Ignorance Is

Summer in brooklyn

**BROOKLYN, SUMMER 2014** 

New York greeted me with a slap of wet heat as I climbed out of the cab. June in Brooklyn wasn't just hot—it was *personal*. The air smelled like pavement and exhaust, thick enough to taste. I'd left Florida's palm trees behind for a skyline of brownstones and scaffolding, and my shirt was already sticking to my back by the time we pulled up to **Metro City College**. 

*"Twenty-two fifty,"* the driver said, glancing at me in the rearview. *"Cash or card?"* 

I handed him a twenty and a crumpled five. *"Keep the change, papi."* 

The building was smaller than I'd expected—a no-nonsense brick box wedged between a bodega and a sneaker shopi. The AC inside hit me like a blessing, but the real miracle was sitting at the front desk. 

*Jesus. Take. Notes.* 

**Natasha Richards** stood up like she'd been waiting for me. Tall—*stupid* tall—with legs that defied logic and skin like caramel under the cheap office lights. Her hazel eyes locked onto mine, and her smile hit like a late-night text you weren't supposed to answer. 

*"Welcome to Metro City,"* she said, voice smooth as the virgin Remy hair spilling past her shoulders. Not that I was a hair expert—just a man with a working set of eyes and a heartbeat. 

I missed her next five words. Too busy studying the way her blouse skimmed her hips, the slow tap of her manicured nail on the desk. Back home, girls played grown. Natasha? She *breathed* grown. Every curve of her said she knew exactly what she was doing. 

*"Sir?"* A snap of her fingers. *"Name?"* 

*Damn.* 

*"Tahron Smith."* I reached for her hand, and for half a second, her grip was warm, firm. No giggly Florida hesitation. Just *knowing*. 

That's when it hit me: This city? It wasn't gonna go easy on me. 

Natasha turned to grab some paperwork, her long green skirt swaying with the movement. The fabric was formal, but just sheer enough that if you looked closely—*really* closely—you could faintly make out the purple lace of her Victoria's Secret underneath. 

Not that I was looking. 

Okay, I was looking. 

And I definitely hadn't heard a single word she'd said in the last thirty seconds. 

*"You like what you see?"* 

Her voice snapped me out of my trance. She hadn't even turned around. My heart damn near stopped. 

She glanced over her shoulder, a smirk playing on her lips. *"Boy, trust me, you ain't the only one staring at my ass all day. Don't feel bad."* With a low laugh, she settled back into her seat. *"Anyway... come here."* 

Heat rushed to my face as I stepped closer to the counter. She slid a clipboard toward me, the paperwork crisp and official. 

*"So, Tahron,"* she said, leaning forward just enough to make me forget how to breathe. *"What brings you to Metro?"* 

*"I came to play ball,"* I managed. 

*"Oh, really? You're an athlete?"* Her eyes flicked over me, slow and knowing. *"Should've guessed. You got the look."* 

*"You recruitin'?"* 

*"Nah. But a dude named Damien told me to come out here a few months back. Said it'd be a good opportunity."* 

Her eyebrows lifted. *"Damien sent you?"* 

*"Yeah. Figured I had nothin' to lose, so... here I am."*