Chapter Eight #2
I was fully charged and dressed. The fitted black ribbed vertical knitted racerback top from Khaite, paired with some high-waisted shorts from AGOLDE, slid over my thighs and ass perfectly.
The chunky, wide-footed beige woven sandals meshed perfectly with my beach bag from .
My hair was curly, down my back, but the top was in a bamboo banana clip.
By the time I was putting the finishing touches on my makeup, Romelo appeared inside the bathroom fully dressed.
He was donned in a slub cotton, oatmeal-colored button-down short-sleeved shirt with a revere collar and neutral buttons.
The matching shorts gave him a relaxed fit.
The gold Van Cleef necklace and bracelet were the simplest pieces of jewelry I’ve seen him wear aside from his Cuban chains and VVS watches.
Even his VVS grill, customized by Johnny Dang, was set aside, and his Colgate-white teeth were so appreciated.
On his feet were a pair of Adidas Sambas.
Puckering my lips, I glanced at him from head to toe. “You showered in the other bathroom?”
“Yeah, I wanted to give you some space. That lil’ pussy was cryin’ out for me, but you want to split us up,” he mentioned with a grin.
Twisting the cap back on my Dior gloss, I giggled. “Whatever, nigga. You know what I meant when I said what I said.”
“I heard you talkin’, but that don’t mean I have to listen.”
When he walked over to me, I got a whiff of his cologne, making me want to melt through the floor.
“You almost ready?” he asked while standing behind me, groping my ass and kissing my neck. “You smell good. That ain’t peaches, I smell this time. That shit smell like some vanilla cake or sum’.”
The perfume Last Birthday Cake by Toskovat is perfect to pair for the after-shower and perfect for layering with Native’s Birthday Cake body wash.
“I’m almost ready,” I grinned with a blush as I hunched my right shoulder from the feel of his beard tickling my neck. “I just need you to rub some sunscreen on my body, without getting horny.”
He sucked his teeth and snatched the bottle of sunscreen out of my hands. “You full of shit.”
“And I want us to take a picture,” I mentioned.
“Whatever the princess wants, the princess gets,” he said, while kneading the thick lotion over my body and feet.
“Is that just for right now, or can you spend a few bands out here on me? In other words, I get to burn your pockets,” I stated as I glanced at him through the mirror.
“Burnin’ my pockets means I ain’t gon’ have nothin’ left. I’ll never be dead broke,” he boasted as he twisted the top back on my Black Radiance sunscreen.
“You’re always so fuckin’ cocky.”
“As you should be too, Juicy. My father taught me at an early age that it’s okay to be cocky about things that are factual. Shit ain’t luck.”
“If I’m around you long enough, I’ll start acting that way too,” I tittered.
His brow raised. “If?” he spoke in a questionable tone.
“Yup, if,” I pronounced.
Putting his arm around my neck, he put me in a headlock and swung me back and forth.
“Just like I’m cocky ‘bout never goin’ broke, I’m cocky ‘bout never losin’ you too.”
I grinned. “Certain.”
With a slap to my ass he uttered, “Try me.”
“Okay, okay,” I laughed. “Take our picture, you’re tall enough.”
Grabbing my phone off the counter, he went to my camera app and shot a few pictures of us. The first one was of him, grabbing my titty. The second was of him gripping my pussy from the front. The third one, he had enough sense to take a decent picture that was cute enough to win my heart over.
“C’mon, let’s go. I’m hungry. I ain’t got to eat.”
“Yeah,” I took my phone from him. “You were too busy fucking me like we’re in our last days. Don’t blame your addictions on me.” I glanced back at him as we trotted out of the bathroom.
He staggered over to the bed and grabbed his Coach sling pack. Because we flew private, he was able to carry his gun, an ounce of weed — enough to last him for the remainder. Aside from the illegal shit, there was money — a whole lot of it.
As we exited the house, I glanced at my phone to gush over our pictures, but the Facebook notification caught my attention, jarring me away from the pictures we took in the bathroom. I clicked on it, and my heart dropped to the pit of my ass. It was a happy birthday memory from me to Trecee.
Every year, I made it a thing to post our best memories in a birthday card made in Canva.
Over the years, it turned bittersweet, and I began to resent her.
We weren’t knit tight anymore, and most of that came from her being stuck in her ways and me being grown enough not to kiss her ass like she expects everyone close to her to do.
Things became different, and I doubt we’ll ever get back close the way we were when we were younger.
