Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73556 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 294(@250wpm)___ 245(@300wpm)
“I’m going to cut right to the chase. Let me see your test results. People try ’nd be slick and show fake stuff, so I want to see you pull up the website so I can see your medical records.” There was no point in pussyfooting around it. She was in the medical field, and she wanted proof of his sexual health status.
He took another sip of his drink, then slipped his phone out of his pocket without hesitation. She hitched her chin along his shoulder, staring down at his phone. The man had endless emails, text messages and what not. He pulled up the Google app, typed in his doctor’s practice, logged into his medical records portal, and pulled up his information.
“…I get tested every month,” he stated calmly.
Sure enough, he was tested for all major STIs monthly. She noticed one month was skipped, but that was about seven or eight months prior. Other than that, he appeared fairly consistent with his testing.
“Why do you test so much? Not that it is a bad thing, it’s good, but what makes you do that?”
He hesitated for a moment. “Because I know how I get down… I’m in these streets, as the kids say.”
She smirked, then nodded. “I get tested every few months. I’ve been celibate for about four months now, and I haven’t had unprotected sex in years. Have you?”
“Have I what? Had unprotected sex?”
“Yes, and have you had unprotected sex recently?”
“I’ve had unprotected sex before, yeah. Of course. I mean, I’m not a teenager anymore. The last time I had sex without a condom was probably about, uh, I’d say ten months ago, almost a year. She and I were exclusive.” She nodded in understanding.
“And when was the last time you had sex?”
“Last time I had sex was about…” he paused in thought, “probably about a week before I met you. Yeah. That’s right.”
She glided her purse strap down, rummaged through her bag, removed her phone and pulled up the same information. She handed him the phone. “Here’s my latest results.”
“You had a UTI three years ago,” he murmured. “Looks good.”
“Yeah, I got the urinary tract infection from all that maple syrup I was havin’ sex with.”
He burst out laughing before handing her back her phone, then stood and stretched.
“This is good water,” she pointed to her glass on the coffee table, “But can I have somethin’ a little stronger? My nerves are acting funny.” She flashed him a smile.
This time, as he walked to the kitchen, she noticed a black inked tattoo on his back of a cloaked sorcerer with glowing eyes, and flowing dark hair that was blowing in the wind underneath his hood. The figure held a clock by a chain in one hand, and a stack of money in the other. Lightning and dark clouds were above him.
“That’s a well-done tattoo. It looks so realistic. What does your tattoo mean?” she called out.
He pulled out a bottle from his wine chiller.
“It means to balance out time and energy with makin’ money. Time waits for no one. A reminder to me not to work myself so hard that I lose big chunks of my life. I’m constantly chasing a bag, and I need to chase balance in the process. I struggle with that.”
She got to her feet and joined him in the kitchen. It was fit for a chef. Tall silver cabinets recessed in the walls. Double oven. A granite island with a large chandelier hanging above it. She leaned against the edge of the counter, watching him remove two wine glasses from a cupboard.
“You’re beautiful inside out, and outside in.” Saweetie’s, ‘Is It the Way’ started to play. “Take this, but don’t drink it yet. Let’s toast.”
“What do you mean by that? Inside out? Thank you.” She accepted the glass of wine.
“When I first saw you at your job, of course I noticed your beauty, but before that, I heard your voice. Didn’t know it was you until I heard you laugh again…” He drummed his ring adorned fingers against the counter, hooking her gaze. “I could hear this laughter comin’ from somewhere in there. Light and airy. Real and feminine, too. It sounded like soft balls of pink and blue cotton candy, amusement parks filled with happy children, long, winding slides at the waterpark, sticky lemonade dripping down a chin, mud puddles stomped by rubber rain boots, and dirt bikes down hilly roads.”
Her chest warmed as he caressed her heart with his words. Kwaye sung her a lullaby with ‘Lost in my Boots.’
“Who taught you how to talk like that?”
“Me. Panty removal is on my resume, too.”
She shook her head and laughed.
“There it is,” he pointed casually at her, “that laugh. That smile. You’ve got one of the most beautiful smiles I’ve ever fuckin’ seen.”