The Ruckus

“Jesus,” Micah muttered, tossing his napkin onto his empty plate as he followed me to the door. “You’re sure you want to do this? Here? Now?”

I did. I was one hundred percent sure—one thousand percent.

“Yep,” I gave a quick nod as I looked over my shoulder at him. “You can stay behind if you want, but I’m going out there with her.”

“What are you gonna do if she tells you to fuck off?”

I stopped in front of the door, but only for a second. I hadn’t thought that part through. But why let that stop me?

“I’ll keep trying,” I shrugged. “I’ll apologize to her while she’s flipping me the bird if I have to. Whatever it takes.”

For a split second, I wondered if Micah might be the one to tell me to fuck off first. And he would have been mostly justified, since less than an hour ago I agreed to abandon my half-cocked plan to apologize.

Micah was a good friend, though. A good friend who always stuck by my side even when he disapproved and when I was about to do something utterly ridiculous.

However, this wasn’t like those other times. This wasn’t stupid.

It was doing the right thing. The only thing to do, as far as I was concerned.

“One more time for the record, I don’t think this is a good idea,” Micah muttered. “But I’m still going to do this with you because I’m a dumbass.”

“A loyal dumbass,” I teased. “And I appreciate it. You’ve always been a damn good wingman.”

“Yeah, yeah. That’ll probably be on my tombstone—a damn good wingman who did some really stupid shit with his best friend.”

I saw her as soon as we stepped outside. She was waiting underneath the awning, just beyond the reach of the steady rainfall.

“Jasmine,” I called out, unwilling to let another single second pass by without telling her I was sorry. “Can I—can we—talk to you for a second?”

She turned back to look at the sound of her name but frowned when she saw us. “No,” was all she said before turning back to face the parking lot.

It was a perfectly reasonable reply, and to be expected.

“Told you so,” Micah whispered.

“Thanks for the help, bro,” I whispered back.

I wasn’t finished, though. I was just getting warmed up.

“Jasmine, please talk to us for a second,” I tried again. “Can we go back inside and—”

“Y’all can go back inside,” she interrupted, “and leave me alone.”

Okay.

I didn’t want to resort to using the big guns, but Micah had always been better at talking to women than me. He had that perfect Black blend of cocky confidence and sensitivity that women went nuts for.

He was also a good-looking dude, with a great voice, too, which had only improved with age and his theatrical training. He was like all the best bits of Will Smith and Jaden Smith.

I turned to give him a pleading look, and instantly saw he was annoyed. But he knew I needed him, and he’d never left me hanging before. Thankfully, he hadn’t chosen that instant to start.

He stepped up next to her and cleared his throat. “Let us buy you a cup of coffee. All we want to do is apologize. No pressure. You don’t even have to say anything. We won’t ask you to forgive us, because we don’t get to do that.”

She gave him one of those drop-dead sideways looks that she’d always been so good at giving, but she didn’t say no.

She didn’t interrupt or tell him to fuck off. That was progress. That was a hell of a lot better than the reception I’d received.

“Please, Jasmine?” Micah continued in his patented panty-melting sensitive voice that was gonna be the making of him. “We want a chance to make things right.”

Which had totally been my line, but whatever. That was fine.

“I can pull my truck around,” I offered since she still hadn’t said no. “We can give you a lift to the diner. It’ll take a minute to get there from here.”

She pressed her lips together as she looked from me to Micah and back again.

She’s thinking about it. Holy shit, she’s actually thinking about it.

I almost didn’t believe it had been so easy. Easy for Micah, anyway. Perhaps the whole thing would go down a lot easier than I’d feared. Maybe she’d be willing to hear us out and let us apologize. Maybe we could even make progress—do something good for her?

“I’ll walk,” she stated, taking off into the wind and rain without another word.

Or then again, maybe it would be just as difficult as I’d feared.

Micah looked at me and sighed. Shaking his head, he called after her, “Jasmine, wait up a second. We’ll come with you.”

Dammit.

The three of us were really going to walk to the diner? In the middle of a storm? When my truck sat in the parking lot, literally a dozen yards away?