Chapter Seven
Sin
Change of Heart
I stare at myself in the mirror of Dogon’s dimly lit bathroom.
The woman I see staring back at me is, admittedly, not an iteration of myself I’ve seen recently—bright eyes, glowing skin, not a worry line in sight—but I recognize her.
I have a lot of shit to clear up with Stephen but after what I saw, I know our relationship, as we know it, is over. I’m surprised at how little that realization hurts. In fact, the strongest feeling I have right now is relief.
It’s time.
I stayed with him because a boring sex life felt like a shallow reason to leave the man I’d spent the last six years with. Our mothers are best friends and had already decided we were getting married. We had a good life. It wasn’t perfect but it could be enough.
But I want more than enough.
I deserve to be full.
I deserve to feel good.
Kwame makes me feel good. And he lives in California.
I don’t know his last name and he doesn’t know mine.
It’s the perfect set up.
I gaze at myself appraisingly. I look, in my late thirties, like I did in my late twenties. I have nothing to be self-conscious about. I look good as hell.
I’ve been more turned on during our conversation than I’ve been in longer than I can remember. I’m not going to overthink it.
I walk back to the table unsure what I’m hoping will happen when I get there. I want to do this but I don’t know if I should.
I’m vulnerable.
He’s a seasoned professional in the art of seduction. He might turn me out and then have me thinking about him for the rest my life.
My gut is knotted with indecision when I slide
“Are you okay?” Kwame asks. “You look like something is wrong.”
I nod. “I had to use the bathroom. Something went down the wrong way.”
“Are you sure that’s all? You’ve been smiling all night. And now you look like you want to kill someone”
“This is how I normally look. I had too much to drink before dinner,” I say and smile. Sober me knows better than to smile at men like you.
“Sorry, what?” He leans away like I shoved him, his brows drawn together in confusion. “Men like me?”
I grimace and wish I could disappear. “Did I say that out loud?”
“Yes. You did,” he says with an expectant look.
“You should ignore me.”
“Impossible. And now I’m curious. What kind of man do you think I am?”
“Ugh, Kwame. I misspoke.” I take a sip of water and look around the room. “This place is nice right?”
“I don’t think you misspoke. But if you can’t stand behind your thoughts, that’s cool.”
I take the blatant bait and slap my napkin down. “Okay, you asked for it. You’re tall, handsome, Black, you’re not broke, you’re charming, well-dressed, well-spoken, interesting, thoughtful.”
“And those are bad things?”
“Of course not. But obviously you know how attractive those things are to a lot of women and you use them to your advantage.”
“Tell me more about myself since you know me so well.”
“First, you seemed shocked that I didn’t notice you today. You asked me to dinner out of nowhere because rejection, at least from women, isn’t something you’re used to or expect.”
“Is confidence a crime?”
“When it’s misplaced.”
“Wow. Tell me how you really feel,” he says.
“Listen, Kwame, I’ve been a magnet for men like you my whole life.”
“Well, I think you’re a magnet period,” he says with a cocky grin.
I throw my hands up. “See! I’m telling you off and you’re still flirting.”
He kills his smile and turns his expression somber. “Sorry, please continue telling me off.”
“You know what? Never mind. I’ve had a lifetime of men who think they’re god’s gift because they won the genetic lottery. You look good, sound good, but you only care about yourselves. Hell, I’ve yet to meet one of you who can even make me come.”
This time, he manages to catch himself before he spits his drink out again.
“Is that a challenge?”
“No. I’ve got a vibrator upstairs that’s faster and more dependable than any man could hope to be.”
“It doesn’t buy you dinner first, though.”
“You’re not buying me dinner. We’re going half,” I inform him and look around for the server.
“Not in this lifetime.”
“Then I hope you’re ready to die,” I say with a smirk.
He laughs and watches me catch the server’s eye and wave him over.
“I’d like to pay for my half of the meal, please.” I smile up at him.
“It’s already taken care of. Would you like anything else?”
Irritated and bested, I thank him and wait for him to disappear before I look at Kwame again. “Why did you do that?”
He’s watching me with his chin resting on his upturned wrist. “I wasn’t sure you weren’t dining and dashing when you left earlier.”
“What?” My jaw drops.
He grins. “Now what were you saying a second ago? Something about upstairs and orgasms?” His voice is so sexy and the way his lips form the word orgasm should be illegal.
“You’re hearing things,” I snap and cross my legs tight, trying to contain the ache that’s spreading from my core.
