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The woman in yellow didn’t appear to be the type who’s happy to be in a man’s arms simply for a good time or for his bank account. I was drawn to her, but she never tried to seduce me. At the same time, there was steel inside her, making her somewhat distant. But most of all, her eye contact was fierce, ridden with a story that seemingly no one would listen to. She appealed to me like she—
Needed me.
Fuck… she’s really playing with my head.
Her smell still surrounds me, like she was here. No matter where I look, her eyes haunt me. And much as I don’t want to be shallow, I can’t get the vision of her boobs out of my mind.
How the hell am I supposed to sleep with my mind running like a jet? And there’s nothing stealthy about it!
I sit up, rubbing my face. I’m spending the night in what looks like a honeymoon suite, with a four-posted bed, intricate curtains, and vases of roses. But sadly, the long white pillow next to me is the closest thing I have to a bride in this cold Kenyan night.
Unable to find anything else to do at two in the morning, I decide to annoy my brother. It’s daytime in L.A., so he shouldn’t be that annoyed.
Rob answers my call, “Clay, brother. Hang on a sec!” I then hear him telling his three-year-old son Graeme to keep playing on his own.
Not so long ago, that man’s world revolved around water speed and design ratios. As if it happened overnight, nowadays, he’s happy to swap them with talks of stroller efficiency and maternity yoga.
Graeme blabbers sulkily to his dad, insisting that Rob carry him.
“Hey, have I caught you at a bad time?” I say.
“No. No. It’s fine.” Judging by the rustling noise and the closeness of Graeme’s voice, I think Rob has given in to his son’s demand. Then he says to me, “Hey, I thought there was no cell reception where you are.”
His voice reminds me so much of our father’s. And he’s got his Captain America look from him, too. Rob is fair and blonde, the opposite of me, although we both have similar blue eyes.
“I’m still in Nairobi.”
“Seriously? Problem rebooking your flights?”
“I didn’t even try.”
“Why?”
“I kinda don’t feel like cheering on the lions.”
My big brother scoffs. “Since when do the African lions need cheering on? It sounds like you’re the one who needs cheering up.”
“Robson, my brother, tell me if this is a bad idea…” I stand by the window next to my bed, peeking at the empty courtyard below.
“It’s a bad idea, Clay,” Rob answers emphatically.
I chuckle. “Hey, you won’t believe who I saw here at the Giraffe Manor.”
“You’re at the Giraffe Manor? Man! Matty is going to kill you!”
“He knows about this place?”
“Yeah.”
Matty, our nine-year-old brother, whom people usually conclude is either Rob’s or my son, has always dreamed about going to Africa. He was pretty disappointed that I didn’t take him on this trip.
“Don’t tell him, please. I’ll take him next time.”
“So, who did you see?”
“Donovan Fletcher.”
“Fletcher Tech Donovan Fletcher?”
