• T R E V O N •
Nervousness flowed through Malik's body. I could tell. He looked like he was damn near 'bout to pass out.
The two of us were sitting in the waiting room of the clinic, him waiting to be taken back to be tested. I sat next to him with a seat open in between us. I glanced over to him, seeing him bounce his knees up and down, slouched in his chair, biting his nails.
"You good?" I called out. He paused from biting, looking up at me, but still slouched. He nodded and went back to biting. I shook my head.
This is why you niggas need to get tested.
A lot of black men, especially heterosexual black men are fearful of getting their health checked whether it be mental, physical, or sexual. We're always taught to just deal with some shit, or we're seen as weak.
"I can get tested too? So you won't be so nervous," I offered to ease his mind.
"Who said I was nervous?" He paused from the biting raising his brow at me. I internally rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh because this behavior was typical anxiety.
"Okay, Mr Taylor," I let out a big sigh.
"Enough wit the Mr Taylor shit, it's just Malik," he smacked his lips.
I rolled my eyes this time. "Okay, Malik—you know I might be your future boss, you not supposed to talk to me like et," I started letting my professional voice slip into my Kentucky accent.
"You not 'pose to talk to me like et," Malik mocked, letting out a laugh. "Country ass nigga," I guess our banter made him less nervous, for he no longer slouched and he stopped biting his nails. He also had a small smile on his face, allowing me to see how cute his smile was.
Tre, stop...
Keep it professional.
He's straight?
I shook my head at the thoughts before responding. "I am not country," I tried to code switch, but failed.
Malik laughed a little louder. "Bruh, even the way you say 'country' is country as hell!" he laughed. "Cunt—tree,"
"Alright, now bruh," I smacked my lips. "You from the same place as me!"
"I know, but I never denied I was country," Malik giggled, shrugging his shoulders.
"Malik Taylor?" A nurse called out with a clipboard. I looked over to Malik, and his whole demeanor changed again.
"It'll be aight, Malik. Want me to go back there witchu?"
He smacked his lips. "Nigga, Imma grown ass man. Ion need no damn chaperone," he said, but he looked as if he would combust.
I chuckled laughing off his stubbornness as I watched him walk away with the nurse. I eyed the way his joggers sat below his waistline, revealing his grey briefs underneath, seeing the way his lower body filled them out.
Look up Tre.
I looked up averting my eyes to something else in the bland white room, so I wouldn't keep staring at the man.
...
A while later Malik came out of the back, a mug on his face, rubbing his tattooed covered arm that had a gauze on it probably from getting blood drawn.
I got up from my seat ready to leave. I looked at my watch eyeing the time. I was already late for my shoot. I asked Megan to step in for me, her saying I owed her three lunches, whatever.
