Chapter 8
Chapter
Eight
Falcon
Maybe my intentions were more personal than I wanted to admit.
As I watched Eli walk over to me, I realized I was doing this for more reasons than one, and getting to know her and pretend to be in a relationship with her was at the top of the list. Cleaning up my image should have been the number one priority, but having her was.
Eli was probably the prettiest woman in the world, and she acted like she didn’t even know it.
Her peanut butter skin wrapped around a slim-thick frame that was short as hell to me but average in height for everyone else.
Both of her nostrils were pierced with hoop nose rings.
She had long, curly cinnamon-red hair that was always wild and all over the place.
I loved that shit. Slanted muddy-brown eyes could look at me and hold me captive for hours, but my favorite part of her face was her beautiful, sweet, innocent smile.
Standing, I couldn’t resist the urge to pull her into my arms for a hug.
We’d met with Justine to go over the deal and plan three days ago.
The post Eli shared with the gifts I’d gotten her was already doing numbers and creating speculation.
Most people weren’t surprised that we were friends because of her brother, but they were surprised that I’d gotten her something and was supporting her.
I ended up making my own post and sharing a picture of me and her from a few years ago.
It was an off-guard picture that my aunt had taken after one of our games.
She swore Eli was the one for me and that she saw something between us, but I made it clear we were just friends.
Now, I was glad I’d kept the picture. It was a clear display of how good we felt talking to each other, .
. . being around each other. Our smiles were bright and genuine, bodies naturally close and relaxed.
Along with the picture, I’d shared a caption along the lines of the last man fumbled her, but I was known to never fumble a ball or beautiful woman.
I made it clear she deserved better than a cheating ass nigga and coveting ass best friend, and a lot of women were showing her love on my post. We still had a lot of work to do, but the engagement on those two posts gave me the confidence to know there was a chance Justine’s plan could actually work.
“Hi, Fally,” she spoke, giving me a hug.
It felt so good to have her in my arms. I released a satisfied hum and had to stop myself from picking her up and wrapping her legs around me.
“You’re so fucking tiny, Smiley. It’s taking everything in me not to pick you up so we can be chest to chest.”
Eli giggled and tightened her hold around me. “I mean, you are huge. I’m gonna start calling you my teddy bear. I wouldn’t object to you picking me up though. You give the best hugs.”
With her permission, I wasted no time picking her up and wrapping her legs around me.
Her laughter softened my heart and made me smile.
I didn’t care that we were in a public place.
Justine would have said to milk it for photo ops, but I didn’t give a fuck about that shit.
Having her close like this was my new favorite happy place.
When I set her down on her feet, I pulled her chair out and helped her sit down.
We decided to meet at Sandy Drinks at the beach to talk.
The vibe was immaculate. Because of how it was positioned, it was the only restaurant and bar on the beach that was actually on the beach.
On the sand. Instead of sitting inside, we had a table outside with a firepit.
In Rose Valley Hills, the weather wasn’t super cold late February.
Our coldest months were from the end of December to early February.
With it nearing spring, the highs were around fifty, and with the firepits and low wind, being outside at the beach felt perfect.
“How are you?” I asked, sitting down next to her.
Her eyes shifted toward the water, and I saw in real time how the ocean could relax a person’s nervous system.
Her body relaxed, head tilted, breathing slowed.
I didn’t even rush her for a quick answer.
She needed this as much as I did, and I was happy holding space while God’s creation worked its magic.
“Today’s been better,” she confessed, looking over at me. “It’s the first day since everything went down that I haven’t cried yet, so that’s progress.”
“Progress, not perfection. And even slow progress is better than no progress. Not crying is a definite win.”
“That’s a great perspective to have.”
“In sports, I learned early on how important perspective is.” Our conversation paused temporarily as our waitress came to take our orders. When she left, I asked, “Your brother getting on your nerves yet?”
