Pursue. Conquer. Destroy
By Yvette Danielle
My mother, Rojean, warned me to never buy shoes for a man because they’d be the ones he’d have on when he walked out of my life. It sounded crazy, but incited my obsession with a guy’s feet… well, more so their shoes. I don’t have a fetish or anything like that, but for me to allow a man anywhere near me physically, he must have nice – no – perfect feet that are clean, smooth, crust-less, fungus/corn free, non-funky and well-maintained. And his shoes had to be the same way. That was my thing.
I never predicted meeting someone who would make me throw these preconceived notions out the window. But it happened. This man stole my breath at first sight and I’d been winded ever since. I remember every detail of our first meeting.
It was ‘hump day’ Wednesday, and I had stepped out of my windowless office for a required dose of Vitamin D. I’d had enough of closed-in cubicles and airheads smooching on upper management’s behind in the name of team building. The sunrays on my face were like baby kisses. I shrouded myself in the natural beauty I encountered on my lap around Center City Philadelphia’s business district. The fresh air and change of scenery cured my claustrophobic outbreak and I headed over to Devon & Blakely to address my hunger pains.
“Those are some really nice shoes you’re wearing.”
The words were spoken whisper-soft directly behind my ear from a silky smooth tenor voice. It initiated a tremor throughout my body that I somewhat recovered from before looking over my shoulder. The warmest brown eyes and most amazing smile I’d ever seen on a chocolate man greeted me.
I gasped.
“Are they Michael Kors?”
“No, DVF.”
His forehead wrinkled slightly; he looked inquisitive.
“DVF?”
I looked down at my 4 1/2 inch black, t-strap leather Uffie heels, wrapped in leopard print calf hair around the toe band. “Diane von Furstenberg.”
“I’ve seen something like them in Neiman Marcus.”
I wrinkled my nose. “You work in the shoe department?”
His laugh was joyous and playful. “You’re funny.”
“Yeah, seeing as how I only shop the window at that place. These are from Nordstrom Rack.”
“Well you definitely have great taste. Those stilettos look good on you.”
“These are booties, but-”
“Now you’re speaking my language.”
He had to blow it.
My eyes rolled around in a circle. “You take care.” I sidestepped around him to leave.
“Wait. Hold up, please.” His buttery velvet voice saved me from moving. I envisioned planting my mouth on his full, succulent lips for a kiss… They looked so… soft…
“Yes?”
It was safer to view the Exit sign hanging above the door than to look at him.
“I’m sorry, did I say something wrong?”
“Your booty reference was offensive.”
“My apologies, truce. May I start over?” He extended his hand, palm facing upward for me to take.
After that offhanded remark, I questioned if it was even clean. As if hearing my thoughts, he turned it over so I could inspect the other side or pop him like a child. That made me smile. He had clean, manicured fingernails and clearly took pride in his appearance. I shook his hand. He shined his bright, hundred-watt smile. I gasped again.
“Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For another chance to speak to you, and get it right this time. Can I buy your lunch?”
“Well, now you’re speaking my language.”
We laughed. As we waited in line to order, I overlooked my hand naturally intertwined with his, like it belonged. I allowed it a few minutes longer. He squeezed warmth into my hand.
“Do you have time to eat here?”
“That depends.”
“On what?”
“With… who? I don’t even know your name.”
He licked his lips and grinned. “Right, sorry. We haven’t done that yet.”
He dropped my hand and I regretted opening my mouth.
Turning to face me, he said, “Hi, how you doing? Tt’s so nice to meet you before we eat together. My name is Randolph and… you are?”
I smiled. “Hi, Randolph. My name is Veronica.”
“O’ Veronica, Veronica… O’ Veronica girl,” he sang.
It was the chorus to the 1985 rap song by Bad Boys that had been a pain in my ass during my adolescent days.
I gave Randolph Rojean’s signature look. That was strike two.
“What? Oh, come on. How could I possibly resist? Your name is a set-up!”
He was too loud for my taste.
“I swear I meant nothing by the jawn. Honestly, I come in peace.”
“Riiiight.”
“Can I help you?” the woman behind the sandwich counter asked, ending our conversation.
Randolph grabbed my hand for the third time in ten minutes. “Yeah, we’re ready.”
I peeked down at his feet, gasped once more, and then looked up. Beaming.
“Nice shoes yourself.”
The remainder of the day was a blur. I recalled exchanging numbers before we parted ways and returning from lunch late. Randolph captivated my thoughts. I couldn’t concentrate.
That man was fo-ine. Milk chocolate skin, close-cropped fade, goatee, an athlete’s body, toned and chiseled muscles covered in fitted navy pants, a crisp white button-up shirt… and bulges in all the right places.
Yaaaass, honey, yaaaass!
Weeks passed like running water. The closeness between Randolph and I progressed through changing seasons. Although he worked nearby, I didn’t know which building. He told me he was a surveillance analyst whose job was important to Wall Street. Whatever he did paid him nicely. The tailored Italian suits, Blue Sole Shoes with matching sock combinations and designer clothes he often purchased at Boyd’s declared his job was serious. His wealth status never intimidated me nor did I feel inferior around him because of it.
