Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70429 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 352(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
“So, you’re basically tellin’ me you’re a good-lookin’ sociopath?” She chortled. He shrugged.
“Maybe, but I think the correct diagnosis for me would be more along the lines of psychopath, accordin’ to the Antisocial Personality Disorder psychological umbrella. I don’t seek attention like a heat seeking missile, or throw temper tantrums in public. I have complete self-control. The one caveat is that I am able to care for, and love other people authentically. The jury is still out on that possible diagnosis, but it’s not off the table.”
They glared at one another for a long time. And then, just like that, he burst out laughing.
“Oh, Jesus. You play too much.” She guffawed, shaking her head.
Soon they were on their feet, selecting items from the salad bar. They laughed and chatted, gobbling their food. He found himself wrapped around her every word. What a captivating woman…
They turned over their little cards, accepting meat offerings. Bacon-wrapped chicken, sirloin, lamb chops, salmon, and more.
“This is so good. Mmm! I’ve been here before, but it was years ago.”
He nodded in understanding. “Yeah, it’s one of my favorite places to come when I’m in town. They have ’em in Roswell and Atlanta, too, but we all have our favorite spots. Would you like another glass of wine?”
“No, I’m fine. Thanks though.”
He sat back, sipping his wine and observing her. He liked the way her full, glossy lips wrapped around the fork. She chewed more on the right side of her mouth, then the left. She may have a dental issue she needs to address. When she squinted, one eye got slightly smaller than the other. He also noticed she was left-handed, or perhaps ambidextrous.
He wanted to touch her hair, but Legend and Axel warned him to never do that sort of thing without permission because Black women didn’t like that. In fact, his brothers called him on three-way, an hour before his date, runnin’ down dos and don’ts when dating Black women. He found the majority of their suggestions helpful. The others were rather obvious—things that could be deemed racist, fetish-like, or insulting.
I have a lot to learn about her… I like her. Very sexy. Smart. Outspoken. She knows what the hell she wants. I want to fuck her hard. Tonight. I’ll make that clear soon enough…
“…So, these other women… I take it they’re all White?”
He grinned. “What gave me away? Am I too preppy?” He winked.
“I just know the type. I’m your first Black woman. I can always tell.”
“Is that upsetting for you, and how could you tell?”
“It’s not upsetting. Everyone has to start somewhere, and let’s face it. Interracial dating for Black women is a fairly recent event. We’re the last to jump on board, so of course we’ll run into men like you along the way who either hadn’t had the opportunity, or didn’t feel comfortable enough due to the environmental standards, so to speak.”
She shrugged, then chomped on a cherry tomato. “As long as I don’t think I’m some experiment, I’m cool with it. The reason I know I’m your first is because you keep lookin’ at my hair… my mouth… my big ass and hips. Like you ain’t never seen no locs this up close, and lips this big and beautiful. I don’t feel fetishized per se, but I know the look. You’re fascinated. And that’s okay.”
“So I take it you’ve dated White men before?”
“Yeah. A few. I’ve dated an Indian guy, too. Mostly Black men though, but I don’t discriminate. I’m heavily into Black culture and identity, but I’m also not afraid or closed minded. I don’t live in fear. I don’t believe all White men are evil, just like I don’t believe all Black men have good intentions, or my best interest at heart. History has proven that’s a lie. I gotta have more than skin tone in common with a man to share my life with him. I’ve been treated well and terribly by all kinds of folks, and race wasn’t the main factor. Shitty people are shitty people, no matter how you slice it.”
“I agree.”
“So, what made you decide to ask me out? You’re thirty-eight—that means you ain’t exactly a spring chicken when it comes to dating.”
“That’s true…” He swirled his wine around in the glass. “I’m picky, like you, but I also know what I like. And I liked you when I first met you. I liked what I saw, what I smelled, what I heard.”
“You have great taste.”
They both laughed at that.
“I liked how you presented yourself. Your smile. The way you moved.” Her cheeks deepened in hue as she bit into a piece of pão de queijo. “And to find out that you’re an accomplished artist was truly the icin’ on the damn cake.”
“You like art?”
“How can I not when it’s sittin’ across from me at this very table?”