Grace Bay was something straight out of a dream—the kind of place that didn’t seem real even when you were standing in it.
The sand was so white that it hurt to look at.
It was powdery soft beneath my sandals as we walked along the strip.
The water stretched out in an impossible shade of turquoise and sapphire, so clear that you could see straight through to the bottom, where small fish darted between coral formations.
Palm trees swayed in the warm breeze, their fronds creating a rustling sound that mixed with the distant rhythm of steel drums playing somewhere down the beach. The air smelled like salt, coconut oil, and something sweet.
The main strip was alive with color and energy.
Buildings painted in shades of coral pink, sunshine yellow, sunset orange, and Caribbean blue lined the streets, their shutters thrown open to catch the breeze.
Luxury resorts rose up like modern palaces, their infinity pools glittering in the sunlight.
High-end boutiques with names I knew of, but couldn’t afford to shop at, sat next to local shops selling handmade crafts and island spices.
“Good morning, beautiful people!” a local vendor called out to us, his smile bright and genuine. “Welcome to paradise!”
Romelo nodded at him without cracking a smile, which I returned to the vendor. His stoic demeanor wouldn’t allow him to chill. Making our way past, his hand found the small of my back.
There was a guy playing a beat on a steel pan.
It was his version of Beyoncé, Irreplaceable.
I nodded along with a smile on my face as I hummed along to the tune.
There was a dog, who must’ve been his pet, sitting next to him.
At the guy’s feet, there was a dirty bucket filled with dollars and loose change.
I glanced up at Romelo to see if it was okay to put something in the bucket.
“Go ‘head.”
Opening my purse, I grabbed a big bill, and his eyes glinted with a shimmer before bowing down to say thank you over and over again.
People were so friendly here. They had southern hospitality too.
It made you appreciate life without the undertone of cruelty that society often carries.
There was none of that here. There weren’t chips on people’s shoulders.
They smiled at us when we walked by, without a chip on their shoulder.
They didn’t treat us like outcasts either.
It was as if they knew us, and we were locals here.
Walking by, I waved at a little girl who was on her father’s shoulder.
In her hand were some rubras. She held one out for me to take, but shook her head and pointed to her hair.
I bent my head down after releasing the banana clip so she could attach one to the side of my face, slightly behind my left ear.
“Thank you, pretty girl,” I beamed at her, as I pinched her cheeks. Reaching into my purse, I gave her a few dollars, but her father declined. After pushing my intentions, he accepted the money for her and bowed to me. Walking away, I kept waving at her until she was out of eyesight.
“That was so sweet,” I giggled as I glanced up at Romelo.
“Yeah, these perverted ass niggas keep looking at yo booty.”
Playfully nudging his side, I guffawed. “Romelo, shut up. Ain’t nobody looking at my ass.” I stated, then waved him off.
“You shittin’ me. A blind motherfucker can see that you got ass from the front. These niggas ain’t used to seeing all that ass walkin’ ‘round here.” He joked, grabbing a handful of my ass, followed by a hard slap.
“Stop it,” I grimaced, hitting him in the arm. “I can’t stand you.”
Tearing my eyes away from him, I noticed a guy seated under a local shop. He noticed me glancing his way and waved over at us.
“Oh look,” I beamed. “C’mon!” I took off before him, doing a cute speed walk over to the guy before anyone else could.
I took a seat as I glanced at all the caricature drawings in frames behind him.
He was a white guy who resembled Jesus on the pamphlets Jehovah’s Witnesses would leave on your door when you ignored them.
He was dressed in a white V-neck, with saggy jeans and brown sandals.
His hair was in a high bun, with loose strands framing his face.
“Just you?” he asked.
“Oh no,” I answered him as I looked back at Romelo, taking his time, making his way over to me. “Hurry!” I motioned with my hand, then turned to face the guy. “My boyfriend is coming.”
Instead of waiting for him to join me, he started without him. When Romelo reached us, he started talking shit to me—all of which the guy ignored. He leaned back in the chair, legs spread, looking so masculine, and peered his eyes over at me in a menacing stare. His sling pack was in his lap.
“Now if somebody kidnapped yo ass goofy ass, then what?” he retorted.
“Nigga, ain’t nobody crazy enough to do that.” I grinned.
“What is this anyway?” he motioned his head forward, nodding at the other drawings.
Turning to him, I leaned up and clicked my teeth at him for being unknowledgeable about the popular drawings.
“They’re called caricature drawings. They’re really popular at the fair,” I told him.