The car hummed along the road, the rhythm of the engine matching the gentle bounce beneath us. Jovel shifted in her seat, her sly grin catching the faint glow of passing streetlights. It was the kind of smile that could brighten the darkest corners of the night.
“Yuh know seh mi fren dem nuh normal, right?” she said, her patois thick and musical, each word laced with playful warning. “Dem free-spirited…always ready fi enjoy life to di fullest. Yuh ready fi dat kinda vibes?”
Her words piqued my curiosity, though I couldn’t hide a hint of hesitation. “What exactly does that mean?” I asked, leaning in, drawn by the way her lips curled with every syllable.
She chuckled low, the sound warm and teasing. “It mean seh yuh jus’ haffi go wid di flow. No question, no hesitation. Jus’ live, yah man. Tonight a go mad.” She settled back into her seat with a confident smirk, her eyes daring me to keep up.
As we turned into a gated community, the houses grew grander, their sleek façades glowing under the soft halo of streetlights. Jovel’s hand brushed lightly against my arm. “Dis a di kinda place weh dreams tun reality,” she murmured, her voice softer now, full of quiet promise.
The car came to a stop, and the house loomed ahead—a striking blend of modern architecture and subtle mystery. The door swung open before we knocked, and a wave of patois-filled banter washed over me. Jovel’s friend greeted her with a wide grin and rapid-fire conversation that I struggled to catch. Then her friend’s gaze turned to me, curiosity lighting her expression.
“Yuh cyaan stay quiet tonight, star.” Jovel nudged me with a grin. “Mi waan see how yuh keep up.”
The deck was alive with energy so thick it was almost tangible. The heavy bassline of dancehall thumped through the night, a pulse that seemed to synchronize with every heartbeat. Popcaan’s Party Shot blasted from the speakers, pulling people into its rhythm. Laughter and animated talk rose and fell, blending seamlessly with the beat.
“Yuh see how di vibes set up, right?” Jovel said, handing me a shot glass filled with Wray and Nephew Rum. Her eyes sparkled with mischief. “Dis yah ting a nuh joke, so sip light.”
The rum’s sharp, sweet scent filled my senses as I raised the glass. “Cheers,” I said, downing the shot. The fiery warmth rushed through me, bold and unrelenting—an exact match for the energy of the night.
“Mi like di way yuh handle dat,” she said with an approving grin, nodding toward a table piled with Red Stripe bottles and an ice bucket glistening in the warm night air. “When di heat start get to yuh, grab a beer. Mi cyaan have yuh drop out too early.”
The air was thick with rum, smoke, and the slow burn of jerk spice.
A small crowd gathered near the speakers, bodies swaying to Ding Dong’s Fling. Each motion felt effortless—rhythm and release stitched together.
Jovel grabbed my hand without warning, pulling me toward the center. “Come, mek mi teach yuh fi move,” she said, her hips already catching the beat. She moved like water—fluid, unbothered—while I tried to keep up.
She laughed, warm and teasing. “Yuh nah bad,” she said, sliding closer, her body brushing mine. “But mi can show yuh fi get better.”
The crowd blurred. For a moment, the music belonged only to us. The sway of her hips, the way she owned every beat—everything else disappeared.
The bass didn’t just play—it possessed the room.
As the song shifted to Vybz Kartel’s Fever, the night deepened. Jovel leaned in, breath warm at my ear. “Yuh feel it, nuh true? Dis is weh di real vibes start.”
I nodded, heart pounding, rum buzzing warmly in my veins. The party felt infinite, a night that would etch itself into memory. She handed me another drink, her grin daring me to loosen up. “Tek a shot an’ relax yuhself. Tonight nah mek fi hesitation.”
The hours blurred. The crowd thinned; the energy shifted. Jovel’s hand found mine again, her touch firm, inviting. “Come,” she said, quieter now. “Mi show yuh di real party.”
Inside, the music softened to a murmur. Laughter and conversation filled the space, the air charged with something unspoken. Incense drifted through the room, tangled with the lingering spice of the night.
“Mi waan yuh fi remember tonight,” she said, voice softer, almost tender. Her fingers trailed up my arm; a quick kiss landed and vanished—lightning and echo.
Before I could answer, she tilted her head toward a sound from upstairs—muffled voices and distant music, a siren call. “Den follow mi,” she said, tugging my hand, steps light with promise.
My heart beat in rhythm with the night, anticipation rising with every moment…
To be continued in Part 2.... Meet Jo!
