Page 12 of Beautiful Beginning

I removed my hand from the door and waited for him to open it. Okay, so if he competed against any other man he’d be winning, hands down. Those ragamuffins didn’t think twice about my car door. Only reason they opened a door to a building was because they needed to walk through.

“C’mon,” he said with his hand on my lower back.

Something about him made me feel safe. Supported. Secure. But when we got inside, and he pulled out my chair, waited for me to get comfortable, it was a sealed deal.

“Are you drinking?” He asked as I stared at the menu.

“I shouldn’t. I have a test tomorrow.”

His lips curled up and he tilted his head. “Should we be here?”

I looked around. To the stage then back to him. “Why not?”

“Test. Tomorrow.” His words were subtle but direct.

“It’s fine. We’re good.”

“Last thing I want to do is further distract you.” But the look on his face. The way his eyes scanned my body, and his lip tugged between his teeth. How could he be anything but the biggest distraction?

I wouldn’t be able to think about portfolios, and stock symbols. Trends or short selling. That look would be the one thing plaguing my thoughts. “It could be too late for that.”

Someone stood on the stage, announcing the next poet. “This next poet to the stage.” She paused. “As many words as I could use to describe her. They’d be antonyms in comparison to her presence.” The crowd responded with finger snaps. “So, sit back and let her arrangement of the alphabet make you wonder if you ever learned the letters correctly.”

My mouth spread into a wide smile, and I leaned across the table. “I see why you like it here.” It wasn’t the chants or the cheers I shouted out at a game. The numerical theories that haunted me inside my textbooks. It wasn’t a dude trying to snatch my attention on campus with a wack pick-up line. It was a dance with my intellect that had me bubbling inside.

“It can be dope. Sprite? Wings, fries. Or something less messy?”

“If you promise me you won’t spill it on me, it’ll work.” I snickered.

“A spilled drink got us here though.” He turned to the server and ordered.

Between the poet who made me question my existence in the room, and the guy who reminded me it was my existence that others should cherish, me and Chaz traded secrets. At least he told me about his past life, before stepping on Hillside.

“And they didn’t want you to go to an HBCU?” My mouth hung open. “My parents met here,” I finally admitted.

“A Black legacy. I like that.” He shared, “I’d want my kids, grand-kids, and everyone after to walk this campus. Better if my wife…”

I don’t know what he said after that. All I could imagine was him down on one knee. Making that little dream of mine a reality.

Light tapping on the table brought me back. Something of his own beat before he asked, “What made you pick finance?” His eyes were on me and not the guy on stage.

“My dad has his own business. Ever since I could remember he had me in his office counting money. The older I got, the more he involved me. I thought of all the things I could do, and that was the most natural.”

“So, when I’m making pennies from working a campaign, you’ll be able to help me maximize my income?”

“Why would governor, or president be making pennies?” I assumed as a political science major he had big aspirations.

“No. I want to work behind the scenes.” It made sense from what I knew about him. How laid back he was. “Eventually I could get on a big campaign, work for someone who has a huge budget. But till then, it’ll be peanuts.” He crooked his head to the side and asked, “Would that bother you?”

“If you were hiding behind your potential. Then yeah. I might be a little upset.”

“My potential.” He wiped his hand across a napkin. “Think you know enough about me to measure my potential?”

“Intelligent. Attractive. Kind. Charming. Those qualities seem like they’d take you where you need to be.”

“Attractive?” He licked his lips. “I don’t think anyone is winning elections based on their looks.”

“But it helps.”

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