Jamila
Let me just get this shit over with!
Corey is dead to me and if he has any doubt about where we stand, I’m ending that shit right now. As I trek towards him, Corey walks to meet me. When we are face to face, he reaches his hand out to me.
“Let’s go in here,” he says as he motions his head toward the door of the banquet room.
“I’m good right here.”
“Jamila. I’m not having this conversation out here in front of everybody,” he says as if he has any say so.
He doesn’t.
“That’s fine because I really don’t have anything else to say. I think I said it all when I caught your lying, cheating ass,” I grit.
“Lower your voice and let me explain,” he utters and I laugh.
This nigga!
Because I refuse to waste my energy or time on him and because he isn’t worth making another scene, I step closer, narrowing our distance. I lean my head in a little closer, then tell him once and for all how I feel.
“Cornelius, you are a fucking clown, you know that? I heard you two fucking and I practically caught you with your damn dick out. That’s the only explanation I need.
So listen and listen good, we…are…done. There’s nothing left between us and I don’t want you.
Besides, I finally know what’s it like to get fucked by a real man. ”
The last part is just me being petty because my decision to be done with Corey is one hundred percent independent of my choice to try things with Denim. Corey ended us with his deceit and community dick; me hooking up Denim was simply a beautiful ending to the fucked-up situation Corey created.
Clearly enraged by my petty words, Corey grabs my arms roughly. “You fucking him!” he blusters through clenched teeth.
Before I can curse his ass out, Denim is here. He’s right beside Corey and his hand is wrapped around Corey’s wrist. Corey’s eyes bulge like fifty cent pieces.
“Get your hands off her,” he demands and I feel Corey’s grip loosen. When he releases my arm, Denim steps directly in front of Corey. “On principle, I owe you a straight fade. Be glad this crowded hall in this sold-out hotel is saving your ass. But if you touch her again, nothing will save you.”
Corey doesn’t say a word and I simply shake my head in disgust for me and embarrassment for him. I truly wasted eighteen months with his bitch ass.
Denim turns to me then caresses my arm. “Are you okay?” he asks, clearly concerned.
“I’m good. He didn’t hurt me but thank you. Let’s just go to the store.”
His arm snakes around my waist and we leave the area. As we walk toward the store, he checks on me again. “Are you sure he didn’t hurt you?”
“Yes. He didn’t hurt me but what about her? Is she okay?” I ask and he peers at me for a second. “I saw her tears.”
“Maddox will be fine but if she isn’t, that’s his issue. The only woman I’m concerned about is on my arm at this very moment,” he says and I smile. When we enter the store, there’s a small line but the shelves are half empty. “Damn! They’ve run through this.”
“With items being bought and no way to replenish them, they are going to sell out if this snow doesn’t stop. Let me find some cards and maybe get a few more snacks. We should divide and conquer though.”
“What type of snacks do you like?”
“Fruit candy and anything cheesy—chips, crackers, anything with cheese. What about you?”
“I still have some snacks upstairs. I think I’m good.”
We split and I tackle the left side of the store and he heads to the right.
There’s a small section with travel-sized games.
There are no regular playing cards; no cards at all actually, not even a deck of Uno cards.
There’s a box of cards called Tell Me More and there’s only one box left.
I quickly snatch it up because my options are very limited.
I also spot a small, wooden, folded Mancala set and grab it too.
My mom and I used to play this all the time when I was younger.
I head to the food cooler next and find two Sargento cheese snack trays.
I grab both of them. Although the forecasters say the blizzard is passing and we might be able to go home as early as tomorrow afternoon, seeing the shelves so empty triggers my anxiety.
I’d rather be safe and have too much than be sorry for not having enough.
Denim must have the same sentiment because he walks up to me with his hands filled.
“What’s all of that?” I question.
“Everything cheesy I could find: Doritos, Cheetos, Cheez-Its, and something called Snaps.”
“One bag of each should be enough though.”
“I might want some,” he says then smiles. “Did you find your cards?”
“Just this questions game and mancala.”
“Mancala? What’s that?”
“It’s fun. I’ll teach you how to play. Let’s get in line; it’s growing.”
We join the line and make it to the counter fifteen minutes later. The customer in front of us was having issues with her credit card and she refused to charge her items to the room. The manager had to get involved and it was a whole issue.
When the cashier rings our last item, I quickly tap my phone before Denim can resist. I can’t let this man pay for everything.
Seeing my mom totally dependent on my so-called father taught me early on that a woman needs to have her own.
I refuse to beg a man or bow down to one just because he’s footing my bills.
Before heading back upstairs, we take a tour of the hotel lobby.
Aside from the banquet rooms, marketplace, and restaurant, there’s a business center, the gym, pool area with a jacuzzi, and a small bar with a sitting area around a huge gas fireplace.
It naturally catches my eye and we decide to return to it this evening.
“We have a couple of hours before lunch. Let’s see what this questions game is about,” I say as soon as we enter the room.
I remove my boots, leave them by the door, then walk to the closet. Since I want to be comfortable, I take off my set too and hang it up. When I trek to the dresser to grab the little dress I packed for lounging in the room, he steps to me and wraps his arms around me.
“What kind of questions are these?”
“Looks like getting to know you questions.”
