“That’s where we’re different – I’m not sad when a person that I love dies. I’m just grateful for the time I had with them, you feel me?” I nodded, unable to deny the serious tone his voice took when he added, “It would be a little different with you, though.”
Something told me to stop there. To end this conversation now. That I’d done what I set out to do but going any further would be dangerous. I asked, still, “How?”
He’d placed a fork of pasta in his mouth, so he didn’t answer me right away. It was as if he knew I was waiting on the edge of my seat for his answer, because he wiped his already clean face and took a small sip of his Hen before answering me.
“I’d feel that loss more. ‘Cause you offer a nigga thangs that… not the average person does.”
The only thing I could think of to mask my inner turmoil was deceptive calm. We stared at one another, both wearing nonchalant expressions on our face, but our eyes were different. His eyes glowed with a burning fire that I was sure could melt away the resistance swaddling my heart if I’d let him. Meanwhile, I was sure mine were just as dark and cold as they always were.
I seemed to be a glutton for punishment in this moment, because instead of me ending the conversation yet again, I entertained him and took it to a place it did not need to be when I asked, “So what would you do?”
Sitting back in his seat, his eyes softened as he looked my face over sweetly. “I’d hug you, kiss you, thank you, then call the ambulance.” Ishmael sat up in his seat, and his voice lowered when he added, “And if seventy years have passed, and we’ve spent every day of our lives together during that time, I’d sit in the recliner that I’m sure would be in our bedroom and be gone myself when help arrived.”
Swallowing hard, I forced my eyes to look away as they watered. For a while, we grew silent, enjoying the meal he’d prepared to ourselves. That silence ended when I tried his garlic bread. It wasn’t the traditional garlic bread; it had a slight spicy kick to it. I complimented him on it, and the conversation picked up right where it left off.
When we were done eating, we headed upstairs for the second part of his surprise. I was expecting more flowers and shit, so when I entered his room behind him and saw the fort that he’d set up I giggled in surprise all over again.
“Ishmael?” I called softly, cheesing hard as hell. Stepping in front of him, my head shook in disbelief. My eyes were wide and glossy as I stood there. Frozen.
“Yea, love?”
“What’s this?”
“A fort. I figured we could have dessert in there. Some wine. See where the night takes us.”
Turning, I took all that was Ishmael SwaeLee in. His tall, muscular, tattooed build. Walnut brown skin. Thick, short, beard. Square face, chiseled jaw. Skin colored lips. I loved his lips. His lips made me want to kiss. The top one was medium sized and the bottom one was plump and juicy as fuck. I loved his tight, balsamic colored eyes too.
God.
I simply loved everything about this man.
My head lowered, and I buried my face in the center of his chest. “You remembered,” I muttered, willing myself not to foster tears in my eyes. Opening my mouth slightly, I inhaled a deep, shaky breath. During the first year of our companionship, I shared with Ishmael how different my childhood was after he’d done the same.
I told him that I’d never really had the typical childhood. No normal things like sleepovers, birthday parties with friends, camping adventures and forts. Even as a child, I had to be aware of the harsh realities of life and grow up quick. It didn’t help that my body developed really fast. By fourteen, the few friendships I did have ended because their mothers didn’t want me around them.
Like being with me would somehow make their titties and hips sprout or give them a fat ass. Like my body came from fucking at fourteen and their daughters would do the same thing. At a young age, I got used to being alone. I didn’t have any siblings, just my mother and whatever freak of the week she was dealing with at the time. When I was ten, she left her pimp, and we moved into our own place. I can honestly say that was when we grew closest and she truly became my best friend.
Ishmael lifted my chin with his pointer finger and stared into my eyes with passion. With conviction. With… that thing that I just… wasn’t… couldn’t… had no recollection of.
“I remember everything you’ve ever shared wit’ me.” He put my hand in the center of his chest, on his heart. “All that shit in here.”
My cheeks lifted as I smiled and looked back at the fort. Ishmael was never the type to say much. He was calm – a man of few words – but the words he spoke held power. That calmness was never to be mistaken as weakness though. If you knew Ishmael, you knew he was suave but also a savage. A gentle gangster. My hands went to his neck, just to slide down his chest.
“Ish,” I almost whispered, unfamiliar with the softness of my own voice.
“Look at me.” I gave him my eyes with no hesitation. “Give me what I’m due.”
That only made me smile again because I knew he was dead fucking serious. “I love this. This entire night has been amazing. No one has ever done anything like this for me before. Thank you.”
With a nod, Ishmael smirked with the right side of his mouth. Running his fingers along the edges of it, he looked my frame over intently before telling me to, “Get ya sexy ass in the fort, Rosalyn.”
And I did – happily.
Ishmael left the room briefly. When he met me in the fort, it was with chocolate covered strawberries and wine. As if just having this wasn’t enough, he fed me the strawberries and I did the same to him. There was no more denying it – this man was giving me intimacy – lovingly. As much as I didn’t want to admit it, I liked it.
No.
I loved it.
Jesus.
Ishmael was the only man capable of making me see him as anything other than a client providing a check.
“Paradise?”
My heart dropped. Ishmael only called me by my escort name when shit was about to get real. For whatever reason, I think that was his way of reminding me of the power and control he had over our situation.
“Yes?”
Ishmael sighed as he put the half-eaten tray of chocolate covered strawberries down. He took my hand into his. “I don’t want this thang we got to be professional anymore. I want it to be personal. Real. I want you to be my paradise.”
“Ishmael…”
“I like your ass in a real way, Rosalyn. You know I’m cool with spending stacks on ya, but I’m tryna spend time wit’ ya that don’t require me bookin’ you through an app.”
My eyes blinked rapidly as I swallowed. Chuckling nervously, I lifted my wine glass and gulped all that was left down.
“Ish…” Licking the corner of my mouth, I shook my head slightly. “I can’t, handsome. We’ve already established that this is a job for me. Plus, I’m damaged goods. No one to fall for…”
“It’s too late for that,” he gritted, calmness beginning to fade. “I got feelings for you, and they ain’t gon’ go away just because you sayin’ they should.”
All I could do was shake my head. If it was anyone else, I would have said no flat out with no second thought, argument, or hesitation. But it was something about Ishmael. Something that made me reconsider everything I thought was normal, right, and real.