Prologue #5
When my glass was running low, Brandon made sure another drink was on the way. When my water was low, he made sure Amanda refilled it. And, when I’d eaten enough, he made sure my plate was taken away.
Attentive.
It was one of the most attractive traits in a man. Brandon had it. And, it earned him a few points in my notepad.
By the end of dinner, my lips were attempting to touch my ears. I admired my ability to compartmentalize my feelings and emotions. It was a lesson Chemistry and Richie taught us as children. Some of us at least. Rome and Roaman were not his subjects.
They understood very early that they’d both display their feelings proudly. It was in their wiring, and there was nothing anyone could do to change that. Honestly, I don’t think Chemistry or Richie wanted to. Rome gave Chemistry reason to believe his heart worked.
Roaman gave Richie reason to believe there was more good in life. Our mother, Rhea, was his first encounter with it. He needed more confirmation it was real, and Roaman was just that.
“I’m not so sure I’m ready for the night to end,” Brandon revealed as he leaned down into the car I had just lowered my body into.
“You should get inside,” I responded with a smile.
“Ahh,” he sighed, “The rejection is already settling in.”
Playfully, he held a hand to his heart and shook his head.
“Elizabeth, I’m coming to join you, honey,” he joked.
Chuckling, I tilted my head toward the passenger seat, urging him to get in. Noisily, he rounded the car and took his place next to me, hand still on his heart.
“Brandon, please.”
“Kimberly, please,” he countered, lowering his hand onto the steering wheel as he sped through the parking lot.
“A bar?”
“A rooftop?”
“The strip club? I know a good place.”
Me, too. My sister owns it.
“A hookah lounge?”
“A fucking library? You look like you’d love a library.”
“I would,” I admitted.
“Then which one? I’ll have them open it right now.”
Four blocks over, and the conversation continued. Hadn’t I made plans, Brandon could have a few more hours of my time. However, that wasn’t the case, and I wasn’t interested in prolonging the inevitable for the sake of an empty schedule. I had shit to handle.
I shook my head. “Not tonight.”
“I just got you in my world and now you’re trying to skip planets.”
I shrugged, unable to soothe his ache.
“What’s at home for you right now? Real shit.”
“You’re not taking me home.”
“I’m not?” He asked cheerfully.
“No. You’re taking me to The Balgaria.”
“The hotel?”
I nodded. “Yes.”
“For–”
“For whatever reason I am going. I’m not obligated to answer that question.”
“I’m just trying to make sure I’m not taking you to the hotel to–”
“To the hotel bar.”
“And I can’t join you?”
“You can’t. Someone is waiting for me.”
There was a discomforting silence lingering.
It’s time to exit. I summarized.
Discomfort was a non-negotiable for me, especially in the early stages of partnership. Be it a man or a woman, the rules were the same. It didn’t matter if it was someone auditioning to be a friend, a potential client, or someone trying to buy more of my time.
“A nigga?”
I gnawed on my bottom lip as my lips stretched backward. With each passing second, another layer of the sheep’s wool fell onto the seat underneath me. The wolf had been activated. And, as soon as the shed was complete, visibility would no longer be a hindrance.
“Kimber–”
“I am a single woman who is dating. Instead of getting dressed date after date, I put on my good clothes and line you niggas up, because that’s what works for me. I don’t live in a world where I try to make men’s lives easier. I’m all about saving myself time, energy, and free days on my schedule.
“So, I wouldn’t give a fuck if there were three or four niggas at the bar waiting for me, it isn’t and won’t be you. That’s the bottom line, and that’s what I need you to get over. Clean some of the wax from your ears so you won’t be so hard of hearing.
And, maybe go see your doctor to get that wide head of yours scanned. Obviously, they crashed into you too many times on that field. You deserve compensation, but I’m not it.”
We came to a screeching halt at the stoplight.
“Yo– you–”
The door lifted with ease. I didn’t bother closing it behind me.
Don’t want to hear it. I thought, deleting the space between me and the sidewalk. With my purse in hand, I trekked across the large white lines.
“Bitch!” Brandon spewed, fuming as he dealt with the trauma rejection triggered.
That’s between him and his mother. That’s not my problem.
I’d seen it too many times. Women making the problems of men they barely knew theirs.
This wasn’t Project Y Chromosome. I was well into my thirties.
Therapy and meditation should’ve been things of the past for any man I dated.
The work should already be done, because I refused to strap up my boots for anyone or anything but late autumn and winter.
“I’ll be a bitch,” I breathed out, “As long as I’m not a dumb bitch, a broke bitch, or Brandon’s bitch.”
