by Mia Madison
When he stepped back, I nearly pouted. It felt so good in his arms, I didn’t want the moment to end.
“How are you?” He gestured to the left and the right, his eyebrow cocked in question.
“I’m good,” I replied, pointing right as I moved in that direction. “Thanks for inviting me out. How are you?”
“I’m great,” he said. “And thank you, this is my pleasure. I’m always down for beautiful vibes with a beautiful woman.”
We talked casually, about what we’d done over the weekend. I spent mine cleaning up around the house, finally completing huge loads of laundry I’d avoided for weeks, and catching up on some of my favorite shows. He’d spent time with his family while they ribbed him.
“What’d they rib you on?” I asked, both in jest and curiosity.
“Marriage.” He exhaled a playfully dramatic sigh, shrugged, and rolled his eyes. “My mother’s biological clock has revived. She’s aching to be a grandmother.”
“Why isn’t she?”
“I’m not married.”
“Do you have any siblings?”
“My sister is sixteen. She’d better not beat me to the child-rearing stage.”
I was impressed. “That’s quite an age difference.”
He nodded. “Gibson is definitely spoiled. She doesn’t have to share with anyone.”
“That’s a cute name.”
“My mom’s a fan of unique names and Debbie Gibson.”
“And who are you named after?”
“My dad.” He looked ahead. “Their anniversary is coming up. I’m brainstorming gifts for them. It’s kind of tough because they already have everything.”
“I tend to believe experiences are priceless. Perhaps you can send them on a trip to Italy or Napa Valley. Give them the alone time couples tend to crave,” I suggested. “I’m sure Gibson can watch herself.”
“That’s actually a great idea. They’ve been before,” he revealed. “My mother loves Napa Valley. Gibson can definitely watch herself. Just don’t give her a credit card.”
“Oh, my God. Why not?”
“She’s already spent $2,500 at Sephora this year.” He gave me one of those warning looks. “She’s liable to challenge herself to see how long she can shop before the card declines.”
I giggled. “Well, a girl needs her Sephora. Is she a makeup artist?”
“She could be, but no. She’s actually interested in being an accountant like my dad. She loves money.”
“Don’t we all?” I smiled.
“Not as much as a genuine connection,” he replied. His eyes gazed into mine, and I felt them peer into my soul. Feeling naked and vulnerable, I prayed the goosebumps on my flesh didn’t give away my state of mind. Lord, I was a mess.
“So, please tell me… why you’re single?”
“You remember what happened the other night, right?” I replied, twisting my lips in light displeasure. “I just haven’t met the right guy, and I’m very cautious about who I give my time to.”
“What makes you so cautious?”
“Watching my friends,” I admitted, thinking of Dilayla. “They’ve gone through so much with love, and it’s given me the ability to step back and see relationships aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be, especially when you’re not with the right person.”
His head cocked to the side as we walked. “Care to explain?”
“Well, they’re just more open-minded, I guess. But it’s disastrous. Instead of falling in love, they’re falling into casual sex, spontaneous connections, and then we end up having garrulous conversations about how messed up the dating scene is.”
He smirked, yet his expression was one of understanding. “Yeah, dating can be frustrating,” he admitted. “So many options, but so few that are actually right for you.”
“It’s definitely… Yes, I agree. I’ve been frustrated, but I’m also not losing it, you know?” I became animated, speaking with my hands. “I realized there’s a reason why love isn’t happening right now, and I’m okay with waiting. I’m twenty-three, not thirty-three or forty-three. Even if I were, I’d still have time. At least that’s how I think.”
“You know, most women wouldn’t agree.”
“They’re stuck on this idea of a biological clock.”
“You know it exists, right?” The teasing in his voice was delectable.
“It may. It may not,” I shrugged. “But society will tell you a lot of things that you indoctrinate based on popularity rather than personal responsibility and experience. I treat myself well, and am not against looking into my options for fertility. I don’t think I’ll have a problem when it’s time. But I’d rather be alone than in love with the wrong person.”
