“We’re in baggage claim . . . ground transport . . . this way,” she muttered, narrating under her breath. We followed the overhead arrows for ground transport, her phone going up every few feet so she could catch content. I just followed behind her doing a few nods to the camera as we made our way through the airport. As soon as the double doors to the airport slid open and we stepped out, the Africa heat hit us with no remorse that it was still winter time back home.
“Damn!” I squinted against the sun. “Welcome to Africa, I guess.”
“Y’all. Look at this.” Harlowe bounced beside me, her phone already up talking to her followers. “We made it to Zanzibar.”
I waved at the camera and then let her have it while I scanned the sidewalk. There were people and cabs lined up alongside the street. People were yelling in Swahili and English, trying to get their hustle on. I respected it. My eyes sailed through the crowd until they landed on a short man holding a little handheld sign at the end of the road.
THE Duality EXPERIENCE–Harlowe DAYE+ GUEST
“That’s us,” I said, nodding toward it, and Harlowe followed my gaze.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “Private airport transportation. Kellon and Phileigh know how to throw a brand trip. Okay.” She did the finger and thumb tap into the camera.
“Come on,” I said, steering her with a hand at the small of her back. “Before somebody else decides they want to be Harlowe and guest.”
“Ms. Daye?” he asked as we approached. His eyes flicked between the two of us.
“Yeah. That’s me,” she said to the slim, brown-skinned dude in a branded polo I assumed was our driver. “This is Hasheem, my plus one.”
I extended my hand to shake his.
“Karibu. Welcome. Let me take your bags.”
“I got it, my guy,” I told him automatically, already rolling our suitcases toward the back of the Sprinter. “Just point me where they go.”
He rounded the Sprinter and opened the rear doors. The cool air spilled out like a blessing. I tossed the bags inside one by one, muscles protesting a little after that long ass flight, but I wasn’t about to let another man wrestle my woman’s over-packed suitcase even if she was just my pretend girl.
“Careful with that one,” Harlowe directed. “That’s my makeup bag.”
I smirked. “You labeled it in all caps, Harlowe. I know,” I said, stacking the suitcases inside. Once everything was stacked and strapped down, I dusted my hands off and turned back to her. The Sprinter sat a little high off the ground, so I extended my hand out. I knew how to be a real gentleman when needed.
“Watch your step,” I said, and she slid her palm into mine before climbing up into the Sprinter. I watched her soft little belly and thick thighs on full display the entire way, my hand positioned lightly on her waist. For a second, I caught myself staring and licking my lips.What the fuck am I doing?This was Harlowe.I’d never looked at her the way I was looking at her now, like I wanted to devour her ass. That little plane kiss had my head moving funny, and I needed to get a grip. I loosened my grip on her and kept my hand there just enough to make sure she didn’t slip.
Once she was settled inside, I checked the step one time and then hopped in behind her. The Sprinter was cool as hell on theinside. Kellon Barnes and his wife were surely pulling out all the stops on this brand trip. I could fuck with it.
“That’s everybody.” The driver called from the front, looking at us in the rear view mirror. “Y’all ready to roll out?”
“Yeah,” I told him, giving him a quick nod. “Do your thing.”
Harlowe found a seat in the middle of the Sprinter and scooted over so I could drop down next to her. The second my thigh touched hers, she straightened up and switched into content mode, pulling her phone out and pointing toward the window.
“Hi, y’all!” One of the girls across from us spoke. She had brown skin and knotless braids, and was really pretty. Her man’s arm was slung over her shoulder. “I’m Tiana, and this is Malik. We do couples content, but I’m a stay at home girlfriend, and he’s a welder.”
“Hello.” Harlowe waved. “I’m Harlowe. This is my . . .” She paused for half a second. “. . . boyfriend, Hasheem. I’m a bookish content creator, and Hasheem’s a lieutenant firefighter,” she finished, like it wasn’t her first time saying that out loud. I rested my arm along the back of her seat and settled in. There were two more couples on board, one was asleep and the other one was busy on their phone. The door shut, and the bus pulled away from the airport, easing us onto the road.
I watched as Zanzibar slid by like something out of postcards—little shops, palm trees, blue water. I caught Harlowe’s reflection in the glass. Her eyes were wide with excitement as she held up her blogging camera and recorded. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out. It was probably just my mama checking in. I needed to let her know we’d made it anyway. When I saw my brother’s name, I remembered that I never responded to him yesterday about needing to stop by and borrow my tools.
Big Bro:
Nigga, where you at?
Just slid by the station and Chief talking about you on PTO until next week. I ain’t know you knew what PTO was.
I laughed through my nose as I texted him back.
Me:
Yea, I’m out the country. Africa. Work trip.
