Well, I don’t make it a habit of sleeping at ‘random ass dude’s’ houses.
Oh, so just mine? Good to know.
I could picture the cocky smirk he wore on his face as he typed that last text message.
You never answered my question.
I paused, wondering what the question was. Oh! The flowers.
Yes, they were beautiful. Thank you.
Glad you liked them. I meant what I said on the card too.
What was that?
Friday wasn’t our second date.
Of course not, because we never had a FIRST date.
Lol. You’re stubborn as hell. Anyway, I’d like to take you on our SECOND date when I get back.
Get back?
I have another business trip. I leave late tonight, and I’ll be gone for about two weeks.
My heart plummeted hearing he was going to be away for so long. He’d just gotten back. Of course, I didn’t share my actual feelings with him. Maybe two weeks without seeing or hearing from him would allow me to get out from underneath the feelings I seemed to be developing. I didn’t like the way I was feeling for him at all. It’d been years since I’d had any real feelings for a man, and I was not looking to indulge anytime soon.
Have a safe and productive trip.
I intentionally left out any response about going out with him.
I’ll give you a call in a couple of days.
Thanks again for the flowers.
His response to that was a winking eye emoji, and for some reason that sent a little shiver down my spine. I placed my phone on my desk and forced myself to refocus on work. I had a lot to do, and it looked like I wouldn’t be leaving my office before seven o’clock that evening.
Even with work on my mind, I found my eyes often straying from the papers on my desk to the bouquet in the corner.
****
Xavier
“Leaving again so soon?” My mother questioned as she stood in the doorway of my bedroom.
“Yup. You know how it is. I’ve gotta check on the restaurants down in Miami and then go back to D.C. the following week.” I owned two restaurants in Miami and was overseeing the opening of a lounge in D.C; then I had a couple of charity events I planned on attending in New York.
“I do, but sometimes I think you work too hard.”
I turned to face my mother. She stood about five-seven, coming only to my chest. I’d inherited my rich, dark skin from her, along with my one dimple. Her eyes were a few shades lighter than mine, and her hair, which she kept natural, was in a high puff with streaks of gray. By all accounts, my mother was beautiful. At fifty-six, she was the very definition of “black don’t crack.”
She’d been a young college student doing her thing and majoring in psychology when she got pregnant. My father was the campus hotshot athlete who’d had a roster of women, so he didn’t take too kindly to one of his women coming up pregnant. He’d dropped my mother like a bad habit and had barely looked back. It was only until I got a little older did he show up and even then he could’ve stayed where the hell he was. Despite that, my mother never thought about not having me, she’d told me. Seeing her dreams of pursuing a Ph.D. in psychology vanquish, she opted to change to the degree that would be most beneficial to her once she graduated undergrad. Having always been good with numbers, she opted for accounting and got a job at one of the top accounting firm right out of college. Eventually, when I was about ten, she began pursuing an M.B.A., thanks in part because her firm paid for it. It took a few years between going part-time, working full-time, and raising me, but she got her degree and soon after, made partner. My mother knew all about working hard, and she’d raised me to be the same way.
“Didn’t you raise me to work hard for what I want in life?”
She gave me adon’t get cute with melook, which caused my grin to widen. “I did. But I also want you to enjoy life. You don’t have the responsibilities I had at your age.”
“I’m enjoying life, Ma. I promise,” I said, and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
