She just wanted five minutes alone with him. But it seemed that jealousy would never allow that to happen. She was scrutinized, watched constantly, and interjection was often made if she and the One ever enjoyed each other’s company too much.
Ridicule, criticism, and flat out threats were made in front of him and anyone else around, to the point where she was nearly ready to just give up. Something about the way he would hold her gaze, smile knowingly, and keep including her in things, would not allow her to move on just yet.
Shortly after the ride, the distraction became nothing more than a bad memory. Despite the fact that she knew he wasn’t the real thing, he’d behaved like the dog he was and managed to steal a few tears from her. She moved on quickly though, moved out of her friends’ place, and got a cute little studio on the other side of the city.
She visited them often. They were still her friends, and she did love them all. And as luck would have it, he would manage to be there when she was. She saw him less frequently than when she lived with everyone, but the upside was they weren’t watching her as closely; they weren’t attempting to make her look foolish anymore. And she felt that desire, that hunger and thirst, that she believed only he could quench, return. If only she could make it happen…
The five minutes turned into nearly an hour one sunny, April day. The girls in the apartment were smoking, a habit she had given up when she moved into her own place a few weeks before. As terrible as it was, it was still a bit tempting so she went outside. She was standing at the top of the stairs, breathing deeply the fresh, spring air, when the door opened and he joined her outside. He nonchalantly posted up on the opposite railing, expressing how much he hated smoking.
“Why do you think I left? Quitting is hard enough without being around other smokers,” she stated, looking him square in the face, daring him to make eye contact.
“It’s a nasty ass habit, and you never should have taken it up in the first place.” He finally made eye contact and said, “Girl, you know better than that.”
She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his, and she couldn’t help grinning from ear to ear.
We’re alone. Finally.
He doesn’t admit to this often, but he is an exceptionally handsome man. His eyes are wide, intense, two shades lighter, yet still richer than milk chocolate. His smile can drop panties, she calls it a PDS, and it’s sexy as fuck. The freckles on his face dance across his caramel colored skin, and beckon her to kiss each one. His frame and stature are manly and formidable, she feels completely safe in his presence. She had never been more attracted to anyone in her life, then or since.
He switched sides at the top of the stairs so he could stand next to her while they talked. His elbow kept bumping hers as they leaned on the railing, looking out at nothing in particular, sharing what they wanted out of life, and how they saw their futures. He told her how everything he did, he did to provide for his. He didn’t have to try to be a good man, he already was one.
In a city where you grow up quicker than most, he knew that being a man was much more than being able to make babies. He knew it meant raising them, loving them, and caring for them with whatever means one possessed. He had the determination, the perseverance, and the strength to do all that was necessary and more.
She listened to him more than she actually spoke. He was astonishing. Exceptional. She didn’t know why he was opening up to her, but she cherished that moment to this very day. He let her in. He let her see the real him, not the tough, hardcore exterior, but a part of his heart that was vulnerable and authentic. And he didn’t even try to kiss her before they went back inside.