“Why?” he probes, checking his own watch for the time.
I tell him, “Well, I did just move. I have a few more things I want to get done before the day is over.”
“Right,” he says, leaning back in his chair, stretching his lengthy body before he stands. I can’t get enough of him in these casual clothes. The shirt he has on lays so well on top of those defined abdominals. With his hands extended in the air, his shirt rises, exposing the black Versace boxers he’s wearing beneath a pair of Givenchy jeans.
“I should be heading out, too. I have to visit my folks tomorrow.”
“Do they live around here?”
“They’re close. They live in Seacrest, where I live.”
He picks up the bill, pulls a brand new hundred-dollar bill from his wallet and places it in the billfold. Then we’re out the door. That’s when I remember I rode with him.
Why did you do that, Quintessa? The man already called you beautiful. He admits he likes being around you just because and he looks at you with those dreamy eyes…now you gotta get back in this car with him…
Like a gentleman, he opens the passenger door, lets me inside and when he gets in, he starts up the car, revs the engine and asks, “Where to?”
“Home,” I tell him.
The AC is cranked up, blowing out that new car scent which blends with his cologne. Smells like money. I bet he gets an upgrade every year. The temperature is in the low eighties today, and the air feels good blowing in my face. I close my eyes and relax my muscles, soaking it all in. I’m quiet on the drive because I don’t have much else to say and I still don’t know what I’ve signed up for with him, but I guess it’s too late to turn back now.
He pulls up in the parking lot, shuts off the engine and gets out. Why is he getting out?
“I’ll walk you up,” he tells me.
Great. Just when I thought I was getting away from him…
While we’re climbing the stairs, he says, “Don’t forget our deal.”
Our deal?
I ask, “Oh, that reminds me—what do I get out of this deal?”
Starting up the second flight, he replies, “You get to talk to a baller whenever you get ready.”
“Wow. So humble...”
Standing in front of my door now, keys in hand, I watch his eyes crinkle at the corners. I feel that fluttering sensation in my stomach again. His good looks have me completely overawed and off my game.
Sliding his thumbs into his expensive jeans pockets, he asks, “Is there anything I can get you before I return home?”
“Home? It’s a Saturday and you’re going home?”
“I am.”
“I thought the elite met up with each other on the weekend, kee-kee’d over champagne and bragged about how much money they made in a single day.”
“That’s what they want you to think. I spend most of my Saturdays at home.”
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
I laugh. I know he’s lying. He looks like he’s lying. There’s just something about his face that’s not believable. But he doesn’t crack a smile. He’s serious, so I suppose I should stop laughing at him.
I clear my throat. That glass of water I didn’t drink at the restaurant would come in handy right about now.
“Congratulations on your place.”