Her laughter was soft as she shook her head. “He’s content now that he was able to get his hands on Justin last night. Apparently, he saw him at a sports bar and cornered him in the bathroom. I don’t know why he did that in a public place knowing it can lead to bad press but . . .”
“Bad press don’t matter. Not when it comes to protecting someone you love.”
She shrugged. “I guess. He’s letting me paint the guest room I’m in pink, so that’s a win.”
“What about your tree house?”
The shock that covered her pretty face made it clear she wasn’t expecting me to remember she wanted a tree house.
I remembered the first time I went to Senior’s house for a barbecue, I found her outside on that swing.
Random small talk led to her telling me about how she wanted a tree house to read and close the rest of the world out.
“Oh. Um, . . . I decided to get one at my home so it’ll be my permanent little place of peace.” Her head tilted and mouth parted slightly. “I can’t believe you remember that.”
“It’s easy to remember everything about you, Eli.”
Silence found us for a while as she stared at me before she cleared her throat and shifted her attention back to the ocean.
“So, you wanted us to talk about ourselves?” Eli confirmed, and I didn’t mind her shifting the conversation. There would be plenty of chances for me to make her melt in the future, and I intended to take advantage of every one.
“Yeah. I know we know a few of the facts about each other, but the more we know, the easier this will be. Plus, the more time we spend around each other, the more organic our intimacy will appear in public.”
“Speaking of intimacy, how much intimacy are we talking?” she asked. “Hugs, holding hands?” Her voice lowered, and the innocence of it when she leaned forward to ask, “Kissing?” caused an unexpected laugh to leave the pit of my belly.
“I mean . . . I would say whatever feels comfortable in that moment. Hugging and holding each other along with holding hands sounds natural for friends turned lovers. I feel like paparazzi especially will want us to kiss, but we don’t have to if you’re not comfortable with that.”
“I’ve been thinking about it, and since you said you didn’t kiss women in that video, us kissing will make this look real. I’d be okay with it as long as the first time it happened was private and real. Well, not real, but you know what I mean.”
“Oh, it’ll definitely be real,” I countered. “The relationship may be fake, but everything I say and do to you and for you will be real, Smiley.”
Cupping her hands, she looked at me hesitantly. “What does that mean exactly?”
Deciding to be completely honest, I admitted, “It means I’ve always had a thing for you, and I’m going to take full advantage of being able to have you in this capacity. So when I hold you, kiss you, talk sweet to you, all of that will be real.”
“You like me?” she asked sweetly.
“Yeah. Always have, and I’m sure I always will.”
Eli smiled and took my hand into hers. “I’ve always liked you too. I knew nothing could ever be between us for a couple of reasons, so I was excited about being your fake girlfriend.”
I didn’t have to ask what the reasons were, because I already knew.
It wasn’t just her brother; it was also my stance against love and relationships.
My mother loved my father so much that her spirit died when he did.
She loved him so much she couldn’t bear the sight of me when he died.
A lot of people believed they had a toxic relationship because my father died of a drug overdose, but that was an incorrect assumption.
They also thought I didn’t have a healthy example of love because my father died when I was so young, but that wasn’t true either.
My father showed me how to love a woman based on how he loved my mother.
He wasn’t an addict by choice. An accident at work led to him needing pain pills.
When his job stopped covering the pills after the allotted time their insurance recommended, he had to get relief from the streets.
His shit was laced, and the rest as they say is history.
I thank God that he didn’t suffer for long.
About six months after he started buying drugs illegally, he overdosed.
And while his pain may have been over then, mine had just begun.
So it wasn’t because I didn’t know or see love that made me not want it.
It was because I’d seen how loving a person too hard could change the trajectory of your life.
My mother abandoned me because of her love for my father, and one of her brothers committed suicide after his wife died because he didn’t want to live without her.
If love made you that weak and dependent, I wanted no parts of it.
Eli and I spent the next hour or so talking about things real couples talked about during that get to know you stage.
