Page 82 of Treason's Temptation
“Oh, you think Abdul doesn’t drive me crazy all day?” Daige waved me off. “They’re all slow, especially the good ones. He knows it too, so he doesn’t fuss when he gets the credit card statements. I earned it.”
“Okay, where are we with sponsors, crazy lady?”
Her eyes lit up as she shared how she had locked down twenty grand in donations. At this rate, we would meet the recreation center’s goal in no time. Daige left, reminding me to text her tomorrow so she could hear all about my surprise. After straightening the living room, I went to the guest room to put together a cute outfit. I made the grave mistake of sharing a bed with Treason and now he refused to go back to separate beds.
I was behind schedule because I couldn’t decide on an outfit. My shaky hands fucked up my mascara more times than I could count, putting us further behind. Treason didn’t seem to mind and refused to give any hints. With Morris acting like an anal asshole, it had been all work and no play lately. Tonight, Treason was all smiles, standing at the dresser, clasping his watch.
“You look like you’re about to turn yourself in. Not head to date night with your man.”
“Tell me where we’re going. That’ll turn my frown upside down.”
“And miss the shock on your face when you realize it’s nothing I can’t do. Nah, Blue. Gotta ride the surprise out.”
“Tre.”
“Blue,” he mocked, causing my lashes to flutter, “Trust me. I got this.”
“I sure hope so, the way you’re bragging, but you look nice.”
“Preciate it, baby. I like that dress. Hopefully, I get to lift it later,” he flirted.
“You haven’t impressed meyet.”
“Let’s get to it then.”
We walked downstairs to Rylo, complimenting my dress. Treason joked that if he weren’t gay, he’d fuck him up the way he looked at me until I dragged him outside.
“Ward isn’t third wheeling tonight?” I asked, occupying the passenger seat.
“Nah, just me and you.”
He is showing off, I thought, watching him climb into the car.
“Put this on,” he said.
I frowned at the blind fold hanging from his finger.
“You’ve lost it! I’m not letting you blindfold me.”
Treason chuckled, pressing the gas dramatically so my back hit the seat.
“A blindfold is where you draw the line? Really?” he asked with too much sarcasm in his tone.
“I know you struggle to respect them, but it’s called aboundary,” I sassed.
“You want your surprise or not?” Treason, asked, cutting the heart of the conversation.
Snatching the blindfold, I pulled it over my eyes, careful not to disrupt the natural glam I nailed tonight. Treason turned the music up, anticipating a sarcastic response, but I didn’t have one. I was too busy trying to calm my nervous system. My hands were clammy, so I felt around the door until I heard the window creak. The cool night air was a reprieve from the weight of my arms on my shoulders.
“Are we almost there?” I called out.
Treason’s hand landed on my thigh, strumming my skin with his thumb. Control was comforting, and right now I had none,listening to Treason hum along until the car stopped. I reached for the blindfold, eager for my nervous system to settle. The sting of Treason popping my hand forced a frown that I’d have to wait longer for that.
He guided me from the car, strolling and reminding me to trust him every time my heel touched the pavement. Then we reached the steps, putting that trust to the test. Treason laughed as I took each step carefully, holding on to him like my life depended on it.
I snatched the blindfold off, prepared to be underwhelmed. Not because Treason wasn’t thoughtful or romantic. He only knew what I shared, and trauma didn’t allow me to share anything that would swing the pendulum.
Yet, I stood in the empty museum, soft jazz humming through the speakers, dim gallery lighting casting golden hues on polished floors. Treason followed, allowing me space to take it in. I rounded the corner and stopped short, seeing the Black Hollywood Exhibit.