His lips graze the size of my neck then he kisses up and down. After sucking on my earlobe, he says, “With this on, you can ask me anything.”
“I’m covering up because this right here. You all up on me like this isn’t going to lead to questions and answers.”
“It can,” he says before kissing my neck again.
Playfully, I elbow him then pop my ass out to push him back. “Move,” I tease. “And let me get this dress.”
He relents then steps back and I pull my dress out of the dresser drawer.
Once I slip it on, I grab the bags from the store, place all but two of the drinks in the fridge, then walk over and plop down on the bed.
He joins me. When he grabs the snack bag, I open the cards.
The concept is pretty straight forward. There are fifty-two cards with different questions to start a conversation. Perfect for us.
It’s only been a few days but I can honestly say I really like Denim.
Not only is he handsome as hell and fine as shit, he’s thoughtful, generous, and a considerate lover.
He’s also genuinely interested in my photography.
When he allowed me to photograph him then turned around and took pictures of me, that was too sexy.
“So how do we play this?” he asks.
“It’s just questions. We can alternate answering the questions on the cards.”
“Ladies first,” he says as he opens his bag of trail mix.
I grab the bag of Cheetos then lift the first card from the box. After reading the card to myself, I read it out loud. “What’s something you think people assume about you when they meet you for the first time?”
His beautiful smile creeps on his face then it morphs into a smirk. “A lot of people assume and voice it. They think that I’m a professional athlete—basketball. They see a tall brotha and run with it, like I can’t be anything else.”
“You know how it is. A tall, Black man, dressed impeccably, and sporting this.” I grab his wrist and stare at his obviously expensive watch. “Unfortunately, they don’t immediately think doctor.”
“True but I’m only six-four. That’s short for basketball.”
“Short for basketball only because you are definitely tall.”
“I’m average.”
“Nothing about you is average. Not one thing,” I admit. After opening my Cheetos, I take a few out, pop them in my mouth, then get comfortable on the bed, tucking one foot under my ass and stretching out the other. “Your turn.”
“What about you? What do you think they assume?” he asks.
“Oh, we doing that? Both answering the same question?”
“Yep. House rules. You know how Black people do. We make our own rules for games.”
“For every game we do,” I say and he grins.
Even his laugh is sexy. “Okay. Well, let me see. What do people assume about me?” The question is simple enough but weighted.
What I think and what they may actually assume might be completely different.
So I go with a common assumption I hear on some of my shoots.
“People think I’m an extrovert but I’m truly an introvert.
Give me my quiet space and alone time and I’m good. I prefer that all day every day.”
“Really?” he asks, surprised. “You’re so personable and outgoing. I can’t see an introvert. Look how you are with me.”
“With you, yes, because I’m comfortable in small, intimate settings like this. But after a long day of shooting and talking with my clients, I’m exhausted and just want to be alone.”
“So when we get back home and I want to see you after a long day of shooting, can I interrupt your alone time?”
“You definitely can. I like your interruptions,” I admit then simper.
“I love your smile. It’s perfect for your beautiful face,” he says, then oddly, shakes his head.
“Why you shaking your head like that?”
“Just thinking that nigga was stupid as hell. Messing it up with a woman like you. I’ll never fuck up like that with you.
I hope you know that,” he says and something in me believes each of his sincere sounding words.
He reaches into the box and retrieves the next card.
“If you could choose to be an instant success at something new, what would it be?” he reads.
“Oh that’s easy. I would be a R&B singer like Yara.”
“Can you sing?”
“Not at all,” I admit then laugh. “I’m completely tone deaf and definitely can’t stand in front of a stadium full of people but that said instant success. Hell, I’m assuming everything else would align. I just want one Grammy for my shelf. What about you?”
“An NBA player,” he says and I fall out laughing. “What’s funny?” he says with a smug look on his handsome face.
“You did all of that about people assuming you were a player then you say that. Please, you are a mess!”
“It said instant. It took me ten years to be a maxillofacial surgeon. It would have been twelve but I took the fast-track dental program at CFU. Instant beats ten years every time ,and shit, people think I’m a baller anyway, so why not?”
“You got a point there. Alright, let’s see what’s next.”
We continue the game for about ten more questions and I learn so much more about him.
He’s an only child and came from a loving home.
His parents are still married and back in Crescent Falls as well.
But what I love the most is his sense of humor.
He makes me laugh with so little effort on his part.
He’s naturally quick-witted and humorous.
A little after one, we are both hungry for real food but neither of us wants to leave this room or bed. We’ve gotten quite comfortable just chilling and vibing.
“Room service,” he suggests.
“Perfect. Now, I don’t have to get dressed again until we go downstairs for dinner and drinks.”
“You can get real comfortable and take this off too while we wait on the food,” he says while tugging on the hem of my dress.
“We haven’t even ordered yet?”
“Then order and take this off.” He inches over to me and plants his fists on the bed, crouching over me. He softly kisses my lips. “I don’t care what you order for me. What I’m really craving is under this dress.” His right hand eases up my leg and a shiver creeps down my spine.
“Mm. Is that right, Dr. Denim?”
“Yes, it is.” His lips crash into mine and he kisses the soul from my body as his hand pushes my dress up.