“Give some water—a water bottle,” Romelo chided. “How ya’ll conch taste out here?”
“It’s really good—one of our highly recommended dishes. It’s actually fresh. The chef caught it himself this morning.”
“Give us some conch fritters to start off wit’ and a lobster tail with a side of skrimp.”
Romelo passed her our menus, and she trotted off, then quickly came back with our drinks. I took a sip from the straw, scrunching up my face from the acid, as Romelo twisted the cap and gulped some of his water down.
“You know what you want to do after this…maybe go shopping?”
“We can do that. I’ll window shop though.”
He frowned, scrunching up his face before sucking his teeth.
“Do I look like the type of nigga to let my girl window shop?”
“And I’m not the type of bitch that’s gonna let you spend all yo money on bullshit.” I argued.
“If I got it, you got it. I thought this was the princess treatment you was talkin’ ‘bout?”
“Buying me things isn’t one of them. I like acts of service. I don’t care about materialistic shit—buy me flowers because I mentioned in a conversation that I liked them. Rub my feet because I mention that my feet are hurting, run me bath water,give me forehead kisses and tell me you love me throughout the day, give me love notes—everything.” I ranted on and on.
“I ain’t gon’ hold you Juicy. I’m new to all that—that side of things.”
My brows knitted. “How so?”
“Trecee was the first relationship where she didn’t require much. I could come inside the house wit’ a Birkin or a Hermes and she’d love it. She didn’t require none of that, and my past encounters wit’ other bitches required a hard dick.” He explained.
I raised my brow as I sipped from my Sprite again. “So you’re not capable of being romantic?” I jested.
He shook his head no, then gulped the last bit of his water down. It made a crunch sound, indicating it was empty.
“No, but the idea of romanticism is something I haven’t grasped the concept of yet.”
“So, you’re only capable of loving me up to your standards?” I queried.
“I want you to teach me how to do things your way. I want you to show me how to do it the right way.”
His voice was sincere and soft. When he reached out to grab my hand, the callouses on his palm were subtle but noticeable. Then he began to caress the back of my hand with his thumb. His eyes were burning desire into mine, making me melt and my heart skip beats.
“I mean it, Synthia.”
“You want me to give you patience?”
“Do I have to get on my knees?”
“Yes,” I nodded. “Do it now.” I commanded with a low smirk.
He didn’t hesitate. He walked over to me while I remained seated and got on his knees, making sure not to crease his shoes. His eyes remained latched onto mine, never breaking his gaze. He was at my height now, until he bent down and trailed his lipsalong my knees, down my legs, then reaching my feet where he grazed his tongue between each toe, as he clutched an ankle that dangled a rose gold anklet with his name in cursive.
The waiter intruding with our food didn’t stop him, and she didn’t bother us.
“Synthia, I want to be your man, and I want to have your heart, the right way. I want to be the only man you’ll ever love. I don’t want you to ever go lookin’ for anybody else.”
“Promise me you’ll never break my heart.”
“I promise,” he spoke.
“Promise me that if I’m not the woman for you, then you’ll tell me.”
