3. Soleil
SOLEIL
The beach was crowded with people. I wasn’t really surprised.
Though black people didn’t tend to celebrate too many occasions with beach bonfires, the dominant culture did seem to really enjoy them.
There was laughter, a live band playing on a stage that had been set up, and even a lone guitarist sitting close to the fire, strumming an unfamiliar tune.
The temperature was perfect, having cooled significantly from the heat of the day.
I was hungry, so I walked closer to the road where several food trucks were parked.
I was glad about that because dinner had been a bit of a bust. The powers that be had decided that the first night should have a “luau” theme.
I didn’t eat pork and really couldn’t handle the smell of cooking pork chops.
Needless to say, the smell of a whole roasting pig drove me to seek solace in my hotel room.
“What’s up, Soleil?” I heard Spencer’s voice call out above the crowd before he was standing right next to me.
This man was the finest! I wasn’t sure how I hadn’t noticed before, but when he was in the area, I very much became Lauryn Hill—nothing even mattered anymore. It took complete concentration to talk to him because all I really wanted to do was stare. “Hey, Spence.”
He must’ve followed my line of sight. “You thinkin’ about eatin’?”
“Yeah. I skipped that luau they had in the restaurant.”
“You ain’t miss nothin’. I don’t eat pork, but they had some chicken and some salmon. Nothing was seasoned. I don’t know who cooked it, but whoever cooked it isn’t a fan of seasoning.”
“So,” I said because just talking about food was making my stomach grumble, “I’m thinking tacos.”
“Tacos? Cool.”
I made a face at him because of the way he said it. “What’s wrong with tacos? They’re delicious.” I was all prepared to present my case about what made tacos so top-tier.
“Nah, they’re good. They’re just . . . messy. And you’re out here knowing you been putting that shit on all day. I’m just thinking about some sauce or something ruinin’ your ‘fit.”
His explanation made me smile. He was really either a genuinely nice guy, or his representative was next level.
“Listen,” I said looking up into his soft brown eyes. “If you’re gonna hang with me, you’re gonna have to understand that I eat. Me and food have a very compatible relationship. No outfit will ever be allowed to stand in the way of me satisfying a specific craving I’m having.”
“Duly noted.” His smile was wide. “Tacos, it is.”
We walked over to the truck. I ordered three grilled chicken tacos with the works and a drink. He ordered six steak tacos and a drink. Once we had our food, I followed him over to a less-populated stretch of the beach where there were a few benches.
He took a bite of his taco and looked at it critically. I was just about to ask if something was wrong with it when he spoke. “Damn, that’s good.”
I giggled and unwrapped my first taco. “Dang, it really is,” I said after I swallowed the first bite.
“So. How’d you end up here? You a big donor?”
I laughed for real. “No. Not at all. I won a raffle at the youth camp gala that Maddox Mayhew throws every year.”
“Damn. Congratulations. You probably beat out hundreds of people.”
“Yeah,” I acknowledged. “Initially, it was supposed to be a Father’s Day gift for my dad, but he couldn’t make the trip. It was either I come on the trip, or I forfeit it. My daddy and my best friend talked me into coming.”
“You weren’t gonna come?”
“No.” I gestured around us. “This isn’t my scene . . . alone. I mean, I would be turning up with the best of them if I was here with my bestie, Bryanna. But alone? I tend to be introverted and to myself.”
He studied me before speaking. “I’m pretty much the same.
This isn’t my scene either. My godmother is married to the team’s GM.
One of the players dropped out, so they were one short.
She begged me to come as a favor.” He shook his head.
“If I didn’t love that lady the way I do, I would be at the crib right now. ”
I couldn’t fall for this dude. We had literally just met. I didn’t know anything about him . . . except that he was worried about me getting taco juice on my clothes, and he loved his godmother. My heart was ready to swoon, but my brain was not going. “Aww, it’s nice that you did that for her.”
“Yeah, she used to save me from whuppings as a kid.” He laughed, and I couldn’t help joining in. “You from Chicago, Sun? Your smile reminds me of the sun.”
