Page 13 of Serenity
Stationed at the helm of two businesses year-round kept me operating in masculine energy. Energy I didn’t desire to possess while in the presence of a man. I craved softness and safety wrapped in that governing energy I’d witnessed my brothers and father wield so effortlessly over the years. Readily, I’d let my hair down in the presence of a ruler. Reveal the real me. The delicate me. In safety and vulnerability.
The date I was on had been going well until the nigga’s tongue was misplaced amongst mine. Like a toddler, he stuck his tongue out and entered my mouth, failing to utilize it further. It just… sat there. Futile and ineffectual, it didn’t dance, it didn’t move. It had no groove. Disoriented and embarrassed, I withdrew my organ of speech, quickly retreating from his face.
“What you doin?”
Blunt never settled for an accurate descriptor of my mouth. My tongue was a sword. I spoke my thoughts freely. Armed with poise and grace, I always would, though, in this instance, I found difficulty. How do you politely tell a man he’s an awful kisser? I wouldn’t. Couldn’t. At this big age, it wasn’t my job to educate him. Swiping the evidence of his presence away from my lips, I wore my disdain on my face.
“Uh—I thought we were kissing.”
He was nervous.
“Do I make you nervous?”
He chuckled. Readjusted his frame, readjusted his yearning surfacing in his pants.
“Nah. What makes you say that?”
Liar. Liar.
I deadpanned. The facial expression forced an expulsion of more words from the man whose pants were undeniably on fire with desire.
“A little.”
I relaxed my shoulders. Softened visibly, I blinked my lashes. Wispy but lengthy, they added to the allure of my appearance.
“Why?” Sweetly, I posed the question. I needed to know the answer as much as my lungs required my next breath.
“You’ve got it all together. What can a man like me offer you?” He asked, unearthing his insecurities.
“You need a construction project?”
My question made him laugh, but comedy was far from my intent. Not in the slightest. The confession that tumbled from his lips was heard before. My ears had grown weary of hearing it. I needed a nigga to be honest with me for once.
Men like him needed their egos stroked. Men like him needed a woman to need them. To cling to them. To be next to nothing without them. To exalt them at her own expense. Men like him competed with women.
I owned a gallery, Vivid, where I sometimes held art shows, although I had a curator on staff to handle the majority of the workload. I also owned Serenity Spa and Wellness Center in Paramour. My pride and joy. The spa had been performing so wonderfully that I was considering opening a second location. Far from a work in progress, I had my shit together. Far from the average woman, I managed several successful businesses and authored hundreds of employees’ paychecks. The only thing I was focused on building was an empire I’d already begun.
A rich bitch.
A bad bitch.
A blessed bitch.
But far from the connotative bitch.
The man sitting inches from me sighed. I was out of his league. He needn’t say it. I could feel it. His uncertainty. His lack of confidence. His resignation was paramount, as was the conclusion of our time together.
“You’re a beautiful, talented, and successful woman, but you might not be the right woman for me.” He shook his head in reflective anguish. “I’ll pay for dinner. I had a great—”
The opulence of my rear was out of the seat before he could utter another word. I shuffled my Chanel handbag onto my shoulder and listened to the sound of my heels as they echoed off the restaurant’s floor. Leaving was never my issue. At a sniff of my presence being unwelcome, I dismissed myself.
Out of the restaurant and toward the valet, I click-clacked. Arms crossed, vicious stance, I waited for my car. From my peripheral, I noted the eventual presence of Jason, the man I was on a date with minutes ago. He avoided my eyes. Angled his body away from me as if we weren’t recently swapping spit.
Whatever.
Humming and buzzing, my phone alerted me of a call. I ignored it as my i8 was brought to the front of the restaurant. Without another glance at Jason or the valet, I was inside my car and burning rubber away from the place where yet another rejection remained.
“You’re a beautiful, talented, and successful woman, but you might not be the right woman for me.”