Again.
Kenny ruminated my words in silence.
“I agree,” he finally said. “My mother has the same issue with me. She wants me to focus on getting a wife and settling down. She thinks I refuse to commit, but that’s not the case.”
We stopped at an alluring point in our walk. There was a family playing in front of us. The little girl was petting the tiny dog, her brother was tugging on the mom’s pants and asking to be picked up. Husband and wife were involved in a conversation, speaking in hushed tones while smiling to themselves.
“People don’t take love seriously,” Kenny continued. “They don’t understand love’s not perfect. I can’t lie—I like the fact that you didn’t know who I was the other night. It was refreshing. You didn’t have any preconceived notions about ‘the possibilities.’”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“Women usually assume that my identity equates me to being a good catch. We’re so starved for status that a good man can be overlooked because he’s not flush with cash, fame, and fortune. It’s ridiculous.”
My heart dropped. I knew that being with a celebrity would be fun for most girls, but I never dreamed of it. I was too sensitive to think about things like cheating, scandalous women, and all that social pressure to be perfect at all times. The invasion of privacy would be too much.
What I hadn’t considered, was the way a celebrity would feel about being targeted for the love and affection of women who saw him as a means to an end, a way out of their mediocre, more than likely miserable, existence.
“I never thought about it that way—that women would sacrifice an obviously good man for a rich one.”
“Opportunists are everywhere, love.” My tummy swirled in psychedelic beams at the pet name. He said it so naturally, it was as if he had been calling me that all his life. “For some women, their sex appeal is all they have. The comfort of having a man—and even a man they can brag about having—seems to be more important than making sure that man is the right person. But looks fade. I need more than a surface-level connection.”
I agreed. “I’ve had more men fall for me and attempt to convince me to settle for exclusivity based on my appearance. Some of these men would never look my way if I hadn’t lost the weight I had.”
My heart ached at the confession. It slipped so easily from my lips in the moment. As we walked, I eyed a plus-size beauty walking. She had wireless earbuds in her ears, and a sad look in her eye. I smiled and she averted her gaze when she noticed.
I remembered those days. Days when I’d pass a beautiful smaller woman, and she was with what appeared to be a great man, meanwhile I was alone and wondering why I had to be “fat and unattractive.”
Men used to hit on me, but casually, and their interest seemed to drop even quicker. Some were really obvious, waiting until they caught what they felt was a “better catch” to ditch me, or only invite me over after midnight. Those men learned the hard way I wasn’t one to be messed with.
“What motivated you to lose weight?” Kenny asked. “I’m sure you were gorgeous even when you were plus sized.”
“Yeah, right,” I laughed sarcastically.
“I’m serious,” he said. His expression affirmed that he was. “You’re absolutely stunni
ng right now. I couldn’t imagine you being any less gorgeous. Your face is beautiful regardless.”
I blushed, internalizing the pleasure my body felt at the sincerity of his comment. “To be honest, I just got tired of being overlooked. It hurt to struggle with acceptance of my body. My friends were all smaller and in shape, and I was busy eating my feelings.”
“Why?”
“My parents died when I was sixteen. Horrible car accident on the way home from their anniversary. Drunk driver on the run from Miami PD. He got twenty years in prison. I got a lofty inheritance and was declared independent, although Dilayla’s parents watched over me.
“To answer your question,” I stared at the water reflectively, “I ate because it was the only way I could prevent myself from losing it when my parents died.”
“That’s horrible. I just want to give you a hug right now, sweetheart. Can I…?” He let the question linger.
“Yes.” I wasn’t sure if it was pity that caused him to hug me. Pity usually didn’t feel good. I hated it. But I could see the genuine care in his eyes.
As he wrapped me in his arms, the embrace melted my fierce exterior. Hugging him felt like home, like he was where I belonged. I didn’t feel he held any sense of pity for me, but compassion, understanding. It was a different transfer of energy, less shaming than that of someone hugging me because they didn’t know what the hell else to do for me in the moment.
