Chapter Nine
SIA
When he entered the car, the smell of Black-Ice car freshener, mixed with his cologne wafted throughout the car when the air brushed past my face.
I can't lie and say that Dose wasn't fine as hell and dressed to the nines as if he'd been waiting for this moment his whole life.
The tailored Armani suit looked good on him.
The black-and-white Dior loafers fit everything perfectly, coordinating with his style.
I didn't miss the iced-out Audemars Piguet on his wrist and the iced-out necklace around his neck.
The last thing I was expecting was for him to pop out, even after sending him through so many hoops to jump through.
Personally, I was looking for him to fuck up, because that's what I'm used to.
I wear my heart on my sleeve and I don't go into anything heart first. I expect niggas to do exactly what they're born to do and not whispered promises.
I've been on this earth long enough not to fall for the fuck shit and get gullible.
This night would be simple—I'm going to give him what he wants—talks over dinner, and that's it. I'm not sleeping with him and I'm not going back to his house.
"Whatchu' ova' there thinkin' 'bout?" He asked me, his deep baritone slicing between my thick thoughts, knocking me out of a trance. Momentarily, as he drove, he'd glance at me then back at the road. Slow Jamz by Chris Brown featuring Lucky Daye was boosting lowly through his truck.
"Huh," I glanced over at him to see his brown orbs piercing through mine.
"You cold?"
Reaching over, he touched my thigh, sending shivers up my spine like a rush.
"No, I-I'm okay," I stammered. "I'm good," I retorted after clearing my throat.
"You ova there lookin' like you in a daze. You're safe wit' me, Sia. You can trust me."
"Hmph," I screwed up my face. "I'll never trust a nigga."
He chuckled, his deep heavy laughter booming over the loud music. "Here we go," he muttered, once his laughter subsided.
"Yup, here we go," I replied real snooty-like. "You'll never give me a reason to trust you."
"I ain't never gave you a reason not to either. You act like a nigga done treated you so foul. It ain't fair to make another nigga pay for what was already done. It's my job to heal you, love."
"See," I pointed at him. "That's that suave, bullshit-ass, macho-man talk, that I don't like. Stop spitting game on me, Dose."
"See," he mocked me in the same tone, making his deep voice high-pitched. "I just tell you how I'm feeling." Then his tone reverted back to normal. "I ain't got shit to lie about."
"Whatever." I pursed my lips after tearing my eyes away from him and gazed out the window. "You're taking me downtown."
"Yeah, somewhere real nice. You come out here often?"
"Yeah, sort of, but not as much as I used to though."
"You like to eat, I already peeped that part about you. You'll always eat good with me, whether it's dick or food," he humored, getting a loud cackle out of me before I hit him.
"There go a smile," he removed his hand from my thighs and swiped it under my chin. "You got a pretty-ass smile. You need to stop all that mugging and shit."
"Don't get carried away, nigga," I warned him, jokingly.
We pulled up to a valet parking and he told me to stay put as he walked over to my side to let me out.
When the door opened I clasped on to his hand, so I wouldn't fall, because the curb was really steep.
He said a few more things to the valet that I couldn't make out, then clasped his arm around my waist to lead me to the entrance.
Downtown was jumping as always for the most part but we were in a part that looked unrecognizable to me.
Cars were parked on both sides of the street, and before pulling up I noticed a back alleyway.
Dose guided me to these swanky doors, and we stepped into what looked like a newly built hotel that smelled like fresh paint, but it was beautifully decorated and the floors were glossy enough to see myself through them.
Then I clasped on to his hand and he led me to an elevator.
I noticed he pressed the letter R, which stood for rooftop and that had me sort of puzzled.
"Are you planning on killing me tonight?" I asked, letting my intrusive thoughts out.
I had my Ruger in my purse and was preparing to use it. Also Nya had my location.
Dose slid his hands in the pocket of his slacks and glanced down at me, looking with a be-fucking-forreal expression etched on his face, before returning the handsome scowl on his face and looking forward.
"The only thing I plan on killin' tonight is that pussy. I can't beat it up if you dead, love. I ain't into that sick Kendall Francois—Ted Bundy bullshit."
I shook my head at his reference and glanced past him to see that we reached the rooftop, then the elevator dinged.
