Page 22 of Rome: The Ballerina

“My standards exist,” I expressed.

It’s you. You’re the standard. My standard.

“Yeah?” He chuckled.

Bosses only, baby.Chem’s words echoed in my head.The biggest or no one at all. The best or no one at all, baby. Big pockets. Big deals. Big accounts. Big businesses. Big motherfucking shit, baby. Because you will come in and be the biggest thing in a nigga’s world. Make sure you havesomething to fall back on. Something of his because he willalwaysexpect something of yours.

“Yes.”

“Good to know I fit the bill.”

You are the bill.

“Middle child of three?” He asked.

“Youngest of seven. Eleven if you include those who share my brother’s blood. I’d like to think they’re always included.”

“Eleven–” he whistled.

“Eleven.”

“A far cry from the two your parents decided were enough.”

Sitting up straight and tilting his head, he peered at me.

“And, how’d you know that?”

Shrugging, I exhaled, “A wild guess.”

“Nothing wild about that guess, Rome. You know exactly what you’re talking about, love.”

“I have my ways. My feelings. My assumptions.”

“They’re always that spot on?”

“Usually.”

“How old am I?”

“Twenty–” I paused, “Seven or eight. I’m leaning more toward twenty-eight.”

Nodding, he confirmed.

“Have your parents ever considered getting you checked out?”

I shook my head, “No. Because, I’m not the only one in my family who just knows.”

“Understood.”

Nothing more was said. I sipped from the matcha in my cup. Sac took slow, hesitant sips of his steaming coffee. The silence was comforting. I felt as though I’d been vomiting at the mouth, somehow ruining any chance I had with the man from my dreams.

Yet, the longing stares and random smiles that were dangerously contagious assured me he was still intrigued. Still interested. Still fascinated. Still hunting. Still chasing.

“Your eyes–” Sac began, pointing toward my face, “the way they crease in the corners as if they’re causing you pain, but they’re just expressing the pleasure you feel in the moment… I like that. While the rest of your face remains flawless, skin tight and plump and soft, those corners are not alright. Yet, they are. So contradicting.”

The deep grunt that made his chest cave was more of the same. He wasn’t in pain. The pleasure was written all over his face.

“You’re expressive.”

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