I shook my head at his words, but they did make me blush again. “Born and raised. Where are you from?”
“Michigan. Right outside Detroit.”
“Did you always wanna play football?”
He chuckled lightly before answering. “Nah. I wanted to be Chris Brown. He got women.”
I cracked up as he continued.
“Hear me out. Hear me out. Chris Brown got women. The only people I ever saw football players around were other football players.”
I laughed some more.
“I mean, I can dance a little bit. I got rhythm. But I can’t sing worth a damn. Since I’m actually good at football, I figured I should stick with it.”
“I think that was for the best.”
“You always wanna do whatever you do for work?”
“Yeah, I always wanted to work with kids. I wanted to be a teacher from the time I was little. Got my bachelor’s in education from Hale-Williams. I taught for three years and found the classroom .
. . oppressive. I went back to school and got my Master’s in Recreation Management and Administration.
Now, I actually work for the Chicago Bison as their Youth Sports Coordinator. ”
“Damn. You around professional athletes all the time, huh?”
“I am, but not casually. I mean, I make a request for a certain number of players, and whoever shows up, shows up. I direct them to where they need to be and what they need to do, and my time with them ends right there.”
He chuckled. “I’m familiar.”
“Of course you are. I’m so used to explaining my job to people.
They think I’m at the stadium, playing pickup games or doing shoot-arounds with the players.
They think I have some really close, really cool relationship with the players, when I don’t.
Ninety-five percent of them wouldn’t recognize me if they ran into me at the grocery store. ”
He looked dubious. “I don’t know about all that. You’re kinda hard to forget.”
“Stop making me blush.” I waved him off.
“Yeah, okay.”
The two of us gathered up the trash from our tacos and drinks and headed to the garbage can to toss them out.
He took my hand in his, and a very real, very immediate awareness fell over me.
We were headed toward the bonfire, and I didn’t ask any questions.
That wasn’t like me. I was a girly who liked to know.
Where are we going? What are we doing? Who are we meeting?
I liked to know. For some reason, I felt confident in letting Spencer lead me to where he wanted us to be.
That’s odd, I thought to myself. I was with my last boyfriend, Tyson, for two years, and one of his biggest complaints was that I never let him lead.
If he could see me now, he would probably piss on himself.
I was letting a stranger lead me, maybe because Spencer was leading with confidence, like he actually had a destination in mind.
He wasn’t aimlessly wandering like Tyson always seemed to be doing.
I shook the thought from my mind. Nobody wanted to be thinking about Tyson’s lackluster ass while I was in paradise with a professional football-playing prince.
“Say, my bad for just dragging you along without telling you what’s up.”
“You’re good.”
“I have one last professional obligation tonight. Group picture at the bonfire.”
“Oh, that’s cool, because I wanted to go over by the bonfire. I feel like I saw somebody over there twirling fire batons or something. I wanna see that.”
He looked down at me with a grin as we closed the distance to the bonfire. “I like you.”
“Why? Because I like fire and could possibly have pyromaniac tendencies?”
He laughed aloud. “Nah. You’re just a vibe.”
I was a vibe. I could receive that.
I spotted some of his teammates standing together as we approached. Preston Wilcox was in the mix. I rolled my eyes, still put off by the mess he said about my talking-ass mouth needing to be filled up by his dick. As if.
He spotted me too. “What’s good, Thigh Meat.”
I gave him the blankest stare I could muster and fought the urge to call him a goofy-ass bitch. He lived in Chicago. He would’ve understood the insult that being called a “goofy” by a Chicagoan was.
“Dawg, don’t do that to her,” Spencer told him easily.
He eyed Spencer suspiciously. “Oh shit, you beat me to the punch.” He nodded his head like he understood something that he clearly didn’t understand. “Go ’head and try to handle her little mean ass.”
I couldn’t hold my tongue any longer. “Fuck you,” I told him then walked away.
I heard footsteps behind me before I heard his voice. “Ay, Sun!”
I stopped walking because it was him. The only him I would’ve stopped walking for.
He caught up with me. “Don’t go.” He caught my hand in his.
