We have plans tonight.
I go hard for a man who takes control, y’all.
But I’ve already made plans with my bottom bitch to hang out and drink wine and talk shit.
I can’t. I have plans.
Can you reschedule?
You should have let me know sooner. But I’m not cancelling on my girl.
I understand 😦
However serendipitous though, inside the hour, my girl has flaked and I am texting him back.
Come and get me.
I hope he intuited the suggestive invitation, like I intend.
I’ve barely clasped my earrings before he is at my door, filling the space with his big frame, smiling down at me and smelling like Burberry Touch, scientifically proven to make my panties slide to the floor of their own accord. I take him in, raking him over with my eyes from head to toe; his sapphire eyes and wide smile, olive skin stretched smooth over broad shoulders. But he’s all suited up. And in jeans, I am underdressed.
“You did NOT tell me I needed to dress up!”
“You don’t. You look great. I just haven’t changed yet from work.”
“Uh… Peter… you’re a teacher. An elementary school teacher. I KNOW you didn’t wear this to work on a Friday.”
He blushes, all cute and sheepish, his dimple caving in.
“I just wanted you to think I was handsome.”
You could try to tell me that men aren’t just as emotional and needy as women, but I wouldn’t believe you, lol.
After I change we head to his car, the leather on his seats grabbing my bottom of my dress and pulling it up a little further towards indecency. I giggle.
“What’s so funny?”
“Leather seats always pull up my dresses and remind me of this verse on this T.I. song-“
“With the plush leather guts steady grippin’ the butt,” he finishes for me. I look at him seven kinds of incredulous.
“I can’t with you, white boy. What part of the game is this?”
He just smiles at me, that beautiful, cocky smile and I turn my face towards the window so he doesn’t see me liking it.
He turns up the volume of the music at my requests as to where we are going. Part of me is a little irritated that he is ignoring my question; I don’t like that shit. But part of me is curious if he is as cute as he thinks I think he is.
I think so.
Barely ten minutes later he pulls over on the side of the road, with no discernable destination in sight. I’m not nervous or anything, I am just real… aware.
“What are you doing?”
“Gotta get something out of the trunk.”
I am the paranoid type so I will share with only you that I was already unclicking my seatbelt and unlocking my door just in case. I don’t play those kinda games. Before I can run in the opposite direction screaming though, he places a bouquet of flowers on my lap. A beautiful spread of mixed color calla lilies, which are my favorite. I smile despite myself.
“I love lilies. But you didn’t have to do that. They’re just gonna die.”
“Flowers? Oh, I didn’t buy you flowers. They are just holding the more important part of the present.”
I look down at the bouquet again, noticing for the first time that it is slightly heavier than it should be. And then I see why…
He’s tied a string with a tiny bottle of rum across the stems. I laugh for the next fifteen minutes while he continues driving.
We valet at one of my favorite hotel bars downtown, the cavernous room somehow made more intimate by the dim lights and plush furnishings. We sink down on a couch, our sides seemingly fused together, me tucked under his arm, drinking and talking, feeding each other and giggling. I think we are winding down for the evening when he tells me we have one more spot to go to. Hand in hand, we walk to one of my favorite jazz spots in town, music streaming out of the windows and wrapping us up in the chords.
We dance our way upstairs after getting more drinks, braving the crisp air so that we can enjoy the skyline. He is behind me, his arms draped around my waist, his chin hooked in the curve of my neck, filling up my space with his body heat and his cologne. And I am… comfortable. I do so enjoy his company.
We sway in time to the melodies floating on the air coming from the live band, murmuring to each other in the hushed tones usually reserved for people who have been far more intimate than we. But it feels so…
We dance slowly, but like we have been dancing forever, my eyes closed as to block out anything other than the music. One song ends and then another, each an unnamed melody that blends with the one before it and the one after. Somehow, everything manages to feel still but us. For a moment I think that if I reach out my hand I will be able to touch the minutes hanging suspended in mid-air. After a long while, tangled up in him that way, I hear a song I recognize even though the lyrics do not accompany it.
There is only one for me
You have made that a possibility
We could take that step to see
If this is really gonna be
All you gotta do is say yes
Peter pulls me closer, his head on top of my hair, his hands travelling up and down the expanse of my back. I feel equal parts calm and frightened; calm because I like this feeling, frightened because I know what comes next.
“It’s true you know,” he says to me, without lifting his head.
“All you’d have to do is say yes.”
I sigh. I always end up back here. Always end up right back in what I am not looking for. And if I am honest, I am tired of just ending up in things. I’d like, for once, to walk into things clear headed and whole.
If I am even more honest, well, I am not immune to the intoxication of this feeling. I just have to decide if the drunkenness of this moment, if giving myself over to it, is worth the hangover tomorrow.
But just for the right then, just for the rest of the song, I just let it be what it was…
All you gotta do is say yes
Don’t deny what you feel let me undress you baby
Open up your mind and just rest
I’m about to let you know you make me so
…hoping to postpone tomorrow for as long as tonight would allow.