“Thank you,” I said quietly. I fought the overwhelming emotions coming over my body. He felt so safe, and I didn’t know how to process it. I hadn’t felt safe in years.
“You’re welcome.” It was easy to hear the comforting rap of his heartbeat with my ear against his chest, and I could feel myself begging for permission to melt into him and stay there. Forever.
We looked at the water, watching people jet ski, float by on yachts, and splash each other. It looked like fun, but I didn’t even have a swimsuit ready. I hadn’t left the house with any plans to swim.
“Can you swim?” He asked.
“Of course. This is Miami, why wouldn’t I know how to swim?” I giggled. “My dad taught me how to swim. It’s actually one of the ways I stay in shape.”
“Really?”
“I still live in my parents’ house. It’s paid off. My father was a real estate agent. His accountant manages the finances and books to this day.”
“So that’s why you have time to figure out what you want to do with your life. You’ve been given the opportunity to really follow your interests and passions.”
I nodded. “Silver lining for every cloud.”
I explained that my house was a mini-mansion. It had seven bedrooms, eight bathrooms, and a nice estate pool. “I don’t have to worry about my privacy or sharks. Just put on the music and swim freely. I just feel connected to my dad when I do it.”
“And your mom?” He asked. “How do you connect to her memory?”
“My mother was always a glamor girl. I wasn’t big into glamor and femininity. But I look so much like her. I hated it at first, but I started to fix myself up a little every day. Not for me, but for her…”
Silence. Again, reflective and active listening.
“… I can feel and see her in the mirror when I sit at her vanity and fix myself up. She’s in my eyes. She’s in my smile. She’s even in my shape.” My eyes blurred lightly as I confessed. “Sometimes I even hear her standing over me, telling me how beautiful I am, and how proud she is of me.”
Kenny’s arm wrapped around me as he squeezed me closer to him. The feeling of being warm and cozy, coming home after a long day, reappeared with his touch. I leaned in, anxious to feel more of it.
We kept walking until we stopped in front of an ice cream vendor. Kenny ordered a cone, basic vanilla with sprinkles. “Would you like one?”
“Sure. Thank you.” Ice cream sounded perfect. I hadn’t had ice cream in weeks.
We grabbed our cones and kept walking. The vibrant swirls of pink and orange transformed Miami from day to night. I hadn’t realized how much we’d walked and talked until I looked back and realized we’d gone at least a mile.
“You know, there are so many reasons women fix themselves up, but yours is the most beautiful one I’ve heard,” he said. “Deep. Resonant. But either way, you look amazing. Certainly caught my eye.”
I blushed. “Really?”
“Yeah.” He stepped back slightly to look at me. His eyes swept my body, caressed it head to toe with an admiring energy I could feel. “You caught my eye because of how you carry yourself.”
“And how’s that?” I asked, feeling a desire to indulge. Ice cream melted and a small bit rolled down the side. It moved so fast, it was almost as if it were on a suicide mission.
Without thinking, I lifted it, and angled my head, darting my tongue out. It effortlessly landed on the tip of my tongue. I savored the burst of flavor and slid my tongue up the side of the cone, and then rolled it slowly over my tongue to prevent any of it from dripping on my clothes or hand.
I was engrossed in preventing the ice cream from ruining my clothes or making my hand sticky, to the point that I hadn’t realized Kenny was staring.
When our eyes met, I nervously blushed. “What? I didn’t want any on my dress.”
“No. No, it’s fine,” he said. He blushed himself. “It’s just I love the way you eat. You enjoy every bite without feeling bad, and I love it.”
“I told you, I love food,” I joked. I’d quickly become a maestro when it came to alleviating my nervousness with humor. “Now, as you were saying… about me catching your eye?”
