Chapter 11
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Khaleesi
Approaching the truck without the familiar rush of annoyance whenever Xain was in my peripheral felt foreign.
It was almost unsettling to roll my luggage over to him willingly.
I usually would do it my damn self to avoid the unpleasant interaction.
Xain grabbed the suitcase by the handle and stacked it inside with the rest of the luggage.
“Thank you,” I uttered.
“You’re welcome,” he replied.
“See, that get-along time worked. Y’all showing manners and shit,” Q spun around and laughed at us.
I flipped him the middle finger, still upset that he had a hand in tampering with my door.
Rounding the truck, I stopped to get a good look at Q and Jameera before folding my arms across my chest. Jameera looked freshly fucked, a complete juxtaposition from her disheveled appearance while crashing at Amill’s place over the last week.
It was evident they had a few rounds of makeup sex to find common ground.
They might’ve been on a new page, but I was still on the all y’all some hoes chapter. Because that was the last thing Q said to me before blocking all of us. That nigga was livid when he thought Jameera was cheating.
Q was always so calm, cool, and collected. Every time I’d heard Mama Marissa and Jameera tell stories about him being a wild child, I was floored. They always chalked his growth up to Jameera’s influence and his health issues. Either way, I had to get my jokes off.
“So basically we all sluts from what I hear?” I joked, folding my arms across my chest. “I fucked one nigga on your team, and suddenly I’m a hoe? Can I at least fuck two men on the team before you put me in that category?”
“I apologize, Khaleesi. I already told you and Amill I’ll do whatever to make it up to you.”
“I ain’t even mad. I understand how it looked. When I got to my phone and saw everything, I thought Jameera did that shit too,” I cackled.
Jameera gasped loudly.
“I’m just being honest, boo.” I admitted to Jameera, then turned my attention to Q.
“Now back to the issue at hand, Q. I’m going to cash in on that apology gift when we get back though.
I was never going to buy a Birkin with my own money, but you got it.
” I stuck my tongue out and climbed into the truck.
“I got you. I told y’all whatever. I was dead wrong, and I apologize.”
“Good to hear,” I quipped. “I’ll actually need two. One for being unjustly called a hoe and another for you locking me in my apartment with Xain.”
“I got you,” he agreed. “You can sit in the front. Duke isn’t coming. Just the four of us,” Q informed me.
I nodded and climbed into the passenger seat. Xain took the driver’s seat while I rummaged through my bag for my prescription. I took a xanax and relaxed in my seat.
“What’s that?” Xain inquired.
“None of your business,” I side-eyed him.
“See, I thought we were in a better place,” he grumbled.
“We are. But how is my medication your business?”
“Yeah, alright.”
Long international flights were my least favorite part of my job, and I avoided them at all costs. There wasn’t enough time for me to get anyone to fill in for me like I would’ve preferred. However, I wanted to experience Morocco, and Q was desperate for my help during the last-minute trip.
Thankfully, we boarded and were up in the air pretty quickly.
My eyes were already getting low as I buckled into our seats for takeoff.
Before I knew it, I was fast asleep. I felt my body being lifted out of my seat, but my body was so weak from the Xanax that I could only admire Xain’s handsome yet scarred face as he carried me through the cabin.
He paused and slid a door open, holding me up with one arm.
“You good, beautiful.”
“Beautiful?” I whispered, wondering if it was the Xanax or Xain.
“Go back to sleep,” Xain laughed, gently placing my body in the bed. I grinned, feeling like precious cargo.
“You laugh?” I slowly nodded as he stood back up.
He shook his head, cracking a smile.
“I like you better high. You was just giving me attitude in the truck. I’mma see what you be takin’ so you can take it more often.”
I giggled as Xain pulled the covers over me.
Just like that, I fell asleep again. Towards the end of the flight, I woke up to the pilot requesting that we take our seats because we’d be landing soon.
I slowly sat up, feeling my purse in my back.
Xain must’ve brought my purse back as well because it was behind me in the bed.
His nosy ass probably went through my shit like he said he would. I wouldn’t put anything past him.
The other comments he made while I was drowsy came flooding to the front of my memory. He called me beautiful. A jovial grin spread across my face, and I felt tingly on the inside again. Shaking those thoughts off, I scooted out of the bed. The door slid open again, and it was Xain.
