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“Come on. Let’s get you to bed,” she insisted, standing up from the couch and pulling me with her so that we could head to my bedroom hand in hand. And once we were there, she made it her duty to get me out of my clothes, but not exactly in a sexual way.
It was more just like a… tender and caring gesture.
An unspoken“I got you”that I never knew I needed because I’d never experienced that shit before.
The exact kind of energy that made it difficult for me not to fall hard and fast for the woman who was starting to feel less like a moment and more like The One.
To be real, that realization startled me a bit. And I suppose that was why it suddenly became a challenge for me to fall asleep, even with Yani knocked out in my arms. But when I finally did, it almost felt like a sign when I found myself caught up in a dream that featured her as my wife and the mother of our athletically gifted children, vivid thoughts of us enjoying life as a family almost making it impossible for me to envision any other outcome by the time I woke up the next morning and discovered Yani was already sitting up in bed.
“You aight?” I asked, sitting up myself as Yani glanced my way to answer, “Yeah, I just had a weird dream.”
“We were married, huh?”
“What?No,” she giggled. “I was running the 100-meter hurdles in the Olympics, but my only competition was that weird-looking bird the Skyhawks call a mascot.”
Hearing that made me feel goofy for being so open with my assumption, especially once I saw the teasing grin on Yani’s face when she giddily asked, “What areyoutalking about?”
“Nothin’.”
“Something,” she pressed, scooting closer towards me to ask, “Were you dreaming about wifing me, Lance Hawkins?”
“Nah, we were already past that,” I answered honestly. “Our kids were going crazy at their school’s Field Day. We were hyping them up and talking shit to the other parents.”
The dream had felt so real that it was hard for me not to smile as I thought back on it, Yani once again giggling as she commented, “That definitely sounds like some shit we would do,” before inquiring, “Were they girls or boys?”
“Two girls. Both looked just like you.”
For whatever reason, that information made Yani inhale a sharp gasp that I was getting ready to ask her about until she voluntarily explained, “Any dream I’ve ever had of myself as a mother, I’ve always had two girls. And the fact that they were in your dream too is kinda…”
“Lit,” I finished for her, only for Yani to suggest, “I was actually gonna say scary.”
Frowning, I asked, “What you scared of?”
“I don’t know,” she whined. “You don’t think that’s wild?”
“I mean, a little,” I admitted. “But I’m not opposed to dropping two of them thangs off in you.”
With that, I leaned over to kiss her neck as she playfully groaned, “Wow. How romantic,” giggling once I took a nibble of her skin that made her warn, “You better stop.” And only because I knew today’s practice was going to be hell did I restrain myself, choosing to save my energy for the day that turned out to be a lot more mentally demanding than physical.
Since we were in the thick of the season, most of our time in the gym was spent doing recovery work instead of any sort of heavy lifting. But the hours-long film sessions that followed was practically like a strenuous training session for the brain, leaving a bit of a fog by the time Coach had finished breaking down every single one of our defensive possessions and calling out a few people in the process.
Thankfully, I wasn’t one of those people. But as a veteran leader, it was partly my responsibility to help those guys figure it out so that they wouldn’t make the same mistakes again. And that was how I’d ended up at the facility a lot later than I’d expected to be; though it was kind of nice to pull up at the crib and see Yani’s car already parked in the driveway.
When I finally walked inside, she damn near bum-rushed me with a box in her hand singing, “Look what came todayyyy,” all but pressing it into my chest for me to accept it. And even when I did, it took me a second to realize what I was holding. Though once I figured it out, I could only smirk as I told her, “I’m surprised you ain’t open it already.”
“They’re not my shoes,” Yani insisted with a frown that had me quick to argue, “Kinda.”
I mean, they might not have been her size, but they definitely hadherwritten all over them. And because of that, she was almost more anxious to see them than I was when she urged, “Just open it.”
Instead of wasting time with scissors, I set the box down on the kitchen island and ripped through the cardboard with my hands. Then I pulled out the shoebox and made a show of getting it open while Yani stood nearby holding her breath, the moment that they were fully unveiled making her squeal with excitement as I held up the Air Max 90 and admitted, “Yo, I can’t even fake. These are hard as fuck.”
Obviously, I’d had an idea of what they looked like and had even seen the same colorway on Yani’s Air Forces. But having my personal pair in my hand and seeing all the little details she’d put in in person had me beyond impressed. So much so that I couldn’t wait to show her work off to the masses.
With her permission,and creative direction, I took a quick video that I posted on my Instagram story with the caption,“Special Delivery.”And to no surprise, it wasn’t long before my inbox was full of people either complimenting the shoes or asking me where I’d gotten them from, one person even going as far as offering to buy my pair off of me for any price.
Of course, these were too special for me to even consider something like that. But seeing people that enthused about Yani’s custom design only made me more excited to share, “It’s like, hella niggas in my DMs right now wanting the details on these kicks.”
Like she was surprised to hear it, Yani’s eyes went wide as she peeked up from the shoes she’d been busy admiring and asked, “Wait. Really?”