We called each other throughout the workday, often sneaking into conference rooms for additional time. Our discussions were enlightening. We talked about five year goals: where we would be, if we would marry, have kids, our dream vacations and possibly, traveling together. Randolph was well-rounded. We talked politics, African-American history and even tackled the subject of religion. Neither of us was turned off by the other’s beliefs, morals, or values.
He worked crazy hours. It kept him pretty busy and unavailable for weeks sometimes. The scarce moments we found together nurtured my desire to be near him but, romantically, he was lacking. My mind wrestled over whether this resulted from his work ethic or me holding out. Our intellectual foreplay kept things alive, but also fanned my anticipation for more time together.
One thing I could credit him with was patience. The more I made him wait, the more Randolph kept after me. It brought such satisfaction knowing he would continue his pursuit until he earned the prize he desired: to consume me entirely. He was not giving up until he did. I was not giving in until he earned it.
Despite Randolph’s constant attempts to entice me, I held firm in my resistance to physical intimacy with him. Sex simply complicated things and clouded judgment. Especially good sex. I wanted romantic expressions without lustful intentions and knew that was not asking too much.
“The only time women go out and buy flowers for a man is for his funeral.”
The dialogue between us was loose and easy as we enjoyed dinner together at my house.
Randolph pointed his fork in my direction. “I’m serious. Y’all don’t buy them for us any other time. But you want to receive them.”
“And we should-”
“On what basis? Because you’re a woman? A female?”
“Absolutely.”
“Bullshit.” He laughed.
He stuffed his face with more of the four-cheese lasagna I cooked with chicken, hamburger, and a sprink
ling of pepperoni and spinach. The combination was melt-in-your-mouth delicious. Homemade Italian bread and garden salad completed our meal.
“You don’t have entitlement to flowers just because you’re female. Hell, if anything that should be why we get them more than you. Because you came from us!”
“Are you serious right now?”
“I am. You were taken from my rib.”
“You were birthed from my womb.”
“Had it not been for me, there would be no you.”
I set my fork down on that one. “If God had not brought wisdom into the world when he did – in the form of woman – there is no telling if you would still exist. Y’all would be extinct, and why? Because man cannot live without us. True. Statement.”
The gleam in Randolph’s eyes told me he was as amused with my banter as I was by his rhetoric.
“Look woman, all I’m saying is from time to time it would be nice to get treated the way you expect treatment. Buy me some flowers for a change. Bring me a stem. Give me mine while I’m alive to enjoy their smell and appreciate the sender.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Now see, you ain’t right.” He took another forkful. “Mmmn.”
“What do you mean?”
“If I came through that door tonight with your favorite flowers and gave them to you, what would you do?” He picked up his Heineken bottle and took a long swig.
My cheeks grew warm and I struggled to contain the smile bubbling inside my mouth.
“Well,” he prodded.
I lifted my head. “First, I would thank you for how incredibly sweet and thoughtful you were in doing so.”
“What else?” he probed further, bedroom eyes watching me intensely.
“I, uh… I don’t know…”
“Yeah, you do.”
Silence. His words shifted the air current. It now felt warmer and lighter.
“You would want me to continue doing it, wouldn’t you? Because you like it… right?”
I diverted my eyes from his sexy features. Picking up my glass of Castello del Poggio Moscato, a hard-to-find favorite of mine he brought for our meal, I took a moment to let its exotic fruitiness dance across my tongue.
Damn! This man was wearing me down.
“You didn’t answer me. You like it, right?”
The deep and sultry tone of his voice hung in the air like dense fog at daybreak, thick, and heavy. My insides were moist. I nodded like a bobble head. The flickering candlelight in the center of the table crackled with the electricity and passion kindling between us.
I tried a series of Kegal crunches to quiet the pounding from down under. But my vajayjay danced to her own conga beat. Randolph got up and walked over to me. I froze. My legs were still shaking.
“Dance with me, Veronica.”
He took my hand and gently pulled me to my feet. Slipping his left arm around my waist, he twirled me away from the dining room into my spacious living room. I was more than tipsy. The alcohol – mixed with his ridiculously sexy cologne – had my head whirling like those eighties spin top toys. How did I get this lucky? I nestled my head onto his chest and listened as Ronnie Jordan fingered his guitar through my Bose system. The colors, music, and magic of that moment overwhelmed me.
“I like you,” he whispered.
I had cotton mouth.
“I want you to know that I’m ready to do whatever it takes to make you mine. So if that means giving up my flowers to you, then I’m ready to do it.”
I giggled. “I think you missed your calling as a comedian.”
Randolph’s chuckle vibrated inside my ear. “I’ll stick to my day job. It pays the bills and will allow me to take really good care of you.”
Oh, how I loved the sound of that! My arms tightened around his neck and I pulled him as close to me as humanly possible with clothes on. His erection pressed against my inner thigh. I yearned for all of him inside of me.
“Tell me what you want me to do right now.”
How precisely on point he was with my thoughts freaked me out. I trembled.
