Dia:
Mr. Mitchell, do you mind telling me how I should dress for tonight’s rendezvous?
Me:
Last I checked, Mr. Mitchell is my pops. To you, I’m Daddy, Baby, Big Dick Chance, or any variation of those.
Dia:
To me, you might be small dick Chance with something to prove. Can you answer my question, please?
Instead of going back and forth with this woman, I dial her number, a smirk sliding into place.
“Hello.”
Fuck! She sounds amazing over the phone.
“Did you just insult my dick, Dia?”
“Chance, can you just answer the question? You didn’t give me any information, and as a woman who hasn’t been on a date for a while, that doesn’t work for me. I don’t know whether I need to wear a paper bag or an evening gown. If I need a light or full beat for my makeup. If I need to wear my hair up or let it hang freely. You’re being difficult, and I don’t like it. Just tell me something.”
The whine in Sadia’s voice causes low chuckles to fall from my mouth before I remember where I am. I head toward my vehicle as I nod at the woman walking toward me with a smirkaimed at me. When her eyes disconnect from mine toward my lower half, I realize that she’s overheard my words.
“I’ll tell you that the woman in my vicinity can vouch for my claims. Do you want to hear it from her?” I tease.
When air pushes through the receiver, I laugh and move past the woman, who gives me a thumbs-up. Maybe it was a bad idea to wear joggers to the barber shop today.
“Forget it. I’m not going.”
“Stop fussing, woman. You can wear a nice dress, fancy jumpsuit, or whatever outfit you deem fitting for a first date between a man and a woman. If that’s something you don’t know the proper protocol for, then I need to go back into your past and whup those niggas’ asses. Who are the mothafuckas you let play in your face, Sadia?”
“That’s not relevant right now. What time should I be ready again?”
The anger that brews within me at the thought of Sadia not being properly handled instantly simmers when I hear her soft voice.
“Six thirty, babe. Which reminds me, I still need your address.”
“Okay. I’ll see you then.”
Sadia ends the call, and I sigh before I continue toward my vehicle. I have a few stops to make before I go back home. My phone chirps just as I sit down, which stops me from leaving. I open the new message and smile upon seeing Sadia’s address.
Dia:
9635 Clarkson Ct. Apt A
I nod without replying to the text and finally leave the lot to head to my next destination. The idea of Sadia not being pursued properly returns, and it makes me happy that I planned the datenight I did. The great thing about tonight is that it’s not one any other woman will experience from me. It takes me no time to reach my next stop, and I quickly park and then move to the front entrance.
“Hello.” A bubbly, brown-skinned woman with a warm smile greets me when I walk through the front door.
“I need an arrangement for my date that will have her realize that I didn’t come to play with her,” I say.
Rise Meadows and Blooms is a black-owned flower shop that offers every type of flower imaginable. The owner, Charise Meadows, is said to have been born with a green thumb, as evidenced by how perfectly her flowers grow. Unlike other shops, these blooms last longer and don’t leave a person feeling like they’ve wasted money after purchasing them.
“Ooh. I got just the arrangement for you,” the woman says before she leaves the counter and heads toward the coolers.
Thankfully for me, the florist indeed had the perfect bouquet, and I was out of the store within ten minutes of my arrival. Time moves quickly, and before long, I’m in the back of the town car I commissioned for tonight. When the vehicle comes to a stop, I exhale the breath that gathers in my lungs and exit. My steps are heavy yet unrushed as I move toward Sadia’s front door. Her apartment is on the bottom level, so I arrive within seconds. I square my shoulders and knock on the front door as my heartbeat pounds in my ears.
Gratefully, the wait time isn’t long, and I hear the sound of locks turning roughly five minutes later.
