8. Southern Hospitality
SOUTHERN HOSPITALITY
Cairo’s all-black outfit gave him a laid-back vibe, with his shoulder-length braided hair hanging freely above his shoulders.
That thick mane had him looking like a dark lion on the prowl.
His shining eyes penetrated my core the same way I knew his manhood would sear my walls if I lifted my dress and bent over the dining room table to give him full access to my body.
Lena was right. This man was too fine.
The spice level on the rest of our dinner lowered significantly as we concluded with individual servings of the best crème br?lée I’d ever placed in my mouth.
“I don’t usually indulge in dessert, but I’m making an exception tonight.” Cairo spooned the final bite of the creamy dessert in his mouth and smiled.
When we finished our meal, Cairo’s housekeeper came out of nowhere and removed our empty ramekins.
After 8:30 p.m., he lifted his long arms to stretch and then looked at his large-faced watch before smiling.
“I have an early morning and a long day ahead, so I need to turn in for the night.”
My eyes bucked as I pictured what Cairo said.
Was he implying that I turn in with him?
I took a deep breath and searched his eyes.
Nothing in them hinted of the flirtiness he showed earlier.
We stood and moved outside the dining room to the stairwell, walking side by side until we reached the bottom step.
“If you need anything, please call or text me.” His smooth voice was polite and sterile.
“I will. Thanks for such an amazing evening.”
“Of course. Sleep well.”
Instead of holding me as he did earlier in the day, Cairo stopped inches away from me and planted a soft kiss on my forehead.
He then stepped back and turned slowly toward his bedroom at the back of the house.
I held the banister with one foot raised on the first step.
Cairo angled his head so our eyes remained fixed as he continued his trek in his original direction.
The intensity of his gaze held my body in place.
“Do you need something else, Zora?” Cairo stopped and called back to me.
I tried to play off my awkward tether to his presence by staring toward the artistic ceiling again.
“No, I’m good. Still taking in the beauty of your home.”
“Okay. Good night, Zora.”
“Night.” I watched Cairo disappear and stood in place with my head cocked to watch his form until he entered his bedroom. Only when I heard the door close softly did I start to climb the stairs.
With each step up, I wanted to curse Cairo out.
I hadn’t spent all my time getting this sexy to be sent upstairs like a little kid.
I was seconds away from turning around and asking if he could tell me an adult bedtime story or if he wanted to watch TV but didn’t want to come across as desperate.
Instead, I continued my trek with my head held high and my spirit bruised.
Once I entered my room and closed my door, I allowed my shoulders to slump. How in the world did Cairo not back up all his flirty words and subtle caresses with something more? Was it me?
Although I defended my situationship with Geoff earlier, at a minimum, I expected a sloppy kiss with a side of tongue action. At Lena’s request, I called her before bed.
“Girl, why are you on the phone with me at eight forty-five instead of Cairo being buried between your legs?” Lena’s high-pitched voice frustrated me, making me feel even worse about fumbling the ball with Cairo.
“He sent me to bed.” I pursed my lips.
“How is a grown man sending you to bed like he’s your daddy? What did you do?”
“I honestly don’t know.”
“What does that mean? Tell me the truth.”
“He flirted with me and just…stopped—talking about it being a long day, and he needed to rest up for tomorrow’s game.”
“Damn, girl. Did you wear your hair down and put on that sexy perfume I gave you? Give me something, Zo. Anything.”
Silence lingered between us as I shrugged.
“He was flirting and kept bringing Geoff up.”
“Oh, hell. And what did you say?”
“That Geoff’s a good guy, and we have an understanding.”
Lena clicked her tongue.
“That’ll do it. Geoff is cock-blocking and isn’t even there. Forget him, Zo. You have a gift ready for you on a platter, and you’re trying to eat from the damn dumpster. I swear you get on my nerves.”
Lena had a point about my conversation. I needed to be honest about what I wanted, and for this weekend that meant being open to some fun with Cairo.
“Do you have your outfit ready for tomorrow night? And that thong?” Lena’s words shook me from my musings.
“Yeah, but I don’t know about seducing Cairo. What if he rejects me again?”
