Page 14 of Serenity
Gratitude filled me. The breeze of the night’s air thrilled me. Thank you for confirming what I already knew, John—Jason. Whatever.
I chuckled as my wheels came to a halt at the red light of Cherry Highway. Fourteen days of dates and not a single one had been fruitful. Of the twelve men who’d wined and dined me, I wasn’t intimate with a single one. The sex would likely be as lukewarm as they were. Considering I’d been ovulating, I didn’t care to tutor a soul on how to please me. I’d dodged bullets and would settle for the pleasure and vibration of my bullet located in my nightstand.
Delayed but not denied.
The reminder surfaced, preventing me from lingering on the failure of yet another rendezvous. Feelings weren’t hardened toward Jason. He’d saved me wasted time and even more energy. For that, I’d always appreciate his honesty.
It was early. Far too early to be turning in. With the top down on my two-seater, I pandered in all the sensations offered by the evening. The city was flavored with the lust of a dying summer. At 76º, the wind blew through my hair, reminding me that despite disappointment, beauty existed everywhere.
From Cherry Highway, I made a left on Love Boulevard, cruising aimlessly down the strip. Shades on, hair laid, body set, I was on the prowl.
God, I’ve become my brothers.
The thought bullied me as I sought a place to take the sting of rejection from my mind. My wheels slowed to a creep as I approached Sin, the establishment owned by my youngest older brother, Sincere. It was a Thursday. Old-school night. Without a word to the valet, who knew me by name, I exited the car and stalked up to the front of the extensive line wrapping around the building.
“Ms. Miller.”
“Sam,” I nodded to the Polynesian muscle as my heels exploited my presence. I entered the club, absent a pat down or a cover charge. The section I would pay for and the bottle I’d be ordering at my table would suffice for recompense. Had my brother been present, he’d insist that I paid nothing. Paying for my entertainment was the least I could do.
I loved old-school nights at Sin. The men were like characters from a movie scene or a classic romance book. Polite, attentive, chivalrous, funny. I needed that, especially living through the present era.
An era of feminine men with insecurities deeper than the average woman. An era where women were expected to chase and court them. An era of ghosting and an inability to communicate like adults. An era where men weren’t handy and didn’t fix shit around the house. An era of lukewarm attraction and an inability to express feelings openly. A dating scene where words like serious and long-term were punchlines in an endless mockery of real love.
The current dating scene could absolutely and expediently direct itself to the pits of hell.
Flirting, deep conversations, and quality one-on-one time were the types of emotional intimacy my heart craved. These new niggas didn’t know anything about that. Those types of connections wouldn’t likely be found in Sin, but it was something to do aside from going home to turn in for the night like a grandma.
And there was always the prospect that I might find him. The salt and pepper goatee of a man who fucked like a king before a room full of women. Despite the stretch of time since my experience at Genevieve, I was still looking for him. Always looking. Always playing with myself to the memory of him. Shamefully, Sin on old-school nights had become one of my frequent haunts. Always because my freaky ass had been searching for him. The masked man.
With my legs hiked up on the leather lounger and heels kicked from my feet, I scoped the scenery.
A waitress poured a glass of Dom Perignon, and the bottle left behind for self-serving. Music flowed through the speakers of the club until throngs of younger women entered, diluting the mix from sixty percent women and forty percent men to something more like seventy-thirty. Inwardly, I scowled my displeasure.
These hoes discovered my spot.
The vibe transformed into a modern-day speakeasy. Men, I guestimated to be thirty and up, were dressed in their best. Some had just come from the confinement of stuffy offices and tense board rooms, others from the mutual home with their wives who shared the Jack and Jill sink of their master bedrooms.
Single, divorced, married, poly, one foot in a relationship and the other in Sin… Hell, there were so many poisons. I merely needed to make a selection.
The club was bursting at the seams with potential for mischief. Women young enough to be daughters or even granddaughters of the eager, mature suitors littered the space. Everyone lurked in the shadows unfed. Demon time searching for the divine. The men, possibly seeking the thrill of more youthful company or simply companionship, The women in search of their next sugar daddy.
When I wasn’t skimming the scene for the masked man, I was seeking a deviation from the norm. Someone with enough years of meaningless encounters under their belt to have grown bored of it. Someone who understood my plight with the current dating world. Someone mature enough to silence the voices in my head telling me all was lost.
Someone.
He could be anyone. He could be my age. He could be older. He could be younger. I cared not. Far from desperate, mutual connection was what I sought. The wasted energy put forth with men who couldn’t make it past the first date or the first fuck had become immensely tiresome. Feathering over the bass, The Isley Brothers sang “Groove with You,” and my head bobbed in tandem as I tried and failed to suppress a yawn.
Go home, grandma.
Internally, the thought taunted me. Externally, the low, husky bass of a soul nearby did as well.
“You look like it’s past your bedtime.”
My head tilted up to an impressive stature of caramel fine. For days, his limbs stretched. For seconds, my heart two-stepped.
Steady, Serenity.
“I’m just tired of the bullshit,” I admitted considering the way yet another date ended. Those thoughts were swiftly and viciously replaced by the presence before me. Without trying, he owned them. Commanded each and every one.