I turn around in my chair, hoping for the best, expecting the worse. And it’s Carson.
"Girl, he's the hotel manager." I turn up my nose, but I'm low-key salty about him ghosting me. I felt we had a connection. He had me drooling, talking about my exquisite brown skin. I almost busted out in a Beyonce song about girls running the world. Then he disappeared like Casper the Friendly Ghost.
I look back at her, acting like I don't care. "I give your ass Daddy Warbucks, and you give me the damn hotel manager. Are you serious?”
"Nawl, nut. The guy standing at the end of the bar with the Armani suit on. That's a three-thousand-dollar suit, boo. Ask me how I know?"
Why would a hotel manager wear a three-thousand-dollar suit? I stare, and I shouldn't. Carson looks scrumptious. I twist in my seat, pressing my legs together.
Daiya’s right. The fabric and the cut of his suit screams custom. But I have to ask. “How do you know?”
“Daniel Terrell Prince wears nothing but the best, and if the manager can afford a darn three-thousand-dollar suit, then he’s at a point in his life that he can at least smell the cookie.”
“Enough with the cookie analogies. What if he’s a pick-pocketer or sitting around searching for sugar mammas?”
I wave a hand in the air, flagging down the waiter. I need a shot. The oven between my thighs is on, and my cookie is ready. But Carson's not the one.
This is too much.
I fan my face. Lord, now isn’t the time to pray, but I’m doing it, anyway. Please let Daiya have mercy on me.
“Look, if he’s the manager, then you can bounce. Deal?”
She's laughing, but I still whisper, "Thank you, Jesus."
I guess that'll have to work. I know she's trying to help me, but it's not the suit. It's the man.
Maybe I cussed too much. I did call Denzel a bitch ass, and I could have scared him concerning his coffee. Merrilyn appeared kind and motherly. I doubt she has a petty bone in her body. However, why not warn the man, you know?
I’ve known assistants that did ungodly things to their bosses behind their backs.
I don’t want to do this. But I can’t back down.
This is our love language. Though it’s not listed in a book Daiya had us read last year.
I push. Daiya resists. And miraculously, we end in an uncomfortable place tighter than ever.
Isn’t that the point of a girl’s trip? To do some stupid shit.
“Yeah, whatever, deal. When are we supposed to do this thing?” I ask.
I give another sideways glance at the bar. Instead of focusing on his disappearance, I’ll give him credit for helping me. I’ve revisited his statement about God using challenges to sharpen our tool a trillion times. He even made sure Daiya arrived safely from the airport.
What’s the worst that can happen?
Then I think about Denzel.
That’s the worst that could happen.
My pits are moist beneath this sweater. This isn't how I expected tonight to go, but I'm in a different city, and he doesn't know me. It would be just my luck that I'm not his type, and flirting is his love language.
“All we have is right now. So, let’s do this,” Daiya declares.
“Fine. I’m ready when you are.”
“Let me get a couple more bites of this chicken because I don’t need my stomach farting in front of PawPaw.”
And she called that dude a nut, I snicker. She’s chewing, but her eyes keep bouncing across the room. The guy sort of looks like Santa Claus. How bad could he be?
“Are you trying to chicken out?”
“No, ma’am. I’m all in, but if he smells like Bengay or says anything about limbs hurting, I’m flying back over here like I have on a Wonder Woman cape.”
“He doesn’t smell like Bengay. He actually smells quite nice.” I wiggle my eyebrows, waiting for her to choke on her chicken. “Come on, let’s get this over with.” I stand up.
“Awe, heck nawl. Wait, a minute. Wait. A. Minute. How in the world do you know how he smells?”
“He almost ran me over in the elevator. But he was extremely polite. So, tell PawPaw ‘Hi’ for me.” I look at Carson, preparing myself for this challenge.
“Okay, but if he’s married, no deal.”
I stick out my pinky finger, knowing I have to give this a hearty effort. “You got it.”
We pinky pound, sealing our dare with an X.
Game on!
Chapter 6
I’m sweating fucking bullets!
I walk on wobbly legs, thinking three-thousand-dollar suit. It is hard as hell to switch when your knees are chattering. Not because I'm scared, well, maybe a little. He's watching me with roaming eyes. Roaming my body, and it should feel creepy, but it doesn't.
I stare back. Like, Damn, look away. But he doesn’t. His eyes seem to smile at my discomfort.
My life is bonkers. I have real-life shit going on, and I need to get back to my real problem: Writing a spec script. That was the answer to Carson's dare, and after three days, I'm no closer than I was when he left me high and dry.
A large man stops beside him. They exchange words, but he keeps his eyes on me. Somehow, I missed the suit, and up close, Daiya’s right. The light shines down, highlighting his expecting face.
What the hell have I gotten myself into?
With every step, I'm contemplating how to get out of this. My stomach flip-flops. Maybe I should have finished my dinner. Now I might have to hide the rest of our trip. The options for getting out of this dare are endless when you have time, but I have less than twenty steps, and that's with weaving around people. Suddenly, the crowd parts, and before I know it, I'm standing in front of him. I glance over at Daiya, and she's lowering into the seat across from PawPaw. Against my better judgment, I decide to tell Carson the truth.
“Hey, Carson. Got a second?”
“Anything for you.”
Flirting is his love language girl, don’t let him suck you in, my inner voice reminds me.
He pulls out the barstool, and I climb up, crossing my legs to remind myself I'm a lady. And don't cuss.
“So, I have a dare with my sister?”
"Oh, really, tell me about it."
“Daiya—”
“The one we picked up from the airport?”
“Yes, and thank you.” I exhale, nervous. “Part of this trip is about getting her out of the house and away from her normal life. And we have this thing we do where we dare each other to do things to get out of our comfort zones.”
“That sounds fun.”
"Normally, it is."
“And today’s it’s not judging by the look of terror on your face.”
“Stop reading my face.” I huff. “Just pretend I asked you out, and you told me no, and I can go back to my table and finish my steak. Because it’s obvious you’re not feeling me, after you ghosted my ass like I had cooties or something.”
"Cooties?" He smiles, and he could have my ass. Right. Now. “What are cooties?”
“Kid germs from dirt and not washing their hands and—” I freeze. “You’re laughing at me again.”
"I can't seem to help myself. You're…" His eyes stare into my soul, and I feel exposed.