Page 21 of Candid Moments
We join the line and make it to the counter fifteen minutes later. The customer in front of us was having issues with her credit card and she refused to charge her items to the room. The manager had to get involved and it was a whole issue.
When the cashier rings our last item, I quickly tap my phone before Denim can resist. I can’t let this man pay for everything. Seeing my mom totally dependent on my so-called father taught me early on that a woman needs to have her own. I refuse to beg a man or bow down to one just because he’s footing my bills.
Before heading back upstairs, we take a tour of the hotel lobby. Aside from the banquet rooms, marketplace, and restaurant, there’s a business center, the gym, pool area with a jacuzzi, and a small bar with a sitting area around a huge gas fireplace. It naturally catches my eye and we decide to return to it this evening.
“We have a couple of hours before lunch. Let’s see what this questions game is about,” I say as soon as we enter the room.
I remove my boots, leave them by the door, then walk to the closet. Since I want to be comfortable, I take off my set too and hang it up. When I trek to the dresser to grab the little dress I packed for lounging in the room, he steps to me and wraps his arms around me.
“What kind of questions are these?”
“Looks like getting to know you questions.”
His lips graze the size of my neck then he kisses up and down. After sucking on my earlobe, he says, “With this on, you can ask me anything.”
“I’m covering up because this right here. You all up on me like this isn’t going to lead to questions and answers.”
“It can,” he says before kissing my neck again.
Playfully, I elbow him then pop my ass out to push him back. “Move,” I tease. “And let me get this dress.”
He relents then steps back and I pull my dress out of the dresser drawer. Once I slip it on, I grab the bags from the store, place all but two of the drinks in the fridge, then walk over and plop down on the bed. He joins me. When he grabs the snack bag, I open the cards. The concept is pretty straight forward. There are fifty-two cards with different questions to start a conversation.Perfect for us.
It’s only been a few days but I can honestly say I really like Denim. Not only is he handsome as hell and fine as shit, he’s thoughtful, generous, and a considerate lover. He’s also genuinely interested in my photography. When he allowed me to photograph him then turned around and took pictures of me, that was too sexy.
“So how do we play this?” he asks.
“It’s just questions. We can alternate answering the questions on the cards.”
“Ladies first,” he says as he opens his bag of trail mix.
I grab the bag of Cheetos then lift the first card from the box. After reading the card to myself, I read it out loud. “What’s something you think people assume about you when they meet you for the first time?”
His beautiful smile creeps on his face then it morphs into a smirk. “A lot of people assume and voice it. They think that I’m a professional athlete—basketball. They see a tall brotha and run with it, like I can’t be anything else.”
“You know how it is. A tall, Black man, dressed impeccably, and sporting this.” I grab his wrist and stare at his obviously expensive watch. “Unfortunately, they don’t immediately think doctor.”
“True but I’m only six-four. That’s short for basketball.”
“Short for basketball only because you are definitely tall.”
“I’m average.”
“Nothing about you is average. Not one thing,” I admit. After opening my Cheetos, I take a few out, pop them in my mouth, then get comfortable on the bed, tucking one foot under my ass and stretching out the other. “Your turn.”
“What about you? What do you think they assume?” he asks.
“Oh, we doing that? Both answering the same question?”
“Yep. House rules. You know how Black people do. We make our own rules for games.”
“For every game we do,” I say and he grins.Even his laugh is sexy.“Okay. Well, let me see. What do people assume about me?” The question is simple enough but weighted. What I think and what they may actually assume might be completely different. So I go with a common assumption I hear on some of my shoots. “People think I’m an extrovert but I’m truly an introvert. Give me my quiet space and alone time and I’m good. I prefer that all day every day.”
“Really?” he asks, surprised. “You’re so personable and outgoing. I can’t see an introvert. Look how you are with me.”
“With you, yes, because I’m comfortable in small, intimate settings like this. But after a long day of shooting and talking with my clients, I’m exhausted and just want to be alone.”
“So when we get back home and I want to see you after a long day of shooting, can I interrupt your alone time?”