I stepped up onto the sidewalk as the sweet melody of burning rubber played in the background. It was Brittany’s chance to reclaim her power. I was praying she didn’t slip and fall on that man’s dick before dawn or any time after.
Limited fabric and lots of legs reminded me where I was. My goal wasn’t to come between anyone’s money, so I continued down the street lined with bars, restaurants, and a car garage or two. I weighed my options, taking every business within walking distance into account.
The Balgaria was a mere three miles from Lamaz, the strip with concrete far too rough for my designer heels.
I regretted every step I took, hoping my soles were still intact by the end of the night.
Nevertheless, the night air was gentle against my skin.
Liberation was at the tip of my tongue, nose, and fingertips.
God, I feel good.
“Pretty, babes!” An unfamiliar voice complimented.
“Thank you.” I tossed over my shoulder without looking behind me.
I peered in each direction before stepping into the road. My strut intensified as the thought of Brandon’s audacity resurfaced in my head. I tittered, unsure where he’d stolen it from, but I was hoping he would return it soon.
Wrap it up.
He wasn’t allowed to take up space in my head. There was no room for foolish men. Not in my thoughts, memory, presence, or future. Forgetting him and his ignorance was simple.
Besides, he hasn’t spent nearly enough to linger.
I rolled my eyes, ridding myself of that man and the false hope he carried.
Scrrrrrrrrt.
Screeching tires startled me. I froze, placing a hand on my thigh.
My Glock was underneath my palm when I met the deeply troubled orbs.
My heart collapsed into the seat of my panties.
I observed the intricate details of the stranger’s profile, wondering who he was and where he’d come from so suddenly.
I’m sorry. He mouthed.
I could feel the heat from the Aston Martin’s engine. It wasn’t until it mirrored my body’s temperature that I realized my hand was on the hood and my thigh was just inches away from the grill.
The door of the SUV swung open as a haunting baritone echoed in the dark.
“My apologies. I– The– didn’t– Shit. Listening to this fucking GPS will have my Black ass in a ditch somewhere.”
Or shot.
“Or dead,” I said, clearing my throat.
I pressed the camera icon on my screen. Secretly, I snapped an image of the license plate just inches away from me. Without taking my eyes off the man in front of me, I forwarded the photo to my second cell. It buzzed in my handbag, letting me know the message had been received.
He tipped his head rightward and nodded. The few words he’d spoken would likely be the only ones I heard from his mouth so swiftly and so plentifully. I knew his type. After fixing what he assumed he’d broken, he retreated.
His spine straightened. His hands folded in front of him. His eyes stilled. So did his body.
The creases in my forehead softened. Though he was a total stranger, I recognized him. Not wholly, but parts of him. The rigid ones. The reserved ones. The quiet ones. The analytical ones. The observant ones. He was out of his comfort zone.
Teddy.
“You’re lost.”
He nodded. “I am.”
“Where to?” I sighed, loosening the grip on my Glock.
I, too, straightened my spine. His reservation was magnetic, pulling words and thoughts from me that I, too, wanted to reserve.
“The Balgaria.”
My face fluffed with a smile as I nodded.
Of course.
I didn’t pour from my mouth. Instead, I lifted the bottom of my dress for a better range of motion. My strut resumed, ending as I lowered my body into the driver’s seat of the foreign ride.
Tonka.
Cedar.
Vanilla.
Vetiver.
Orange.
I quietly admired the fragrance on his skin and the clothes he wore.
Black on black on black.
His skin was as crispy as his fabric. A hood was pulled down over what I knew were deep waves. As he turned around to face me, dipping his head into the car, he pulled the black shades from his head down onto his eyes.
“You driving, I’d assume?”
He didn’t smile. Not outwardly, at least. His face remained stoic. Unreadable. Unforgetful. It was dazzling.
“You’d be accurate.”
He rounded the car and opened the passenger door. As he settled in, so did his scent. He didn’t fuss. He didn’t put up the slightest fight.
Myrrh.
I finalized my findings. The combination was tantalizing, prompting me with the idea for Teddy’s next gift. It didn’t matter that he hated them; I’d continue giving them to him anyway.
He was deserving. Always had been.
As he adjusted the seat for comfort, I pressed my foot against the pedal. The weight of his body stopped his back from crashing into the seat. The stiffness of mine kept me upright.
“Did that image go to your friend group?”
Half-enthused by his attention to detail, I shrugged.
“It went to me,” I confirmed, hiking the volume on the stereo.