Page 43 of Kisses Behind the Spotlight

“Does telling women to shut the fuck up usually work for you?” I quipped.

“Does accusing niggas of being a criminal usually work for you? How the fuck do you still have the energy to be a dickhead after almost eating the pavement a few minutes ago?”

“I did not almost eat the pavement,” I laughed.

“Yeah, alright. Ya ass was swaying like a newborn giraffe,” Xain joked before imitating me, swaying with his free hand stretched in front of him and his eyes blinking rapidly. “Your uncultured ass really played. Talking about was I here for a hit job,” he scoffed. “You didn’t even know what a souk was. What the fuck do you think you know about me?”

“I only have assumptions to go off of. You did kidnap me a few years ago,” I reminded him.

“You were running around playing detective. Minding business that didn’t pay you. Eventually, you have to let that go.”

“I must admit, we have come a long way. You force-fed me noodles that fateful day, and now you are taking me for a burger. You’re making progress,” I joked as he pulled into a parking spot.

Xain had to slam on the brakes because a scooter darted out in front of us.

“Have you ever driven around on scooters during your trips out here? It looks like fun.”

“Yeah, it was a vibe too,” Xain informed me. “I’mma grab the food, and I’ll be right back. I don’t need you swaying your ass inside of here.”

I watched Xain disappear behind other cars, and had to run my hands down my face. We were joking and laughing, and the only thing I kept thinking about was his dick print and what I could do with it. This is what abstinence got me, craving the touch of a man I swore was a mortal enemy. Ironically, “Tired Of Being Alone” by Al Green played lowly in the silent car while my thoughts ran wild. That was a sign. Loneliness had to have been influencing my filthy thoughts.

The car was connected to Xain’s phone, and I was surprised that his playlist wasn’t full of hardcore rap. Then I thought about him being raised by his grandma; it made perfect sense. Just as Xain crossed my mind, his handsome face appeared, darting between the cars. He approached the car with our food and shakes, and I was so grateful. A hunger headache was on my ass, and I needed to beat it to the punch. I didn’t waste time digging into the food and guzzling the milkshake when Xain handed the items to me.

“Damn, slow down, Hoover,” Xain urged, maneuvering through traffic.

“Hoover?” I parroted, swallowing the burger I was chewing.

“Yeah, you sucking that shit down like a vacuum,” he joked.

“Oh, you’re a cornball on top of everything else,” I chuckled.

“I can’t tell. It made you laugh.”

“I can give you that.” I flitted my fingers in his direction.

Xain’s eyes lingered on me before he refocused his attention back on the road. The car fell silent for the rest of the ride. I was filling my belly, wondering why he was so quiet. Before I knew it, we were back at the hotel, going our separate ways.

At eleven o’clock, I was twirling in front of the mirror wearing a lavender, semi-sheer, square-neckline dress with a pair of gold Rene Caovilla heels and matching mini bag. After eating in the car with Xain, we went back to the museum to drop off the items and retreated to our riads for the remainder of the day. While enjoying a quiet dinner at the hotel restaurant, I wound up sitting next to a pair of best friends, whom I overheard planning to hit a club that played Afro hip-hop. With nothing to lose, I butted in, asked to tag along, and ended up enjoying dinner with them.

They were knocking at my door, and I quickly glossed my lips in the mirror. I rushed downstairs, ready to see what the vibes would be like. Since I didn’t know them that well, I scheduled a private car service to and from the club, and they were ecstatic.

“You ready?” Malony, the tall one with her knotless braids pulled into two high ponytails, questioned.

“Ready,” I confirmed, turning to lock the door. “We are a good-looking trio tonight.”

“Period!” The shorter one affirmed.

We took a few pictures beneath the beautiful white archways in the hotel lobby before piling into the awaiting truck. Since I was exhausted when we got in the night before, I didn’t take the time to admire the hotel in all of its glory.

The massive three-story riad felt like a private Moroccan palace all on its own. Our entrance opened onto a beautiful private courtyard that let you know you were not in the States. The architecture, dark wood details, and plush rugs and pillows made the first floor feel special, with a sitting area, office, and living room with a fireplace. On the second floor was the bedroom, the marble-covered bathroom, and a service door for the butler assigned to my riad. My favorite part was the third floor, which contained a spa terrace with my own French pool and seating area overlooking the other riads. If I didn’t need a night out after everything I’d been through over the last few weeks, I’d be in my riad, doing crossword puzzles next to the fireplace.

The club wasn’t far from the hotel, and we were one drink in within an hour of leaving my riad. Colored lights swept across the crowd, while the bass rolled through the club. I wasn’t familiar with the music, but I could vibe to anything, and the crowd was loving us. We were at the bar waiting for my second drink while bodies moved in every direction around us. From my position, I could see a stage where dancers twirled fire, and bottles with sparklers bounced through the air toward the right side of the club.

I felt a pair of hands on my waist, and Xain’s voice came low against my ear before I could turn around and go off. His warm breath prickled across my skin, sending electricity directly to my center.

My head was so gone that I didn’t have a clue what Xain said. Once my brain registered that his voice meant those were his hands, I was putty, struggling to remain on my feet. I spun around, and instantly regretted that. The club was packed, and we were so close that we might as well kiss. My nipples pebbled at the thought, and I cursed myself for wearing the thin ass dress.

Xain wore a simple dark green Prada jogger set with a white T-shirt beneath the hoodie, and his gold Cuban-link chain hung around his neck. My eyes narrowed in on him because he wasn’t dressed for the club at all, more like an evening jog or work.