AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Yes.”
“Foo Fighters?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“How about Jay-Z?”
“Outkast, Dr. Dre, Snoop, Mos Def, and J. Cole, to name a few.” He stirred his oatmeal, eyes on her. “Why does that surprise you? I know you know who the top hip-hop consumers in this country are, and I’m still darker than a good portion of that demographic.”
She nodded. “I do, but before I got to know you, you seemed more buttoned-up. Like you listen to Debussy and Vivaldi and hiss at anyone who dared to play Drake in your presence.”
A laugh had him nearly choking on his spoon. “I pray I become that crotchety in my old age. You’ll hiss with me?”
“I’ll even add a side-eye and a couple of whippersnappers.”
“Good thing we have a porch. Something to tell the neighborhood kids to get off of.” He jabbed an imaginary cane and altered his voice by roughly fifty years.“Hey! Hey! Get off my porch with ya’ doggone newfangled Devil music!”
She added,“Then, as faint as a raindrop, one will hear the lyrical notes of a ‘concerto’ about licking a ‘pussy’ and a ‘crack’ playing in the background through our vintage Bluetooth speaker.”
He snorted. “Of course. It’s our anniversary. It’s a special occasion.”
“Gotta bring out the classics.”
Eyes locked with hers, he devoured spoonfuls of oatmeal, much like he’d devoured her for the last several hours, and she realized he’d been smiling since they woke up that morning.
So had she.
“But back to what you were saying,” she redirected. “About you and your musical interests.”
“I was just going to add that I’ve always believed that there are nuances between being a U.S. citizen and an American,” he said. “I think being a U.S. citizen is tied to residence. Being American is tied to identity.”
“And it’s different in Turkey?”
“From what I can remember. See, in Turkey, the culture has Eastern European, Caucasian, Middle Eastern, Central Asian, and Mediterranean influences. Your neighbor could share your culture but look nothing like you. Here, it’s sort of in reverse. This country is young, massive, and less ethnically homogenous, so no distinct shared culture exists. When people see me, the first thing they try to do is put me in a box—Middle Eastern? Greek? Armenian? Once they’ve got me somewhere, they make inferences about my taste in music, clothing,” he scanned her, licking his lips, “and even the kind of women I’m attracted to, my input not necessary.”
“I did that to you.” She pointed her spoon at him. “I thought you approached me because you wanted a ride on the Chocolate Express.”
“Is it weird for me to be attracted to you?”
“It’s not unusual that you find me attractive, but the fact that you pursued me the way you did triggers the need to put my guard up. Youcouldbe serious, or you could be looking to experiment, like a certain male model I know.”
His brows dipped. “Who?”
“There’s a model who might have expressed an interest in sticking his ‘cock’ in my…ahem…ass.”
“Who?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Like hell, it doesn’t. You’re my wife.”
“He’s harmless. It’s how the industry is. You have to build up a thick skin. I’ve had all sorts of people come on to me. Once, I did a shoot with another model from the agency who used to represent me before Estelle went independent. We shared a hotel room. I woke up to her…fingers.”
He set down his spoon.“What?”
“I stopped her before she got anywhere. She was drunk, and she apologized the next day.” She’d been barely twenty at the time, and it had been all about pleasing her family. Namely, her mother. The last thing she’d wanted was to ruffle feathers. “Nothing happened, and I was fine.”
“Rai, I won’t pretend that I like what you do,” he said. “I respect the more artistic forms of it, but when you talk about modeling, it’s always in a very matter-of-fact way. When you talk about science, medicine, and research, it’s with passion and curiosity. You’re passionate about the things you love.”