Slowly the elevator doors opened making my eyes grow wide.
I was stuck in place and my jaw dropped from being in awe, until Dose clasped my wrist, between his warm hands and a jolt of electricity rushed through me, springing me back to earth.
Red roses sat elegantly in crystal vases, surrounded by flickering tea candles that created a glowing path leading straight to our table.
Soft jazz drifted through the night air from hidden speakers, wrapping the atmosphere in something warm and romantic.
Waiting for us at the table were polished champagne flutes that sparkled beneath the dim lighting.
Everything looked like a scene pulled straight from a movie. Between the candlelight, the roses, and the stars hanging above us, the entire setup felt almost unreal. The night sky stretched endlessly overhead, making everything around us look even more beautiful than it already was.
"This is so pretty," I beamed at everything as I trailed behind him.
"And to think you almost missed out on this," he grinned, glancing at me over his shoulder momentarily.
He let go of my hand to pull my chair out for me. I took a seat and glanced around us to see there were other tables unoccupied.
"I'm trying my best not to like you," I blushed, when he took a seat across from me.
"It won't work," he chuckled.
"How did you pull this off? I've been seeing people talk about this place on TikTok, because they went viral after posting the construction work. You know downtown has great rooftop parties, but so far I've only gone to one," I told him.
He rubbed his thumb and forefinger together signaling money which explained everything for the most part.
"My Pops is in good with the guy who owns the restaurant I pulled up on you and 'ole boy at. We buy wine from him a lot. He's looking to expand his business and this is a really good start."
"Ohh okay," I nodded my head. "It's good when you know somebody."
Our waiter came over to us and took our drink orders, but as I examined the menu, I knew what I wanted so I went ahead and ordered. Dose did the same.
"I hope this meets your standards," he mentioned.
"Why does meeting my standards matter to you so bad, Dose?" I asked him.
I propped my head in my hands, with my elbows rubbing the tablecloth, waiting for him to respond.
He shrugged. "You and I both know, you ain't an easy fish to catch. You bite back. Niggas would be lucky enough to get you to say bless you if they sneezed, you're so fuckin' mean and bitter."
My brows piqued in curiosity. "Mean and bitter? You think I'm bitter?"
"Something made you that way. I can see right through you. It's good you're not optimistic, but you have a chip on your shoulder too and I can tell you love hard which is why you keep your feelings bottled up and protected."
"No one made me this way, I just have enough experience with men to know that y'all—"
"Y'all," his bushy brows raised with a questionable tone.
"Y'all!" I retorted, mocking him. "As a collectible. You're part of Adam's rib and he was the first liar to exist."
"Mane," he blew a raspberry as he waved me off.
Our waiter returned with our wine and appetizers. Dose waited until he left and thanked him before doing so.
"That's the thing with women. Y'all blame every nigga after the one who hurt you for a fuck nigga's wrong doing."
"Ain't that what y'all do? A bitch does y'all wrong one time, mainly y'all mama or being born in a one-parent household and now every woman has to suffer for that."
He shook his head as he took a sip of his wine. "That speaks for most men, but not me. If that's the case, then what's wrong wit' you. What's your story? I saw the pictures on your bookshelf. You grew up in a two-parent household. You got daddy issues or something?"
I pursed my lips and took a huge sip of my wine.
"I didn't, but I do now. He doesn't approve of my well-being. It's been that way for a while now, sadly."
"It ain't his choice to approve of how you get your bread. That's always been weird to me and those type of expectations set on you as an adult shouldn't be a choice of his to make."
I nodded in agreement. "Tell me about it," I uttered sarcastically. "I grew up with parents who demanded that after high school it's imperative to attend college. I chose culinary school."
"I noticed that degree on your bookshelf too."
"I had this really big opportunity. She was a local celebrity in Memphis at the time.
It was for her wedding. During this era, word-of-mouth was huge.
Of course the bride and groom were hesitant about me catering to them, because I was new, but my father put in a good word for me.
Long story short, they got food poisoning and my chances at being a chef were tainted.
I gave up after that, because she blasted me all over social media and she went viral. "
"Oh shit," his hand covered his mouth in a lowercase o. "I think I remember that. Damn that's fucked up. Why'd you just give up like that though?"