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“It’s not personal.”
“I didn’t say it was. And I don’t feel that it is. I’m only making a statement.”
“Well, make sure you don’t forget to RSVP.”
Mmmph, the last time we RSVP’d to Pasha’s wedding it ended up getting cancelled because she had been allegedly kidnapped by a bunch of thugs as she was walking to her car coming out of the mall. They beat her senseless, then dumped her in a park. Thank God that early morning jogger found her when she did. There’s no telling what else might have happened to her. The crazy thing about that whole situation was that Pasha wouldn’t cooperate with the police investigation, which we all thought was kind of strange. But, whatever! Her life, her reasons. She kept saying she couldn’t remember anything, or that she just wanted to put the whole ordeal behind her. And she refused to talk about it with her own grandmother, or even Felecia, who she’s very close to. It was all very bizarre. Persia, with her overactive imagination, seems to think there’s a whole lot more to the story than meets the eye. But, I guess no one will ever know what really happened now. I’m just glad she’s alright. After the murders of her mother and father, the last thing Pasha’s grandmother needed was another tragedy.
It dawns on me that I haven’t spoken to her in months; that I haven’t even had a chance to see the baby since his birth. We may not be as close as we once were, but we still have love for each other. I decide to give her a call one day this week to meet for lunch, or maybe I’ll stop down at the shop and drop off an early birthday gift for her son since he’ll be turning one soon.
“The wedding isn’t until August. It’s the end of March, Mom. We still have time to RSVP.” Why she sent out her invitations so early is beyond me, but what do I care? Not my wedding.
“I know, but still. I want to make sure you girls are going to be there. Your Aunt Harriet really wants to see y’all.”
“Okay. Like I said, I haven’t really had a chance to look at the invitation, yet. But I’m sure we’ll most likely be there. If not, we’ll send a gift.”
“Well—”
“Mom, look, I gotta go. I’ll call you later.”
“Okay, then. Talk to you later. Love you.”
“I love you, too.” I hang up, walking over to the case to get the clutch, then putting it behind the counter. I go back over to help two of the four women in the store with picking out scarves and some accessories. When they’ve finished selecting their items, they follow me back to the register. I ring up their purchases separately, charging their respective credit cards, then hand them both copies of their receipts.
As I’m handing them their shopping bags, the door opens. And in walks a tall, beautiful dark-skinned man wearing designer shades, looking like he stepped off the cover of a magazine. He fills the store with his masculinity and the crisp, intoxicating scent of his cologne. My pussy immediately tingles, alerting me that this man is fuckable on the spot.
I eye him as he makes his way over to the counter. I smile at him. “Hi, welcome to Paradise Boutique. Can I help you find something?”
“Nah,” he says in his thick accent. It’s not a New York accent, I think, trying to figure out where he’s from. And it’s not Caribbean. And it’s definitely not a Southern drawl. Mmmm. “I’m here to pick up some kind of pocketbook for my moms.”
Connecticut, I bet. “Oh, yes, you mean the clutch,” I say, allowing my eyes to travel the length of his sexy-ass body. I can tell he’s hiding a chiseled, rock-hard chest and abs underneath his Ed Hardy thermal. The two customers leaving the shop admire him as well. Mmmph, mmmph...I’d like to fuck him real quick in the back. I pull the purse from out of the storage drawer. “You must be Desmond.”
He nods. “Yeah, that’s me.”
“How will you be paying for this?” I ask, hoping he says with a credit card so that I can request to see his ID. There’s something about him that has sparked my curiosity. And he hasn’t even said more than twenty words to me. I stare into his intense brown eyes when I ask this, then gaze at his juicy lips. My clit starts to throb.
“Cash,” he says, dashing any hopes of learning where he lives without flat-out asking him. I watch as he pulls out a thick knot of bills. “How much?” I tell him the price, ringing up his purchase. He peels twenty one-hundred dollar bills from his roll, then hands them to me. “Don’t worry about the change, beautiful.”
Beautiful? Is this fine motherfucker flirting with me?
Girl, get over yourself. He’s only being friendly. He probably calls every woman he comes into contact with that. I tilt my head, take him in as I hand him his change, insisting he take it. “That’s kind of you, but I’d prefer you...”
“How much is the brown bag?” one of the women who walked in earlier asks as she walks up to the counter.
“Oh, that bag’s fifteen-hundred dollars.”
“Whew, that’s alright. What about the smaller bag?” I tell her it’s six-hundred. She decides she wants it; asks if I accept American Express. I tell her we do. Then bring my focus back to the hunk of chocolate in front of me as I wrap the clutch and slide it into its silk bag, then put it in a box along with his five dollars. Girlfriend asks me another question about another bag and right now I wish her ass would walk up out of here, or shut the fuck up.
“Give me a sec. I’ll be right over to get it out of the case for you as soon as I finish up with this customer.”
The dark-chocolate man standing in front of me grins at me. There’s something alluringly sexy in his crooked grin that makes me want to forget I’m a lady, and fuck him right up on top of this counter for all to see. For a fleeting moment, I forget I am in my store and imagine him making love to my cunt and my clit and my erect nipples with his tongue. Imagine feeding him my juices, riding his dick, then sucking him off until he shoots his hot load down into my throat. I imagine all of this, forgetting I have other customers in the store. I blink back the images. Bring my focus back to the mystery man in front of me. He is staring at me. I look directly into his eyes and a shiver passes through me.
I frown, raising my brow. “What. Why are you looking at me like that? Is there something wrong?”
He shakes his head, pulling a card out of the holder. He studies it. “Nah, I’m chillin’, takin’ everything in. So, you own this spot?”
I nod, putting the box into a shopping ba
g, then handing it to him. “Yes, I do. How’d you know that?”
