Dates with Ason Williams Jr. are as opulent as I always thought. I can’t decide which ones I like best though. There’re the dates that happen after monumental occasions or the just because he feels like it dates. Both always end with me being drunk off of life, if that’s even possible.
“Getting another view of your city?” he asks, mushing his face into my neck.
After twenty-one years of being rich, he isn’t fazed by the same things as me. It doesn’t matter how many rooftops he whisks me away to, the downtown skyline never gets old. I don’t smell the air on the Pacific Coast or hear the waves pounding against the shoreline in California, but it doesn’t matter because somehow he makes Houston exciting just the way it is.
“I can’t decide if it looks better at home or up here,” I reply, tilting my neck so he can nip at it.
Loud R&B music floats from under the patio doors of the restaurant and sneaks into our reserved space.
His tongue pokes out and soothes the places his teeth sank into. “I thought you knew it looks the best from our bedroom. It’s the perfect backdrop.”
Heat creeps up my neck while I blink away the reasons he thinks thatIthink that. For some reason, all the light that God shines through our floor to ceiling windows hits me in his favorite spots as soon as the sun rises in the morning. There’s no more jumping up and down on his dick forever because I’ve had enough practice to do it with my eyes closed, with the city behind me, and with that light basking around me in our bedroom.
I twist around in his arms and smile at his sneakers and shorts and the empty table set for three. “Don’t start talking slick. We can always get outta here.”
He chokes out a loud laugh and pulls me into his middle. “Then what am I gonna tell my good friend that flew all the way in tonight to meet you?”
“Tell them we had something to take care of.”
“Hold up now, you can’t make that call—only me.”
I laugh, tossing my head back. “This better be Obama or something. I’m missing a free Dave and Buster’s trip. I whoop Bryson’s ass in air hockey at least once a year.”
“Chill. I’ll bring you to whoop his ass after dinner. I told Pops to get a damn woman and to stop using you to plan shit for his team.”
“But I like planningshit. Don’t be jealous because we cool like that.”
“I can be jealous if I want to.” He smirks. “He better take Mrs. Anderson up on her offer and let me have my peace.”
“Ason!”
“What?” He laughs. “He always got you tied up with something. Fuck I look like at Dave and Buster’s with dudes I see every damn day?”
There’s a glint in his white smile when he talks about the team. The truth is, they love him and he loves them. LaQuan dry heaves anytime somebody mentions Ace leaving them for the league, but nobody knew anything about Ace’s post-college life—not even me, and I’m his.
We were a week out from our monumental win and on unplanned celebratory date number six. The first five were a blur, and I didn’t know how he could top private flights to cities I’ve only ever saw on television and dinners in obscure restaurants whose names I couldn’t pronounce. Sometimes I feel like he’s building me up to let me down, but Mama says men like him were for a lifetime. I guess she’s right because I feel it when he’s buried deep inside me and promising me forever in his own way.
He takes my cheeks in his hands and squeezes them. “Let me spend the night with you, baby.”
“You spend the night with me every night.”
“Yeah, but tonight is different.”
Differentsounds loaded with mystery when he says it, but not the good mystery that keeps me on my toes. It sounds final.
“Mr. Williams?” One of the brunette waitresses pokes her head through the patio door.
She looks like all the other girls roaming around the restaurant in unsuspecting swanky clothes and light makeup. When they call him “Mr. Williams” it sounds like they’re talking to James Bond.
“Your guest is on his way up. I’ll get you guys started with some sparkling and flat water.”
“Okay,” he mutters, looking at me. “Thanks, Dana.”
She smiles at us and eases back inside. All waitresses smile at Ace because he holds onto their names as soon as they announce it to our table and leaves outrageous tips even on the rare occasions the service is subpar. I’m sure it’s another good thing Angie taught him.
“Oh, this is for sure Obama. Wait until I tell Marcus my man knows the POTUS.” I wiggle my eyebrows until the serious expression that “different” brought onto his face disappears.
“You hella stupid.” He snorts, pulling me into him. “Act right for me tonight or no dirty ass Dave and Buster’s.”