He cleared his throat and snapped back to our conversation. “Yeah, ahem. That. You’re classy, sophisticated, and sexy. It’s not your makeup, not your clothing, and not an act. It’s just who you are. You have this je nais sais quoi that can’t be purchased, can’t be emulated. It’s rare.”
Those words pierced my armor and went straight to my heart. I didn’t share this with anyone, but ever since Mom died, I’d worked to infuse her style and grace in my life. The fact that someone as worldly and mature as Kenny could see that?
My eyes threatened to water. It meant everything. It meant that I was keeping my mother’s energy, her legacy, her resilient beauty, alive.
“Thank you.”
“You’re more than welcome.”
We walked the rest of the way back to our cars in peaceful silence. We pointed out the beauty of the sunset, or the interesting people we saw, but most of our conversation was light.
As we parted ways, he leaned into hug me, and I felt that warm feeling of home again.
“I enjoyed every bit of the evening with you,” he said. He stepped back and looked a little anxious as he thought for a moment. “I wanted to ask you something…”
“Yes?”
“Real estate. I know you want to learn about it, and get started. My guys and I are looking to invest in a duplex. We’ll be working on this for about eight to twelve weeks. It’ll be a simple fix, but if you’re interested in tagging along, I’d love to show you the ropes.”
“Really?” My body jolted with excitement. The timing couldn’t have been more perfect.
He nodded. “You down?”
“Yes. Yes!” I leaned in and wrapped my arms around his neck, pushing myself onto my tippy toes. “Thank you!”
“No problem, love.” His warm gaze spoke volumes. “You’re a breath of fresh air. I just want to give you the chance to really learn what the business is like. I love how beautiful and driven you are. I believe in you, and I want to invest in that.”
My soul blushed, and I felt the sizzle between my legs as I heard him sincerely express his belief in my dream.
“Thank you… this means everything to me.”
Admiration and adoration danced hand in hand as we looked at each other. All the nerves I had dissipated just enough for me to feel the chemistry between us. His dark, sultry gaze made my lips tingle. I wanted him to kiss me, and I almost leaned f
orward to invite him in, but I was scared I’d lose control.
As if he read my mind, Kenny pulled me forward and tilted my chin up with the crux of his finger. His lips swept mine, and my nipples hardened. He then leaned in and kissed me right between the eyes, that third eye area, and my entire head exploded in the fizziness of pleasure.
Stepping back, I could look into his eyes and see them glitter with amusement. He knew what he was doing. He knew the effect he had on me. And he was too amused.
As long as he continued to make me feel this damn good, he could play with my nerves and bodily sensations as much as he wanted.
“Well, you go ahead and go home. Get some rest. I’ll contact you with the details. But we’ll get started this week.”
I sat in my parking space, taking longer than usual to drive away. I was full of excitement. I didn’t want him to see me driving giddily and out of control.
I checked my face in the mirror and noticed the glow in my skin. Being around him for two days was enough to give me an even more sun-kissed look.
God, this man had me looking like a woman in love and we’d just met.
Visions of romance with Kenny clouded my mind the entire drive home. Dilayla texted and Alex attempted to call, but I ignored their attempts to connect, because fuck Alex… and Dilayla?
I just wanted more time to surf this blissful wave I was on.
Kenny
Raquel’s elation at my proposal filled me with joy. I thought about her the entire drive home, and I came to the conclusion: she was worth it.
People received inheritances and blew them. They’ll get a large lump sum, and things get chaotic. Friends and family come around asking for help I didn’t know they needed—and never planned to provide. One thought about the bills that could be paid off, and maybe even planned to pay them, but then wanted to get that new car or some designer clothes first.
And then, before one knew it, times passed by quickly, leaving one just as penniless as before, if not a little worse.
I’d seen it firsthand, before I made money myself. Athletes have gone broke all the time. Celebrities too.
It’s not how much you’re making, it’s honestly how much you can manage and your capacity to accept, receive, and manage the money. I’ve learned most people messed up by not learning how to manage their money, and their attitude toward money and money management.