I, In Fact, Was Not Ready

I should’ve known from the moment she didn’t flinch.

Not when I hit her with my smoothest one-liner. Not when I leaned in with the kind of confidence that had worked on every woman before her. Not even when I gave her that look — you know, the one that says, Yeah, I’m HIM.

She just blinked. Slow. Like she was calculating something.

And then she smiled.

Not a Oh my God, you’re so funny smile. Not a Wow, you’re cute smile. No.

It was the kind of smile that women give when they’ve already decided your fate, and you’re the only one who hasn’t figured it out yet.

I should’ve turned around right then. I should’ve excused myself, said I forgot to feed my dog or something.

But no.

I, an absolute fool, continued.

“Damn, so you just gon’ look at me like that?” I said, still trying to sound smooth.

She tilted her head. “Like what?”

“Like you already read my entire soul and now you judging me.”

She laughed. And that should’ve been my second warning, because that was not a you’re funny laugh. That was a Oh, you poor, sweet idiot laugh.

“Baby,” she said, and I swear the room got hotter, “I don’t judge. I just observe.”

That’s when my stomach dropped.

Because see, when a woman says she observes, that means she already clocked everything. She knows my intentions, my game, my weaknesses, my strengths, my tax bracket, my mama’s maiden name, and what childhood trauma still makes me flinch when someone raises their voice.

I started sweating.

But because I am both stubborn and, apparently, not as smart as I thought I was, I doubled down.

“Oh, so you be studying people?” I said, trying to recover. “What you learn about me then?”

Her smile widened.

“I learned,” she said, taking a sip of her drink, “that you’re used to being the most interesting person in the room. That you talk just enough to make a woman feel like you’re listening, but not enough to be vulnerable. That you’re funny, but only in a way that keeps people at arm’s length. And that right now… you’re wondering if you can handle me.”

I blinked.

And in that moment, I experienced what scholars and philosophers refer to as “the fuck around and find out” paradox.

Because she was absolutely right.

I could not handle her.

I was, in fact, not ready.

The fight-or-flight kicked in so fast, my knees damn near buckled.

But since I was a real one, I did the only logical thing.

I anime-style ran the hell out of there.

Full speed. Hands behind my back. Weaving through tables, dodging servers, hitting a swift pivot at the bar like I was about to start a ninja arc.

Because what else was I supposed to do? Stand there and be dismantled? Let her pick apart my soul like it was an open book test?

Absolutely not.

Somewhere behind me, I heard her laughing again — low, rich, and entirely too amused.

I burst through the exit and stopped, panting, my heart racing.

I needed shelter. Safety. A reset.

I texted the homies:

“Y’all… I think I just met God’s favorite soldier.”

And I ain’t gonna lie.

For a brief moment, I considered turning around.

Because if she was this dangerous in conversation, what the hell else was she capable of?

But then I remembered the way she had looked at me.

Like she already knew.

I shook my head and started walking home.

Yeah. Nah.

I wasn’t built for this.

BONUS TRACK:

kwn — worst behaviour