“Any requests?” the lead saxophonist asked.
“What’s your favorite love song, Dr. St. James?” I whispered in her ear.
“‘Lullaby,’ by Jaydon,” she confessed.
I asked the band if they could play that for her, and when they gave me the okay and started playing, I secretly flagged down the florist and tapped my card on his phone to pay for his remaining inventory, including the cart.
“What are you doing?” she questioned as I scooped her beautiful ass up and placed her in the cart adorned with roses. RYZE was on brand with what I was attempting to accomplish because a spotlight seemed to shine on us, and the small crowd on the dance floor gave us space.
“Gage, what in the world?” she asked as I began to slowly push the cart under the warm orange lights. Yeah, Mahasin had me out of my body. I went from touching to public displays of affection in a matter of minutes. People began pulling out their phones to record, and I even heard women whisper how romantic this was. Amongst the admirers were Desmond, Jason, and Amber. While Desmond and Jason looked confused, Amber’s eyes glistened with admiration.
The song ended, and we were greeted with applause and whistles. I lifted Mahasin from the cart and pressed my mouth to hers. She smiled as my lips rested against her soft ones and then blessed me with the most sensual kiss. It was as if we’d been in love for years.
Damn, she’s exactly what I need. She makes all the uncomfortable things about social interaction feel natural. Not to mention, she’s funny, smart, and feels like home. Breaking the kiss, I motioned her to a corner where the lights seemed non-existent.
“Gage, that was so beautiful, but why did you…”
I cut her off, my voice low. “I want you, Mahasin. I want you now, tomorrow, and the rest of my life. But if now is all you’re willing to give me, I’ll give you all of me in exchange for it.”
She let out a sigh, and that smile of hers—the one that pumped energy into my veins—vanished. The space between us shifted from dark to pitch black, and her youthful face suddenly seemed to carry the weight of the world. Even through the shadows and whatever baggage she bore, she was still the most beautiful woman in the world to me. With a heavy exhale, she asked:
“Can I be honest with you?”
“Of course, Dollface.”
“Not too long ago, I was in a situation where my fiancé’s wife confronted us at a dinner to celebrate our engagement. I didn’t know he was married or that he had eight children. I’m not a homewrecker. But I built a life with that man—a whole year believing I was all he ever needed—and in the blink of an eye, my sweet dream became a beautiful nightmare. And I’m still hurting over that shit.”
She gave a small, tipsy chuckle. “And not to mention, I’m drunk.”
Her eyes didn’t meet mine until she said, softly but firmly, “I can’t promise you forever, because honestly, I don’t trust anyone with my forever. I can’t even promise you tomorrow, because I’m protecting my tomorrows too. But if you can agree that tonight is enough for you… Then I’ll let you explore my body in ways that will last you a lifetime.”
After we stumbled off the elevator, I guided Mahasin through my two-story penthouse. Most who entered were impressed with my cleanliness, attention to detail, and the fact that I managed to always keep the space smelling like cedar and leather. My favorite attributes were the floor-to-ceiling windows and theportraits of Black legends, such as Muhammad Ali and Jimi Hendrix, that I hosted above the staircase in large gold frames.
“Oh wow, Gage, this is beautiful.”
“Thank you, make yourself at home,” I said nervously. I talked all that big shit at RYZE and was blessed to have won the woman of my dreams for the night, and here I was shaking like a stripper.
I watched as Mahasin gracefully kicked off her shoes, placing them neatly in front of the couch before taking a seat. She sat partially cross-legged—one leg folded beneath her, the other stretched out with her foot flat on the floor. Her body language told me she felt safe in my space, but ready to leave the second the energy shifted.
“Would you like anything to drink?” I asked.
“Water, no ice, please,” she replied.
After fixing her drink, I made my way to the couch and noticed she’d picked up the book I was reading—His to Crown, by Shanette Shanté. “He dies in the end,” I said with a grin as I sat down beside her. Don’t ask me where I conjured up my dark humor from, but I hoped it didn’t make her uncomfortable. I’d be pissed if it did—especially because I was only on chapter three and had no clue if anybody died in the book.
“Oh, that makes me want to read it even more,” she laughed, taking the glass from my hand. “I’m not the Cinderella-rooting-for-the-hero type of girl. I’d much rather read about the untouchable getting touched.”
Her response only proved my suspension of her right—Dollface wasn’t the rainbow-and-unicorns type. Not that there was anything wrong with women who preferred a picnic in the park over a beer in the pool hall. The bashful, princess type just didn’t hold my attention. But Mahasin, in her white Balmain top with intricate lace details and black slacks paired with black-and-white Nike Panda Dunks, proved she could be both. Maybe she could handle my differences after all.
Respect her wishes, Gage. This is only for tonight.
“Nah, I’m joking,” I admitted. “I haven’t made it that far into the book yet—but so far, the female main character ain’t nothing to fuck with.”
“Oh, well then, Gage, you might have to let me borrow that one,” she said with a grin. “Because that isdefinitelymy type of carrying on.”
“So… you live around here?” I asked and instantly regretted it. My nervousness was now on full display.Do you live around here?Earlier, I was ready to risk my pride and propose to this woman, and now, when it’s go-time, I’m asking interview questions like a man applying to date her officially. That’s what I get for being a thirty-five-year-old virgin, thinking I deserve my first time to be with a woman who could stop time just by blinking.
Dollface was probably used to those devout, gallant types—the kind of men who’d lay their jacket over a puddle instead of just carrying her across it. The ones who’d let her eat their food after she swore she wasn’t hungry, starving through the night instead of ordering extra just in case. Yeah, she was used to the type of man who’d unnecessarily suffer to prove his devotion. The Jason type.
