Page 41 of Kisses Behind the Spotlight

“I like you better high. You was just giving me attitude in the truck. I’mma see what you be takin’ so you can take it more often.”

I giggled as Xain pulled the covers over me. Just like that, I fell asleep again. Towards the end of the flight, I woke up to the pilot requesting that we take our seats because we’d be landing soon. I slowly sat up, feeling my purse in my back. Xain must’ve brought my purse back as well because it was behind me in the bed. His nosy ass probably went through my shit like he said he would. I wouldn’t put anything past him.

The other comments he made while I was drowsy came flooding to the front of my memory. He called me beautiful. A jovial grin spread across my face, and I felt tingly on the inside again. Shaking those thoughts off, I scooted out of the bed. The door slid open again, and it was Xain.

“You already up?”

“I am,” I smiled up at him.

He nodded and walked off. No smile. Not an ounce of pleasantry in sight. Maybe I was dreaming when I thought Xain was being nice to me earlier.

Shrugging that off, I got buckled in and went through the mundane landing, deplaning, customs, and all of that with the rest of the gang. I was still a little groggy and wanted to eat and get back to bed. Once we got to the hotel, I went to my riad, ordered room service, took a long hot shower, and went back to sleep. Marrakech was five hours ahead, making it the perfect time to take my ass to bed to prepare for the long day ahead of me.

When I woke up the next morning, I got straight to work, roaming around the YSL Museum, scouting the perfect location, and making arrangements with the staff to bring my vision to life. Since I couldn’t get an assistant to accompany me on such short notice, Xain was assigned to chauffeur me around and help with whatever I needed. He put up a little fight, reminding Q that he was security, not a do-boy, before agreeing to help me. After leaving the YSL Museum, we traveled to the open-air markets in Jemaa el-Fnaa.

“We are going to have to park and walk to the souks from here because the streets get narrow,” Xain announced, placing the car in park.

“What are souks?” I inquired.

“That’s what they call the open-air markets in the Middle East,” Xain explained, exiting the truck.

I hopped out and looked around, taking in my surroundings. People moved between the cars and scooters, carrying shopping bags and baskets. Xain started walking, and I trucked along, following him beneath an archway that led into the souks.

Walking into the market was already an adventure. The warm terracotta walls took me back to middle school art class when we used to sculpt things out of clay. My eyes traced the woven canopies shading the worn stone streets the shops opened directly onto. When we arrived the night before, it was freezing, and I had on my jacket. However, the afternoon sun had us sitting at a beautiful seventy degrees, allowing me to wear my long cardigan.

A cacophony of scents wafted through the air, making my stomach rumble. Cumin, cinnamon, and orange blossoms were just a few I could pinpoint. A scooter buzzed past, and Xain gently placed his hand on my waist to push me to the side. My head snapped around at the feel of his touch, and our eyes locked.

“Alright, next time I’ll let them side swipe you,” he declared before I could respond.

That man was so hot and cold that the shit was agitating me more than anything else he’d done. I’d determined that it wasn’t the drugs and I wasn’t dreaming when Xain complimented me and carried me to the bed on the PJ. The memory was too vivid for it to have been drug-induced.

I spun back around, refusing to argue. We passed by vendors calling out to us until we finally reached a stall with fresh flowers. They were beautiful, and already wrapped. I picked out a few options, and Xain carried them.

“Henna!” I heard a woman yell from a stall we passed.

“I’ll be back for Henna before I leave Marrakech! I promise.”

She smiled and raised both of her thumbs.

“What are we buying all of this stuff for anyway?”

“Q didn’t tell you?” I sputtered.

“Tell me what?”

“He’s proposing tomorrow,” I bubbled. “If you would’ve come inside the museum, you would’ve heard the details. This proposal is going to be too cute. He has an unreleased song he made for the proposal and everything.”

“That’s what’s up. They have some real cute shit going on.”

“I don’t know. Q was giving me flashbacks of my insecure ex,” I admitted.

“How?”

“He spazzed out before giving Jameera a chance to explain. Then he brought us into it. He swore we knew what she was doing. Whole time she wasn’t doing shit,” I explained.

“Shiiiiiiit, Q better than me. You, Amill, and Jameera woulda got maced since I don’t put my hands on women. Or I would’ve paid a random to beat y’all asses one by one for playing on my top.”

“Since when do you not put your hands on women? I vividly remember getting slammed on a kitchen island,” I reminded Xain, pausing to look up at him.