“You already up?”
“I am,” I smiled up at him.
He nodded and walked off. No smile. Not an ounce of pleasantry in sight. Maybe I was dreaming when I thought Xain was being nice to me earlier.
Shrugging that off, I got buckled in and went through the mundane landing, deplaning, customs, and all of that with the rest of the gang.
I was still a little groggy and wanted to eat and get back to bed.
Once we got to the hotel, I went to my riad, ordered room service, took a long hot shower, and went back to sleep.
Marrakech was five hours ahead, making it the perfect time to take my ass to bed to prepare for the long day ahead of me.
When I woke up the next morning, I got straight to work, roaming around the YSL Museum, scouting the perfect location, and making arrangements with the staff to bring my vision to life.
Since I couldn’t get an assistant to accompany me on such short notice, Xain was assigned to chauffeur me around and help with whatever I needed.
He put up a little fight, reminding Q that he was security, not a do-boy, before agreeing to help me.
After leaving the YSL Museum, we traveled to the open-air markets in Jemaa el-Fnaa.
“We are going to have to park and walk to the souks from here because the streets get narrow,” Xain announced, placing the car in park.
“What are souks?” I inquired.
“That’s what they call the open-air markets in the Middle East,” Xain explained, exiting the truck.
I hopped out and looked around, taking in my surroundings. People moved between the cars and scooters, carrying shopping bags and baskets. Xain started walking, and I trucked along, following him beneath an archway that led into the souks.
Walking into the market was already an adventure.
The warm terracotta walls took me back to middle school art class when we used to sculpt things out of clay.
My eyes traced the woven canopies shading the worn stone streets the shops opened directly onto.
When we arrived the night before, it was freezing, and I had on my jacket.
However, the afternoon sun had us sitting at a beautiful seventy degrees, allowing me to wear my long cardigan.
A cacophony of scents wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble.
Cumin, cinnamon, and orange blossoms were just a few I could pinpoint.
A scooter buzzed past, and Xain gently placed his hand on my waist to push me to the side.
My head snapped around at the feel of his touch, and our eyes locked.
“Alright, next time I’ll let them side swipe you,” he declared before I could respond.
That man was so hot and cold that the shit was agitating me more than anything else he’d done. I’d determined that it wasn’t the drugs and I wasn’t dreaming when Xain complimented me and carried me to the bed on the PJ. The memory was too vivid for it to have been drug-induced.
I spun back around, refusing to argue. We passed by vendors calling out to us until we finally reached a stall with fresh flowers. They were beautiful, and already wrapped. I picked out a few options, and Xain carried them.
“Henna!” I heard a woman yell from a stall we passed.
“I’ll be back for Henna before I leave Marrakech! I promise.”
She smiled and raised both of her thumbs.
“What are we buying all of this stuff for anyway?”
“Q didn’t tell you?” I sputtered.
“Tell me what?”
“He’s proposing tomorrow,” I bubbled. “If you would’ve come inside the museum, you would’ve heard the details. This proposal is going to be too cute. He has an unreleased song he made for the proposal and everything.”
“That’s what’s up. They have some real cute shit going on.”
“I don’t know. Q was giving me flashbacks of my insecure ex,” I admitted.
“How?”
“He spazzed out before giving Jameera a chance to explain. Then he brought us into it. He swore we knew what she was doing. Whole time she wasn’t doing shit,” I explained.
“Shiiiiiiit, Q better than me. You, Amill, and Jameera woulda got maced since I don’t put my hands on women. Or I would’ve paid a random to beat y’all asses one by one for playing on my top.”
“Since when do you not put your hands on women? I vividly remember getting slammed on a kitchen island,” I reminded Xain, pausing to look up at him.
“Man, get the fuck outta here. I didn’t mean to slam you that hard.
But be for real, Khaleesi. I could’ve made you touch every wall in that house if I wanted to, and those soft ass women you run with wouldn’t have been able to stop me.
However, I showed restraint. Even after you busted my lip.
I really don’t wanna hear shit when I be collecting scars like Infinity Stones fucking with you.
Look at my fucking face,” he detailed, pointing his finger around his scarred face.
I snickered and continued walking. “I didn’t put those iguanas in your car,” I lied, continuing on our path.
“Fucking liar,” Xain spat.