5. second chance
second chance
MARLEY
I blame my sudden burst of boldness on being thirty thousand miles in the air.
My guarded personality has to be back on land because up here, with my head literally in the clouds, I’ve somehow become bold and spontaneous.
Yes, that has to be it. Because what else can explain agreeing to a date when I am doing one of the very things I came to escape?
That’s partly what this whole trip is about. Giving myself time away from work and men. Not thinking about deadlines and not frolicking with the first man to throw attention at me.
New Year’s had been two days ago, and my resolution had been clear: No dating. No situationships that involved bogus mind games. I was tired of mistaking attention for genuine kindness.
Focus on self, Marley. This trip is about focusing on self!
I still feel the need to decompress after my last break-up with my ex, Trey.
The break-up that hurt the most. Or could I even call my recent break-up a break-up?
Trey had already broken up with me, then we somehow drifted back together without actually discussing whether we were together again.
So you can’t really call that a break-up, right?
I let out a long sigh.
Yeah. Messy and confusing. That was my life once upon a time. But I have learned to choose myself since then. Learned to honor my own boundaries. Learned to love myself more than the thrill of chasing men who were never meant to stay.
Which is exactly why I don’t need to get involved with anyone right now. Even if they are as charming and good-looking as Othello Kingston.
No more falling for charming men.
My heart is pounding hard and fast, and I wonder more than once if this fine specimen to my left can hear it.
He keeps the conversation going, oblivious to how my eyes scan his perfect face.
He is brutally handsome. The hair growing around his full lips and cleft chin is perfectly trimmed.
His eyes are a shade of brown I’d never seen before.
His skin . . . good lord . . .his skin. Othello’s sepia complexion is so smooth I want to lick his cheek to see if he tastes as good as he looks.
Othello sits with confidence, the humble kind, oozing good humor and respect.
I watch him in awe as he speaks, his hands animated and his emotions enthusiastic.
My mind drifts back to the day we met months ago, and I can’t help but cringe at how foolish and maybe even a little rude I had been to cut our conversation short just to answer a call from a man I don’t even speak to anymore.
I used to kick myself just thinking about how I shouldn’t have walked away from Othello.
But I had walked away. And yet, fate, or maybe just a cruel twist of irony, brought Othello right here, next to me, in seat 14C. I think about how I’d found him again after that night we met on the dating app, Hooked.
Swiping right felt like a second chance, and I waited, fingers crossed, hoping he’d match with me. But weeks passed. Nothing.
I convinced myself Othello was probably still annoyed that I’d left him hanging that night.
Eventually, I deleted the app altogether.
Too many wasted hopes. But that doesn’t stop him from invading my thoughts when I least expect it.
Every now and again, Othello would run through my mind.
If I was washing clothes, or reading a romance novel, or simply ordering take-out the third night in a row, he would drift into my thoughts, and I would think what if I had ignored that call.
I thought I had blown my chance with Othello.
But now here he is in the flesh, right beside me. Looking like a snack I needed to get my hands on.
Calm down and pump your brakes, lover girl.
“A penny for your thoughts,” Othello murmurs, bumping my shoulder with his. “You good?”
His question startles me. “Oh, sorry. What?”
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“Really?” he questions, a doubtful look on his face. “Cause you have this look on your face.”
“What look?”
“This, ‘uh-oh, this might not be a good idea’ look.”
I can’t even answer, because… “Yes, that is what I was thinking.”
Othello shakes his head as if he pities me. “Now, why would the two of us getting together not be a good idea?”
He leans in close, and my brain goes ragged.
“Personal stuff.”
“Personal stuff, like what? Let’s talk about it.”
I look at him like he’s growing a third eye. “Now why would I tell you something personal?”
Othello feigns offense. “Damn, it’s like that?”
I raise my eyebrow at him. “How do I know I won’t end up in your next book?”
He holds up his hands. “You won’t. Scout's honor. I just want to get to know you. We all have a story to tell.”
“And I’m supposed to just tell you my business after talking to you for a mere…” I check the time on my phone. “Twenty minutes?”
Othello shakes his head with amusement. “Technically we’ve been talking for longer than that. This isn’t our first time meeting each other.”
The way he says it makes something inside me tingle. Our eyes click, locked for what seems like minutes before I sit back in my seat and look away.
“True. But we still hardly know each other.”
“True,” he mimics and then checks the time on his gold watch. “So, we have nine hours and 45 minutes.”
“For what?”
“To get to know each other before we land in Hawaii.”
I shake my head with a laugh.
“Ok, what do you want to know?”
“Everything. Like what’s your favorite ice cream? What’s your favorite animal?”
I pause, smiling, as nostalgic memories of my childhood play in my mind.
“My favorite ice cream…strawberry. Hands down. And I love dolphins. I had this stuffed dolphin named Flipper once. I took him with me everywhere until I was in sixth grade and got teased for always bringing him to school.”
He laughs. “You brought a stuffed animal to school? What was it like, show and tell?”
“No, it was like a regular damn day.”
“Oh, hell no. Sixth grade, though? That’s wild,” he exclaims.
“He was like a security blanket. I was so attached to him. And then Arielle Gibson started calling me Sea World in front of everybody. It was horrible.”
“Kids are ruthless!”
“Right,” I agreed.
“I didn’t take you for a dolphin type of girl. I would have thought more Persian Cat.”
“And why a Persian cat?”
“Because they’re elegant, calm. A little bougie, classy cat.”
I lift a brow, and Othello leans back in his seat, holding up those large hands of his in defense. “What? That’s just the vibe you give?”
“I’ll have you know that dolphins are great animals. They’re protective. Loyal. And they actually become friends with one another. They stick together and hang out.”
“Wow, I had no idea dolphins were out here having social lives. I appreciate the history lesson.”