“I want to taste you.” Randolph nuzzled my neck, and then covered my lips with his.
What did he just say?
God… who am… my name is…
Now it was on! My vajayjay turned into an engine firing all cylinders at full throttle. No amount of Kegels was going to work now. She was overly vocal about wanting wood – lots of it. Her lips screamed, Just give it to me, give it to me, give it to me. Give. It. To. Me!
I shoved myself away from Randolph and raced to the bathroom, pushing the door behind me a little too hard. It banged shut and I jumped and screamed.
A sharp knock was followed by the turning door knob. “Veronica, let me in. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. It’s okay. Really. I scared myself when the door slammed.” My embarrassed chuckle became drunken laughter.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, I’m good. Just feeling silly right now. Give me a second, please.”
The three second pause felt like an eternity.
“Okay.”
I relaxed and exhaled once his footsteps departed from the door. Girl, get a grip. What was wrong with me?
I knew.
I wanted this man.
Randolph was different. Special. He was unlike previous guys I had dated or been involved with, and I wanted to share more than just my body with him. I wanted to share my heart and divulge my all without having to spread my legs. Tie up my feelings, wrap them in a nice neat bow, and offer it to him as a sign of my purpose and serious intentions. But I didn’t want to scare him. And I wasn’t into Netflix and Chill.
Sex was off the table.
Which is why little V was cutting a whole fool right now. She was hearing none of it. Opportunity had knocked against my leg and she wanted to open and let it come on in. I had to shut her down.
Randolph’s coat was in his hand when I re-entered the living room. He walked over and swept me into his arms. We spoke at the same time.
“You’re leaving?”
“Are you okay?”
Then together, “Yes.”
I moved out of his embrace.
“I’m sorry. I have to leave now. I got to go handle something.”
“Is everything all right?”
“If it’s not, it will be.”
The way his nostrils flared and eyes went cold made me shutter.
He squeezed me tight. “I don’t want to leave you like this. Are we cool?”
He was slowly melting my heart.
“Yeah. Go handle your business, but give me a call later so I know you’re good.”
“I will.”
I had not heard back from Randolph since that night. I distracted myself with busy work to keep my mind off him, but he was never too far from my thoughts. When he finally contacted me to spend time with him Sunday afternoon, I was both relieved and excited. He showed up at my door holding a huge, bouquet of Calla lilies. I grabbed them from him.
“These are amazing! Thank you so much!”
I headed into the kitchen for a vase, leaving him at the door. He closed it and trailed behind me.
“You’re welcome.” His tone was short and his eyes were vacant.
“What’s the matter?”
“Nothing, I’m cool. You?”
“Great, I’ve been working and keeping busy with other projects. So, did everything turn out okay that night you had to leave?”
“What? Oh, that. Yeah, it was nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
Geez! What was eating him?
“What’s up? What you want to talk about?” he asked.
“Whatever’s bothering you for starters. You look like you lost your best friend or found out you are the father.” My Maury impersonation was pretty good.
A half-hearted smile crossed his face as he looked away, but stayed quiet.
“What’s going on?”
“Family stuff. You know how it is.”
I didn’t know, but clearly he wasn’t ready to talk so I wouldn’t pry. “I have something for you,” I told him.
Now he was cheesing.
“You do? Give it to me then.”
“Right now?”
“Hell yeah!”
We laughed.
“Close your eyes,” I whispered.
“Hold up. I’m not into that bondage shit.”
“Shut up!”
“For real, you aren’t about to tie me up or handcuff me are you?”
“No.”
“Burn my beautiful skin with candle wax.”
This was the Randolph I knew. “Stop!”
“Pull out a whip or something like that to beat my ass.”
“If you keep talking, I might.”
“Don’t try to put nothing in my ass, V.”
“Shut up, Randy.”
“What I tell you about calling me that? That’s not my name. You play too much.”
“You talk too much.”
“Then give me some and I’ll shut up.”
“Boy, you drawn! Close your eyes.”
“I mean it, woman, don’t stick nothing in my-”
“Okay!”
This was my happiness. He was Martin to my Gina. It was nonstop comedy all the time.
He finally shut his eyes. I ran and retrieved his surprise from the bedroom. Randolph’s back was to me when I returned.
“Okay, you can open your eyes.”
I was standing in front of him holding a ceramic sneaker vase. It was designed and sculpted after his favorite pair of high top, brown leather Tom Fords. A sprawling arrangement of tangerine chrysanthemums intermixed with heavenly scented mini gardenias were inside.
“You don’t strike me as the roses type.” I extended the vase to him. “These are for you.”
His reaction was worth every hour I spent in that pottery class. Randolph is an alpha male with a Type A personality to boot. This gift had to be God’s work through me for him to like it. His teeth glistened like diamonds.
“These are my flowers?”
“Mums the word.”
He took the vase from me, inspecting and admiring the handiwork.
“Tom Ford.” He chuckled. “Nice… is that your signature on the base?”
My chin jutted out with pride. “Yep, I made it for you.”
“Word, when did you have time to do this?”
The Ex Chronicles Page 4