Page 14 of Thirst

“You're not a fan?”

“No, I am,” she says enthusiastically. “It’s nice to see a man who cares about his appearance—and the gold doesn't even look like you got it from the mall. It looks real.”

“Oh, it very much is,” I say, maybe a little too confidently.

“I believe you. What do you do for a living?”

“I’m a casino owner.”

“Wow, really? Which one?”

“Black Coins.”

“Oh, I've been there,” she says with raised brows. “It’s really nice. You said you're the owner? Like the owner, owner?”

I don't know why, but I like that she's so interested in me. It means I'm not the only one dying to learn more during this conversation.

“Yeah, I own it, own it,” I say pridefully. “I sign all the checks that go to my employees. I do all the taxes. I hired every vendor manager. It’s one hundred percent mine.”

She bites her lip before whispering, “Damn.” When I smirk at her awe, she clears her throat and wipes the look off her face. “I mean, that’s dope. It’s nice to see Black men owning businesses and making money the right way around here. We need more of it. See, I knew there was something different about you. I'm impressed.”

“Thank you. How about you? How’d you get into this line of work?”

“Needed money. I've been trying to be an artist for a while now, but my art seems to cost more money than it makes, and when you need cash to sustain your life, you do what you gotta do.”

“What kind of art?”

“I love to paint. Abstract stuff, mostly, but I do more when I'm feeling inspired, which is rare these days. Inspiration is fleeting when you're always thinking about money.”

“I get that. Are you well-paid here?”

“Some nights are better than others. The weekdays are a drag.”

“I'm surprised to hear you say that. With one look at you on stage, I assumed you’d be the main attraction. From the moment I walked in, all I could see was you. You cast quite the spell.”

Her smile is wide and full this time, reaching her eyes and casting out the darkness in the booth.

“You don't even compliment like most men. Thank you. That was very sweet. So what’s the catch, Amari?”

“What do you mean?”

“Come on. Nobody looks this good and acts this nice when they don't even know the person. Especially in a place like this. So, what’s up? You looking for a Pretty Woman type of situation? I'm not exactly Julia Roberts.”

“Not at all,” I answer. “I'm just interested in you and trying to figure out why, because it’s more than just your beauty. There are plenty of beautiful women here, but there's something about you in particular. I understand your need to protect yourself by being cynical, especially in your line of work. But there's nothing nefarious going on. I just saw you on stage and felt mesmerized by you. You piqued my interest and I couldn't fight the need to meet you.”

Aaliyah starts to smile again, but before it can reach her eyes, it fades out as she looks over my shoulder.

“Well, if I don't get up and dance right now, the meeting will be over,” she says. “My boss doesn't like when people sit in the booths with no dancing going on.”

Out of curiosity, I look over my shoulder to see what just happened, and I'm reminded of why I came here in the first place. Standing next to the bar is Von with his eyes glued to Aaliyah, and it’s clear that he's the reason she feels the need to get up. He’s staring at her with that same intimidating expression he had at the casino, the one he thinks will scare the world into doing whatever he wants, but all it makes me want to do is gouge his eyes out. The last time I saw him, I was draining his veins, making his skin pale. He was all but gone, now he’s trying to act tough because I let him live. I love Shawn, but I should've never listened to him. When I see how Aaliyah reacts to him, it makes the desire as hot as the surface of the sun, but I can't let the emotion show in front of Aaliyah.

“Ah. Then you should dance. I'm not quite ready to leave you,” I say as I turn back around and act like he’s not even there even though I'm bristling inside.

Aaliyah grins as she stands up. Slowly, she positions herself in front of me, preparing to straddle me and give me a lap dance, but I quickly hold my hand in the air.

“No. No need for that. Just dance in front of me,” I tell her. “I want to see you.”

A bit of awkward nervousness splashes across her face at first, which I have to admit makes the corners of my mouth turn up, but as “One in a Million” by Aaliyah blares over the speakers, she slowly starts to move. She makes it sexy, grinding her hips and rubbing her hands all over her body. I watch her in absolute awe, my eyes following the path of her hands until I've gazed at every inch of her, still stuck on how I feel about the sight of her. The feeling of first seeing her on the pole hasn't gone away. The intense, burning desire to touch her warms my entire body, but I don't let myself give into it. I have to focus in order to find out why she's affecting me so much. So once I've taken in her body, I let my gaze linger on her eyes. They're beautifully dark brown, and I focus my attention there, listening in on her thoughts.