I showered and scrubbed my feelings for CO off my body and watched them roll down the drown. I did my makeup, full and dramatic, tonight I didn’t want barely there, I wanted a full beat. I slipped into a white Versace dress that hugged my body perfectly and slipped my feet into white, Christian Louboutin, open toed pumps. It was time to go outside like Cardi B said. I grabbed my clutch purse, put my phone and keys inside, and spritzed some Louis Vuitton Les Sables Roses on my pulse points.
The hotel beach cabana looked even more beautiful at night then it did in the daytime. There were fire lit tiki torches that lit up the beach giving a smooth romantic ambiance. A saxophonist played Robin Thicke’s “Lost Without You,” as couples danced, and sat near the beach. People were holding hands, gazing into each other’s eyes, and wedding rings glimmered under the moonlight. You would think this was a couple’s resort. Everybody had somebody.
There was a fire pit in the center, and the fire burned high and bright. The orange embers illuminated the section. I walked down to the cabana slowly; there was no need to rush. A soft wind from the ocean lifted my hair slightly. When I made it to where sidewalk turned into sand, I removed my pumps and held them in my hand. I then walked through the warm sand,feeling my sadness evaporate into the earth beneath me. I found a section at the end of the bar and slid onto a bar stool.
“Hey beautiful lady, what can I get for you?” the bartender asked me.
“A lemon drop martini please,” I answered as the soft breeze blew my hair into my face. I dipped my head, and caught a strand between my fingers, I then tossed it behind me and allowed the wind to do the rest of the work of blowing it out of my face. After getting my martini I took a sip and closed my eyes as the lemon caused my lips to pucker. It was just the right amount of bitter and sweet.
“What do you think?” the bartender asked as I sipped the drink with my eyes closed.
“I think I want to take you back to Atlanta with me, because I have never tasted a lemon drop martini that was this damn good. What is the secret?” I asked him.
“I can’t have you going back and spilling my Dade County secrets to your Atlanta bartenders. You want me to make it like I make it you gotta come see me,” the bartender flirted. He was sort of cute and I was coming off crying over a married man, so I definitely wanted a little action.
“What’s your name?” I asked him sweetly as I admired his large full head of hair, slender build, and smooth caramel complexion. He looked like Allen Iverson in his prime. Skinny niggas had the biggest dicks, and I could tell that he was packing.
“Feta. What’s yours?” he questioned.
“Feta? Like the cheese? I’ll just call you cheese I ain’t calling your ass Feta. I might as well call you provolone or mozzarella,” I scoffed. The bartender laughed and I heard someone else laugh that made me quickly turn my head in his direction. It was the fine ass man from earlier.
“Hey again,” I spoke to him and he nodded his head in my direction.
“Don’t let me interrupt, I like to watch,” he smirked as he picked up his bourbon and bit his bottom lip.
I turned back to look at Feta, and he was looking at me like a starving man.
“My name is Trallis. It’s nice to meet you, Cheese,” I smiled at him.
“It’s nice to meet you too beautiful,” he winked at me before someone called for him and he went walking down to the end of the bar.
“You look too pretty to be drinking alone,” the fine man from earlier commented.
“Who said I’m alone?” I asked.
He glanced around dramatically, before saying, “I don’t know love, the empty seat beside you.”
I laughed despite myself because that really was a cute comeback.
“What’s your name I asked him?”
“Ajibola Akinfenwaa, but you can call me AK,” he smirked and his smile made my stomach do backflips.
“Come sit next to me and tell me your business since you want to be all up in mine,” I flirted and he stood up slowly allowing his full height to stretch. He had to be over six foot seven. I didn’t have to see my face to know that I was blushing. He walked over and sat in the seat next to me, and I wrapped my arms protectively around myself.
“You don’t have to do that, I’ll do it if you let me,” he remarked causing me to giggle shyly.
“I’m fine it’s just a little draft coming off the ocean,” I waved my hand at him dismissively.
“Why are American women so afraid to let a man take control?” he asked me quietly.
“We are used to being the man that takes control.” I shrugged as I reached for my drink and sipped slowly.
“I don’t know how long you’ve been here, but our men like to carry purses they call messenger bags, wear bedazzled jeans with rhinestones, and paint their nails. We are a little low on testosterone out here,” I shrugged.
“Luckily, I have more than enough to keep you warm,” AK said as he removed his short sleeved, white linen shirt, and draped it over my shoulders. He was left wearing a white tank top, denim jeans, and Louis Vuitton sneakers.
“You smell amazing,” I complimented as his scent enveloped me because his shirt was over me.
