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I picked up the phone and texted Nicky.
Me: Hey, I know you’re pissed at me and everything, but if you don’t hear from me in a couple of hours, call the police.
Nicky: What???
Me: I’ll explain later.
Nicky: Okay…
Well, at least she still cared about my well-being.
“Okay, I’m back,” I said into the phone. “What time do you want to come this evening?”
“Well, I’m parked in your driveway right now.”
“Oh, okay. Um, give me a second and I’ll meet you over there. A is mine. B is the vacant unit.”
“Yeah, I remember that from the flyer. I’ll be over there waiting.”
I hung up and hopped out of the bed, glancing down at the pajamas I had on and debating in my mind whether or not I should put on some clothes. It only took me a second to decide it would be best to get dressed. I pulled on a pair of jeans, and a “black girl magic” t-shirt, wrapped my head, which was part faux locks and part nappy, linty afro, in a colorful scarf, and slid on some lip gloss before stepping out onto the porch the duplex apartments shared and walking over to meet Mr. Boyé.
His silhouette was tall and trim, but since I still hadn’t replaced the bulb outside the door, I couldn’t see his features. Not that it mattered. He could’ve been butt ugly as long as he passed the background and credit checks and could pay the rent.
He wasn’t.
As a matter of fact, the man was so handsome, I started feeling all nervous and jumpy and shit. My God! He was absolutely beautiful.
After I led him into the living room of the vacancy and flipped the switch by the door, bathing the room in soft light, I turned and got an eyeful of a level of handsomeness I’d never witnessed before—tall, muscular in a slim, un-hulkish way, terra cotta skin, hazel eyes that seemed to look into my soul, thick, curly hair cut low, a nose that had to be the envy of anyone who’d ever desired rhinoplasty, a bright white smile framed by a full, neatly-trimmed beard and mustache, full lips. Shit!
I wasn’t usually attracted to light-skinned men, but I’ll be damned if my ovaries weren’t quivering at the sight of him. Hell, he was so fine, my mama’s ovaries were probably quaking.
He extended his hand, and for the life of me, I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do with it.
“Ryan Boyé,” he said in that accent I’d tried to identify during our short phone conversation. He wasn’t native to Tennessee, for sure, but he was definitely from the south. His accent kind of reminded me of a lady who worked with me at a restaurant a few years back. She was from Louisiana and had been displaced here to Romey, Tennessee, by Hurricane Katrina.
I stared down at his hand for another half a minute before clutching it, noticing how much larger it was than mine. “Um…Angela Strickland.”
Still wearing a smile that made my loins shudder, he said, “Pleased to meet you.”
I freed my hand from his and nodded. “So, this is the place, and there’s a gym a couple of blocks from here if you’re into working out.” And it looks like you are, as fine as your ass is. “Um…three bedrooms, one bath, living room, eat-in kitchen. I’m sure you noticed there are two separate driveways, and the backyard is huge and divided by a fence, so essentially, each unit has its own private backyard. Um, all appliances are included, plus a small washer and dryer. Feel free to look around if you want.”
He reached up and rubbed his beard. “Okay. I will.”
As he walked towards the kitchen, I stared at his ass, and said, “Take your time.”
I leaned against the wall as he strolled from room to room and tried to catch my breath. This man had me feeling things in places that had lain dormant for a long, long time. He had my hand trembling and my head reeling. He was too good-looking, if there a such a thing. He was so fine, I seriously felt like I was going to have a panic attack or something.
“Wow, this place is huge,” he called from somewhere in the back of the apartment.
“Yes, 1100 square feet,” I responded. “Plenty of room for you and your family.”
He returned to the living room, and I took note of the black slacks and black dress shirt that fit him very well. “Oh, it’s just me.”
“Oh, then this is probably too much space for you, right? Or are you planning on having roommates? If so, they’ll have to be approved and sign a lease, too.”
He shook his head. “No roommates. Just me. I like a lot of space.”
“So you’re interested?”