“Why does it matter?” I turned to him. “You don’t even know me.”
“But I’m trying to get to know you.”
“Why?” I didn’t know why I was giving Spencer the business. Preston Wilcox was the one who’d offended me.
“I told you. You’re a vibe.”
“You’re a professional athlete, Spencer. Vibes are probably a dime a dozen.”
“Women are a dime a dozen. That’s an occupational hazard.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Ain’t shit I can do about the fact that women tend to hang out wherever athletes are present. But vibes? That’s a rarity.”
“It’s been a long day. I’m gonna go ahead and head back to the resort.”
“Meet me for breakfast in the morning?” His eyes were soft. He wasn’t confident that I would agree.
“Where?”
“The Coastal Cantina?” It was one of three restaurants on the resort’s property and the only place that served breakfast. “8:00 a.m.”
“Okay,” I agreed finally. “I’ll meet you there.”
I left Spencer on the beach with his team obligations and headed back to my room. I wasn’t lying when I told him it had been a long day. It had, but I knew I couldn’t end it without talking to Bryanna.
“Hey, girl,” she answered, and it was super loud in her background, especially compared to the complete silence in mine.
“Hey. I’m sorry. I feel like I caught you at a bad time.”
“Give me one second. Let me get someplace less . . . loud.” I traded my flat sandals for my furry slippers while I listened to her background grow less noisy. “Okay,” she said finally.
“Tell me about your day.” The shorts came off, followed by the top I wore.
“It was good. So many companies, so many presentations, so many damn demonstrations. My head was spinning.”
I chuckled.
“A lot of networking. Tomorrow morning, I’ll be a model for Revelay.
One of the other MUAs will do my face, using only their products.
Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll do a demo on a model for Nectar Mahogany.
I had dinner with a few cool MUAs at a restaurant right down the street.
Right now, I’m at a little soiree thrown by Amuse Luxe.
” She took a breath. “Okay, you’re caught up on my day.
Tell me about yours with all the muscular, tight-bodied athletes. ”
I chuckled before telling her about my experience with Preston Wilcox.
“Well, boo, he has a well-known reputation as an asshole. Everybody accepts it except you.”
“I just wanted him to be different.” I pouted.
“I know you did. You always wanna see the best in everybody. Unfortunately, some people honestly don’t have a best.”
“No lie.” I went on to tell her about my time on the island.
“So, Spencer Charles,” she said slowly. “I’m doing a Google search on him right now.” I started to protest, but then I didn’t really see the point. Bryanna was going to do it anyway. “Ooh, he’s cute. Tall. Muscular. What position does he play? Strong Safety? Uhm, well, he definitely looks strong.”
I cracked up.
“And he took up for you when bum-ass Wilcox tried to humiliate and humble you?”
“He just told him not to do that.”
“No, you said he told him, ‘don’t do that to her.’ He told him not to do that to you, specifically. Like, I’ll beat your ass over this one.”
I laughed again. “It wasn’t like that.”
“You sure? Because that’s how I’m picturing it in my head.”
“You’re insane. He said it calmly but like he meant it. He has to be on the team with Preston Wilcox. I think he’s probably just sick of dude’s shit.”
“I love how you always call him by his whole name, Preston Wilcox.” We both laughed. “You’re meeting Spencer for breakfast?”
“Yeah, I agreed to meet him for breakfast.”
“Okay. Okay.” I could tell she was smiling. “Keep an open mind, Sol.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you that he calls me Sun. His family’s from Martinique, so he speaks French. He knew the meaning of my name as soon as I told it to him. Says I bring the sunshine.”
“Ooh, I like him. He done gave you a little nickname already.”
“Don’t be impressed. Preston Wilcox gave me a nickname, too.”
“Thigh Meat is not a nickname. It’s an objectification. And disrespectfully, fuck Preston Wilcox. We’re talking about Spencer . . . what’s his last name again?”
“Charles. And he seems nice,” I admitted.
“So, like I said, keep an open mind on this date tomorrow.”
“It’s not a date.”
“That’s a lie. Enjoy the date.” We both laughed again.