“They are misunderstood. But I love them.”
“Yeah, sorry, I still think you’re a cat.”
I roll my eyes. “Okay, your turn. Tell me something about you? Favorite meal? Are you a mama’s boy?”
His face morphs into something unreadable, and he huffs out a laugh.
“Favorite meal. Everything, honestly. I’m a foodie. And… I used to be. But I was close with my pops at one time too.” He pauses for a second, contemplating. “My parents passed on a long time ago.”
My mouth falls open in shock. “Oh, Othello, I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“You’re good. It’s not something I usually lead with, so we don’t have to get into that right now.”
“Of course. Let’s keep it light,” I offer.
“Yeah, besides, this moment is about you. I’m trying to know what makes Marley, Marley,” his jaunty voice returns. “And what makes you second-guess a date with me?”
“I have reason to feel how I feel,” I admit.
“I’m all ears.”
I sigh dramatically. “I just like where I’m at in life right now.”
“And where is that?”
“Alone but not lonely. People always think that when you’re single something’s missing in your life. I’m content right now. No mind games or dealing with confusion. Just peace. And I just want it to stay that way.”
He gives me a puzzled look. “Is that how relationships have been for you? Mind games?”
A bit of shame washes over me. “Yeah, more or less.”
“Well, that’s not what I’m offering.”
“Oh?” I pretend to be surprised, and he chuckles. “What are you offering?”
“I’m offering you just one date with me. A good time that doesn’t leave you questioning anything.”
His answer leaves me awestruck.
“So, are you still taking back your yes?”
The look on my face gives Othello his answer.
He puts his arm on the armrest and leans in closer to me. His scent embraces my nose in an intoxicating hug, and my nerves start to dance like a cat on a hot tin roof. He smells like exotic incense and mandarin fruit, and his mouth is so close to my cheek that if I turn, our lips will touch.
“I think,” he says quietly, “for the sake of your vacation, you just let things be. Don’t overthink it. It’s just a date.”
“Just a date? One date?”
“One date. That’s all I’m asking. Let your hair down, and have some fun with me for one night.”
I laugh at the words my mother had spoken to me hours ago.
“What’s so funny?”
“My mother told me those same words today. Let your hair down.”
“Mother knows best.”
If only you knew.
“My mama used to say, ‘Don’t let fear make your decisions for you’.”
“Words to live by,” I say.
He nods, a small smile on his lips, and I assume he’s back in the past, thinking of his parents, so I change the subject.
“I’m actually surprised you don’t have a date lined up with one of the bridesmaids. Not unless you’re just adding me to the roster.”
He feigns offense. “Me? Is that what I look like to you? Some kind of player?”
I give him a look, taking in his effortless confidence.
“I mean…yeah. Dogs come in all colors, shapes, and sizes.”
That pulls a full laugh out of him, and I can’t help but smile too.
“Ouch. Okay,” he says, clutching his chest in mock offense.
“You’re funny. But I like that,” he says, shaking his head.
“But no. I’m not a player, Marley Jacobs.
That lifestyle is too exhausting. Too many women to keep up with.
Too many personalities to deal with. And if you’re not being upfront with these women, too many lies to remember. ”
“Sounds like you’ve been down that road before.”
“Nah, not me. My cousin has though, and I witnessed it from him.”
“This cousin that’s getting married?” I asks.
His face nearly turns to stone. “Yeah, him,” he answers gruffly.
Clearly I’ve hit a nerve, but Othello changes the subject.
“To be honest, I don’t get out much. I’m a bit of an introvert.”
“Is that why you don’t do book events or interviews?”
He gives me a curious look.
“How do you know that?”
“I’m a journalist and an avid reader. I notice things. Especially when an author is topping bestseller lists and somehow still managing to avoid every camera put in front of him.”
This makes him double over with laughter. “Wow, okay. So you think you have me figured out. What else have you noticed about me?”
I roll my eyes. “Not much.”
“Come on,” Othello presses. “There has to be something. One of your writers interviewed me for Mod.”
“That was my best friend, Lo. And that was years ago,” I remind him.
“I feel like you’re hinting that I’m long overdue for an interview?”
“Well, are you working on anything new? We can feature it.”
The look on his face tells me, yes, he is working on something new.
“What is the new work of art?” I probe.
“Top secret.”
“So, you want me to spill the beans about my story, but you can’t tell me yours?”
He laughs and runs a hand down his face. “I feel like I’m in the hot seat.”
I sit back in my chair, feigning nonchalance. “Fine. I don’t care. I mean, I guess I’ll just charge it to the game. You’re barely in the news; it’s hard to keep tabs on you. I remember my team being surprised at you agreeing to let us interview you.”
“I’m rooting for everybody Black,” he smiles, quoting Issa Rae. “I’m not turning down a Black-owned publication who wants my story.”
Heat creeps into my cheeks.
“That article did give me a lot of exposure, though,” he adds. “So I appreciate you and your team for that.”
“You’re welcome.”
A flight attendant appears beside us, her cart stacked with drinks and those little Biscoff cookie packs. This prompts us to open the tray tables in front of us.
“Would you like some cookies?’ she purrs softly to Othello. I don’t miss the slight flirtatious tone and the lustful gleam in her eyes. A part of me wonders what kind of cookies she’s offering.
“No, thank you,” he answers politely. He barely even looks at her.
She turns to me. I nod, and she hands me the cookies with a napkin.
“Anything to drink?” she asks, looking between us.
Othello looks at me. “Do you drink wine? Alcohol?”
“I do. A glass of red wine would be nice right now.”
“Two glasses of wine,” he tells the attendant. “We’re celebrating.”
“Celebrating? What are we celebrating?”
He smiles at me. “A second chance.”