“And you were making up a story about me with no basis in fact. I’m not sure what happened when you went to the bathroom. But I’m the same person I was when we sat down to eat. We’ve had a good time, right?”
I snap my eyes back to him and my anger fizzles. “You know what? You’re right. This has been a perfect night. You’re great, and maybe if we’d met when my life wasn’t so complicated, we could have seen where it would go. I’ve got a big day tomorrow and I think I should just get some sleep.”
“You know what? Me too.”
“See? Didn’t you say you’re going back to LA on Sunday? You must have a lot to do.”
He sighs and wraps his hands around his glass and stares down into it. “No, actually I don’t. I’m in town for the reading of my mother’s will. She died three months ago.”
It’s the last thing I expected him to say and my jaw goes slack before I can school my surprise. “Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”
His hesitation to talk about his family makes perfect sense now.
He sighs and lifts apologetic eyes up to mine. “It’s okay. I mean, it’s not, but I didn’t mean to just to blurt it out like that. I sounded so cavalier.”
I shake my head and regain my composure. “No, no, it’s okay. Don’t apologize, and it didn’t sound cavalier at all. I mean, grief doesn’t look the same on different people.”
“Thanks for saying that.” His shoulders heave with a heavy sigh. “Actually, she’s the reason I stopped to talk to you at the bar. Your perfume—it smells like a flower she always had in the house. I couldn’t remember the name and was going to ask you.”
He casts me a sideways, bashful glance. I want to give him a hug. “It’s Jasmine. I wear an oil made with it. Have for a long time.”
“Thank you. I’m going to write it down so I don’t forget. It’s strange to talk about her in the past tense. I’m still getting used to the fact that she’s gone.”
His smile is so sad, my heart squeezes. “Were you close?”
“No, but I loved her. I’m glad I got to tell her.”
I put a hand on his shoulder and pat him. “Was it sudden?”
“Yes.” He stares blankly at his glass, and I wish I’d given him a hug instead.
“She must have been so proud of you. Having a kid who’s a lawyer is literally the American dream.”
He nods and some of the light comes back to his eyes. “I’m a prosecutor, not quite high-flying enough for them.” He snorts a laugh. “We didn’t come to America so our son could be a public servant.” He speaks in an excellent imitation of the postcolonial British accents of our parents’ generation.
I burst out laughing. “Oh my God, they’re all the same.”
He shakes his head in a wry laugh. “Yours, too?”
“They’re supportive. Definitely not as strict as some of the other Ghanaian parents I know, but they’re also not shy about expressing their disappointment that I chose journalism over medicine.”
He smiles wistfully. “It’s like you owe them something, right?”
“We do,” I say. “They gave up a lot for us.”
“Yes.” He shrugs. “Who asked them to? They made the choices that were best for them, but I don’t think that creates some sort of cosmic debt. I admire your sense of duty, Sin, but I hope you have the same energy for your own dreams, too.”
That’s not how I was raised to think about family. My dreams are theirs and theirs are mine. But there’s a truth in his words that I’m finally in the position to accept—living to make everyone else happy and proud is why I’m so unhappy today. “Thank you for saying that.”
“It’s true. You’ve got one life. You deserve to live it.”
Who knew words of affirmations could be such a panty dropper? I’m glad I came back. “Are you done eating?” I ask.
He glances at the table, scanning the plates as if to make sure he’s licked every single one of them clean. “Yeah. I guess so. Are you ready to go?”
I shake my head.
One eyebrow quirks up. “Do you want to see the dessert menu?” He looks around for our server.
“I already know what I want,” I say in a voice laced with innuendo.
His eyes come back to mine and a sexy smile curves his lush mouth. “Oh? And what would that be?”
I drop my eyes and then look up at him through my eyelashes. “You live in LA and I,” I point at the center of my chest and let my finger drift down before I continue, “as you mentioned, live in New York.”
“But tonight, we’re here,” he finishes my thought and we share a smile.
I sit back. “And only tonight. If your proposition is still on the table.”
“It is.” His smile is so sensual, it could melt the lock off a chastity belt.
My lace panties don’t stand a chance. “Then, I’d like to take you up on it.”
My heart is racing, my whole body is warm and my skin is tingling.
He’s barely touched me and my body is more alive than it’s been in years. I have a feeling that he’s about to prove my theory about men like him wrong.
I throw my drink back in one gulp and the excess dribbles out of the corner of my mouth. I lift a hand to wipe it away, but quicker than I can get it to my mouth, he’s next to me.