don't condone bad habits," Mr. Claude scolded them gently but firmly.
"We're really sorry, sir. It won't happen again. Promise."
"Yes, it won't. Now get to work. Customers have been patient enough."
Tasha scurried to the front desk. Kemi turned to her station, but Mr. Claude called her back.
"Hey," he gestured. "VVIPs. Table Six."
She nodded and headed over.
"Welcome. What can I get y—"
She froze.
He looked up.
It was him.
The Bad Boy from earlier.