Chapter Five #2
He puts the drink down and looks away as if he’s thinking. “If you need to qualify, it certainly wasn’t a diss. But I wasn’t trying to flatter you either. It’s just…a statement of fact. You’re eye-catching. Attention-holding…”
“Keep going,” I drawl.
He smiles. “You’re striking, sexy, expressive, magnetic.”
I’ve been starved of this kind of attention for so long that I’m about to start purring. If I’m not careful, I’ll end up humping his leg.
“Okay, that’s enough. You don’t have to say anymore.”
“I want to say them. I’ve been thinking them all day.”
I blush. “Well, who am I to stop you?”
He smiles wide like he’s very pleased and gazes down at me, his eyes soft and focused on mine. “I like your dress. Blue is a good color on you.”
I have to stop myself from pressing my hand to my chest. His dark eyes are hooded and liquid mahogany brown. “Thank you. I appreciate a man who pays attention.”
“Then you’re in the right place because you’ve got my full attention the way nothing else I’ve seen today has.”
I lift an eyebrow in surprised delight. “Is that so?”
“It is.”
“Here we are,” our server announces and puts the plates down with a flourish.
My eyes widen as the procession of tray-carrying servers follows suit until our entire table is covered with plates of food.
I stare at it wide-eyed. “Oh my God, did you order everything on the menu?”
“Almost. I wasn’t sure what you wanted.”
“Wow. That’s so…”
“Thoughtful?”
I snort a laugh. “I was going to say indulgent, but yes, it was also thoughtful.” I gawk at the food laid out and try not to freak out about what paying for half of this is going to do to my budget.
Thank goodness I have points to pay for my room.
I’ll take a to-go bag and eat my leftovers for lunch this week.
“Here you go.” He hands me a huge fork and carving knife. “For the lamb.” He points to the platter of sizzling meat in front of me.
“Great choice.” I eye the huge bone-in shank and my mouth waters.
“I heard this dish is amazing. Thank you.” I take the utensils and try to ignore the way the brush of his fingers sends a jolt all the way up my arm and turn to the only neutral thing I can think of.
“Kwame. The hostess called it out when we walked in,” I add when I can see him trying to remember if he told me.
He huffs a laugh. “Wow. Skipped right over that, didn’t we? Yes, I’m Kwame.” He grins and sticks his hand out in an exaggerated formal way. “Nice to make your acquaintance.”
“Likewise.” I take his hand. He’s got very nice hands. Soft and dry, but strong, warm, and smooth.
When he lets go, I shove my right hand under my thigh to trap the sensation of the touch. God, when’s the last time I felt anything when Stephen and I touched?
When’s the last time Stephen and I touched at all? I push that depressing thought away and focus on the very nice evening I’m having.
“What’s your name?” he asks.
“Sorry, I forgot. Everyone calls me Sin.”
He chuckles and washes down his food with a swig of Stella. “As in a transgression?”
I purse my lips and don’t hide my irritation. “No. As in short for my full name, Arsinoé.”
“Cool.”
“Is Kwame your real name?”
His brows knit together and he crosses his arms over his broad chest. “Of course it is.”
His voice loses some of its lightness and I curse my loose tongue. “I’m sorry. It’s just that, it’s a Ghanaian name, you’re obviously not Ghanaian. I was—”
“You say that like you’ve seen my birth certificate.” His brows shoot up and his smile disappears.
“I didn’t mean—”
“I’m in a Ghanaian restaurant in Washington, DC, wearing an Adinkra pendant, my name is Kwame—I’m practically screaming it.”
I can tell I touched a nerve. “I’m sorry that I asked but…It’s just that all of those things could be true and you could be from Chicago.”
“Well, I’m not.” He takes a sip of his drink.
“And both of your parents are from Ghana?” Ghanaians are known for being among the darkest skinned people in West Africa and his skin is the color of caramel.
He sighs. “Yes, but my father’s parents were both half Scottish.”
“Oh, okay…So you’re Fante?”
“Why do you say it like that?”
I frown at him. “I didn’t say it like anything.”
“Let me guess, you’re from Ashanti region?” His voice has lost its edge and he’s got a teasing glint in your eyes.
“I am. Did my regal bearing give it away?” I grin, glad I didn’t offend him enough to spoil the mood.
He snorts. “No, your judgmental ‘So you’re Fante’ did.”
I laugh at his impersonation of me. “Why are you people from Cape Coast always so defensive?” I ask with a teasing grin.
“Because you people from Kumasi act like we’re not all the same people.”
I shrug. “We’re not the same.”
“How? We speak different dialects of the same language, eat the same food, have the same naming traditions, customs, systems.”
I smirk. “All of that doesn’t make up for the one major way we’re different.”
“What’s that?
“While we Ashantis were fighting the colonizers, your people were fucking them.” I wink at him.
His jaw drops and my stomach dips for a second. I don’t know why I say things like that to people I don’t know.
I’m about to apologize when he throws his head back and looks at the ceiling. “Oh my God, it’s true.” He bursts into a good-natured laugh and reveals two rows of straight white teeth. I wonder if he wore braces or if he was made on a day God felt like showing out.