Page 17 of Safe Word
When she almost perfected one of the forms without me walking her through it, she fell over, laughing hysterically. It felt good to see how proud she was of herself. I wanted to pick her up and spin her around to celebrate her victory, but I also wanted to hug her and let her cry for the version of her that probably needed this shit ten years ago. I decided against both.
“It’s kind of like yoga. I bet it’s a good workout.”
“Yeah, it is. I’ve been doing it for twenty something years. It keeps me balanced.”
“I want to find that same balance.”
“Just keep practicing.”
Later that evening,after eating buttered chicken, rice, and roasted vegetables, I stood at the sink washing dishes while she sang and danced around my living room like she’d always been there, like she belonged there. I was damn sure getting used to it.
When she came into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of lemonade, she found the right cabinet on the first try. Even the couch was starting to remember our shapes and our favorite spots. Once I was done with the dishes, I moved to the living room just to be closer to her. I found her standing in front of my bookshelf running her fingers along the edges of the stash of books I barely touched these days. She’d taken her braids outand washed her hair. For some reason, it made her look even more comfortable. When she noticed me, she turned around.
“You read all of these, or are you one of those people who collects books just to be pretentious?”
I laughed at that but answered anyway. “Do I look like a nigga who’s worried about being pretentious?”
“Not really, but I had to ask.”
“I’ve read most of them. I’ve read all of the nonfiction books, especially the ones about finances and fighting styles.”
“Well, aren’t we well-rounded?”
“Balance, remember?” I reminded her as I got comfortable on the couch. I was completely content with watching her for the rest of the night.
Holding a book I didn’t recognize, she swayed her hips to the music in her head as she continued to hum. The curve of her ass called to me with every sultry dip of her hips. Her gravitational pull drew me to her, and my hands were on her waist before either of us realized. Her face was warm against my cheek as I held her soft body against my chest.
She fit perfectly with her head right under my chin. Her soft curls smelled like peaches and cream as I sank my nose into her hair. I swayed with her as she continued to hum. The song felt like our song. She felt like mine. I didn’t know if I should hold on to that feeling or retreat. In the moment, it felt right to stay put.
She turned to face me, granting me full access to those dark amber eyes that seemed haunting against her mahogany skin. It wasn’t hard to tell why so many people adored her, because in a short period of time, I had become one of Carteay’s biggest fans. Yes, I’d known her for a couple of years. Even in the past year, we had become close friends.
Seeing her without all the flashing lights, without the makeup and handlers, seeing her in her skin felt different. It felt like she’d given me access to something sacred. I never wantedto share this side of her with another person. With one hand on my chest, she tiptoed and pecked my lips.
“Thanks again for dinner.”
I shrugged. “I had to eat too.”
“You could at least have let me wash dishes.”
“You’re a guest, Carrie.”
For some reason, it almost pained me to say that. I didn’t want her to be a guest. I wanted her here all the time. I always valued my personal space; now I was thinking of ways to make room for her in it.
“Let’s find a movie to watch. I want to seeSister Act.”
“The first one or the second one? The answer to that question is very important,” I told her.
“The second movie is my favorite for obvious reasons, but I like both.”
“That’s the only correct answer.”
“Did I pass the test? What do I get?”
“You get a ride over to the couch,” I said, picking her up.
Carteay laughed like hell as I picked her up and carried her bridal style and dropped down on the couch with her in my lap. I stared down at her in awe of her natural beauty. I had always liked my women dark skinned. I even knew how pretty Carrie was. Still, now that she felt accessible, I paid more attention to the nuances, like the way she pressed her lips together when she was trying not to smile or how her forehead wrinkled when she was thinking. The cutest thing was how her fingers toyed with the hem of her shirt when she was nervous or unsure of herself.
She slid out of my lap, and I reluctantly let her make space for herself on the couch as she reached for the remote on the coffee table. I hit the button on the side of my couch to let my seat recline. I should have known my little vixen would shoot me a look.