I learned that her love language was quality time because she needed to feel chosen, wanted, and like she belonged.
If no one else understood that, I did. With the senses, she loved touch. I was the same way.
She loved recreational intimacy and active dates, which would be easy to plan.
Justine and her team were going to be planning a lot of things for us to do, but I had already made up in my mind to plan dates for us on my own.
I loved that she was into outdoorsy shit because that was my lane.
It would be easier for me to plan those kinds of dates versus the overly romantic ones.
I asked her what was one date she wanted her man to plan in the future, and she said a hot air balloon breakfast or dinner, so I put that piece of information in the front of my memory.
We talked about our goals, passions, and purpose.
I wouldn’t say I had a purpose beyond making the most of this life, but I did know football was my passion.
Hers was books. When she shared with me that she wanted to open a bookstore one day, I couldn’t help but ask her why she hadn’t done it already.
“Honestly, music takes a lot out of me,” she confessed. “Recording, posting and engaging, promoting and performing. It’s a lot. I’m an introvert, and I isolate a lot to recharge, so doing this makes it hard for me to have the energy to do anything else.”
“Can I ask why you’re doing music instead of having your own store?” I wondered, hoping the question wouldn’t be too intrusive. So far, the food, company, and conversation had all been good, and I didn’t want that to end.
“It’s gonna sound silly,” she warned me before taking a sip of her iced tea.
“Safe space,” I reminded.
She grabbed my hand, and I noticed she did that when she was nervous. It made me think that was her way of being grounded and trying to stay present. I wondered who else she clung to like that and if they knew what an honor it was.
“For Senior. It’s . . . my football for him.
What he’s proud of. What we connect over.
What makes him show interest in me. My life.
Our relationship has always been provision and protection, but my music makes it kind of personal.
We still don’t have the emotional, close bond I wish we had, but it’s something. Better than it was when I was a kid.”
That shit broke a piece of my heart off.
To know that she was doing music because of her father fucked with me.
It made me want to go to him and demand he do better, but I knew that would be a waste of my breath.
Some men were too toxic in their masculinity to be soft and emotional toward women.
That shit was never a flex to me or something to be proud of.
I felt most like a man when I was tender and vulnerable with a woman, which was why I avoided that shit.
I didn’t want a woman evoking emotion and connection with me that I was trying not to have.
“That’s probably why I’ve picked horrible men to be with,” she continued, releasing my hand.
“My father never really showed me how I should be treated, and that’s not to blame him for my choices.
I take responsibility for them now and know it’s up to me to choose better regardless of his example.
After this situation, I’m done with relationships.
Men can’t be soft and gentle and kind toward me.
They don’t deserve the way I love. My loyalty. My affection. I’m over that shit now.”
“I’m gonna tell you something my uncle told me.
Life is short, but it’s too long to be miserable.
You have a beautiful voice and great career, but if music isn’t what you want to do, don’t do it.
You can’t live for your father, Eli. Not happily.
This is your one life. Live it for you. And as far as relationships are concerned, take a break now ’cause I’m ya man, and I’on play that sharing and cheating shit, but when this is over, don’t let niggas who didn’t value and appreciate you keep you from being loved properly.
Just choose better and never settle for less than you deserve.
There are men out there disciplined enough to be faithful, and there are men secure enough in their masculinity to give you the safe, soft love you desire and deserve.
Don’t let nobody rob you of what you want, Smiley. No one.”
“That was a lot, and I’ll need to unpack it all with gratitude when I get home, but you calling yourself my man stood out the most.”
I hadn’t even noticed I’d said that shit.
“I did?” I confirmed, though I knew she had no reason to lie.
With a sniggle, Eli nodded. “Yes. You did.”
“Hmm. Guess it came out naturally.”
“Which is good. Thank you, Falcon. I needed to hear everything you just said.”
She leaned forward, cupped my right cheek, and kissed the left. Her lips on any part of me was something I wanted to earn every day for the rest of my life.