“Stop being so insecure. The fact that your business is taking place at his house means that he has already blurred the lines of professionalism. He wants you, and from what I hear, you want him too. Y’all are in your forties. Time is ticking. Stop talking about that idiot Geoff though.”
“You’re right. Thanks, Sis.”
“You’ve got this.”
I nodded and strategized with Lena for another ten minutes so I would leave Cairo’s house feeling much lighter than when I arrived.
By nature, I was an early riser. Saturday morning, I woke from the sweetest of dreams where Cairo played the sexy lead character in a fantasy that had me spread over my bed.
I wasn’t sure if Cairo would be at the Torch’s practice facility or downstairs in his home gym, but I needed to work out. I would take my chances running into him since I needed to get some of this weight off me.
I completed my hygiene routine, then slipped into a matching black workout suit that looked more like a catsuit than exercise attire.
The tight fabric compressed my love handles and the ridges and rolls on my thighs so I appeared a size smaller than my now size sixteen frame.
I sucked in my stomach and turned in a circle in the guest closet’s floor-length mirror before pulling on a matching black zip-up jacket with sheer sleeves.
Although the outfit was too sexy for a regular workout, I refused to be caught looking dowdy in Cairo’s house.
“You’re sitting up high, boo.” I gave my right butt cheek a quick love pat.
The loud pop resounded across the large room.
After I brushed my hair and secured it in a bun on top of my head, I put on lip gloss and reveled in the quiet of my space.
I sat on a plush corner chair lined with soft pillows and a camel-colored chambray throw.
The rich fabrics of the ottoman and chair screamed above-average wealth and exclusive access to resources that cost more than many people’s annual salaries.
I leaned back and closed my eyes to pray and meditate, thankful for the sweet peace that overtook me. At the end of my ten-minute session, Cairo’s kind face entered my thoughts and made me smile.
With a straightened spine, I noticed the perfection of the warm cherry oak floor that complemented the room’s metallic gold, beige, and ivory hues.
Thick billowing drapes framed the floor-to-ceiling windows as brushed gold-framed paintings of serene country scenes lined the wall.
I felt as if I was sitting in an “Architectural Digest” special issue.
On my way out the door, a smaller painting of a rolling landscape overlooking a cliff drew my eye.
Unlike the other paintings, its muted tones were darker and more ominous.
Its perfection drew me in with exact strokes and colors that accurately reflected an Irish landscape with a clear body of water below.
I rose and moved to the piece to get a better look, taking in more of the details.
At the bottom was a unique signature in dark black ink—C. Kinney.
Wow. Cairo was indeed a Renaissance man who continued to surprise me. Funny how he called me out for hiding, but his talent off the court was boundless.
The silence of the house hit me when I left my room.
That, along with the extremely long hallway of closed doors.
My inquisitive nature had me itching to see if any of the doors were unlocked, but my home training told me to calm my curious behind down and go to the workout room.
Although Cairo told me to make myself at home, it would be rude for me to go in all the spaces without prior permission.
Everyone had secrets, and all I needed to do was pop up in a dark room that exposed more of Cairo than I wanted or needed to know.
Girl, you read too many thrillers and freaky books. There’s no way he is human trafficking or dominating somebody in a sex room.
To distract myself from exploring, I took in the art on the wall.
Like the home’s entrance, the unique, high-end pieces called to me.
Diverse representations of Black bodies and landscapes across a variety of media reminded me of exotic places I traveled to over my lifetime but never took time to enjoy.
Since I’d already seen one of Cairo’s masterpieces, I paid attention to markers at the bottom of each work.
Cairo painted at least three of these too.
I inhaled and exhaled. If nothing else, this staycation allowed me to slow down and literally smell the crystal vase of lavender flowers under a tall mirror near the winding staircase.
Yes, Cairo was wealthy, but he was also a man of excellence—one who appreciated internal and external beauty in all its forms. The elegance of his home didn’t align with my stereotype of him. I should have known not to judge a book by its cover since I fought against being typecast every day.
As an engineer, people expected me to be smart but not nurturing or funny. Over time, I conformed to their perspectives so I wouldn’t be uncomfortable. Why did seeing the dual nature of Cairo’s life make me feel as if I was missing something?