Page 11 of Inspiring Dominic

“I’m definitely interested,” I stated without hesitation.

“Good to hear it.” She held my gaze a few seconds longer before she stood from the table and gathered her things. “Make sure you pack enough for at least a week and bring enough cash because your cards won’t be good there.”

“Will do,” I muttered, watching her walk away from the table. There were several reasons why pursing anything more with Samara was a bad idea. However, I’d done the right thing for so long, bad was looking pretty damn good.

Be careful with this one,my inner voice warned. Something told me that if I wasn’t careful, Samara Alonso would be getting far more from me than a career-breaking story.

My phone rang and before I even answered the FaceTime call, I knew it was, “Mav, what do you want?”

“Muthafucka, what do you think I want? Was that Sam Stevens who showed up?”

“I’m going to Cuba in a couple days,” I informed him, ignoring his question.

“Why the fuck are you going to Cuba and how the hell are you getting in?” he asked. “And did you hear my other question?”

“I did and I’m choosing not to answer.”

“Choosing not to…,” his frustrated voice trailed off. “Dom, I don’t have time for these half-assed responses.”

I laughed. “We’ll talk when I get back Mav.”

This time when I hung up, I knew he wouldn’t call me back. If there was one thing I did that truly pissed Mav off it was ignoring him. I always teased him that he suffered from younger-sibling syndrome with always wanting his voice to be heard.

Even though I always wanted to encourage Mav, he was constantly giving me shit, so it was nice to give him a taste of his own medicine every once in a while.

Chapter 3

SAMARA

“You seem to really know your way around Cuba,” Dom stated, his muscular arm perched halfway outside of the window while I drove us to our destination. “I didn’t realize you spoke Spanish until we went through customs.”

“I’m trying to get more fluent in the language,” I confessed. “It was only recently that I learned I’m half Cuban.”

“Really?” he asked. “Mother or father?”

“Father,” I answered. “According to my mother, when she met my dad, he was trying to sell her something on a street corner in Chicago. I think it was maracas or something, and she only talked to him because her and her friends thought it was funny that this young, Black man was selling maracas while the others were selling T-shirts and candy. She said even before he said hi, she was half in love already, his rich, maple brown skin the smoothest she’d ever seen on a man. They fell in love and married a couple months later. She didn’t know he was from Cuba until a cousin of his came to the States a year after they married. Apparently, it was something my father hadn’t wanted her to know for whatever reason. She suspected he was here illegally, but it didn’t matter to her. He’d confessed that he disguised his accent when he arrived at the States as a boy, something a friend had told him was best. As an adult, I wish even more he would have lived longer so I could ask him questions, but he passed away when I was three.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he expressed.

“Thank you. My mom lost touch with his cousin, but had learned enough to know I still had family in Cuba and in the States, actually. As soon as former President Obama opened travel to Cuba, I began visiting my Cuban family as much as I could. It’s been a little more difficult to visit in recent years, but I manage.”

“I like that,” he stated, his eyes on me even though mine were on the road. “I’ve traveled to so many places around the world, but I never actually thought I’d ever have the opportunity to visit Cuba.”

“How many countries have you been to?” I asked.

“I haven’t kept count, but I’ve been traveling for Prescott Holdings for over fifteen years.”

I nodded, turning off the main road. “I’ve had the opportunity to do some traveling, too. What’s your favorite place you’ve visited so far?”

“Barcelona.” I smiled, thinking back to it. “It was the trip I went on with my grandfather. One thing about Abe, he loved to experience new things, but the company kept him pretty planted in Rosewood Heights until he retired and my dad took over. Typically, when I travel for work, I don’t do many touristy things.”

“But you explore wherever you are, right?”

“Not really,” he disclosed. “My time is usually limited. When you travel, you’re usually undercover for a story?”

I nodded. “Yes.”

“Then I assume the story takes priority over fun and you have to focus on the goal of your narrative instead of checking out the top ten must-see places wherever you’re visiting.”

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