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She swivels her chair to face me. “What activities have you tried to relax yourself? Something that will take your mind off that constant voice in the back of your head telling you to do the thing that’s causing your stress?”
“I moved here. I honestly haven’t thought too far in the future from that.”
She slams her hands on her thighs and stands up. “Well, let’s change that. I bet you haven’t explored Escondido Bay since you moved here, have you?”
“I can’t say that I’ve had the time.”
She holds out her hand to me. “Now’s the time. I’ll be your personal tour guide.”
Although she seems genuine in her desire to help me, something about me makes her nervous if I’m reading her apprehensive lip nibbling correctly. I could say something to put her at ease, but she looks so cute and sexy this way that I keep silent for a few seconds longer than necessary. My conscience finally knocks some sense into me and I take the olive branch she offers.
Relief warms her whiskey-gold eyes, making me feel like an ass for holding out. Then she smiles at me. My heart beats painfully in my chest at how the simple movement transforms her into a goddess. In this moment, I’ve found my new purpose. It isn’t to write music again. I am meant to be here to put smiles on Kenya’s face and if I’m lucky, find her reasons to laugh.
I clutch this newfound epiphany close. Nothing and no one will get between me and making my little lamb joyful.
* * *
I got this.A car isn’t that much smaller than a house. There is more than enough space to keep up my good behavior. I’ll sit patiently beside Kenya as she points out Escondido Bay’s landmarks andnotstare too hard at the way the sun turns her eyes into molten gold. That something a creeper would do. Not me.
And when she shares anecdotal stories about growing up here, Iwillnot say something sappy like how I’d love to see her in pigtails. Check that, she’s grown now and I’d love to see her in pigtails. Especially if she has a costume like the clothes she draws for her character sketches. Thinking about the way her generous curves will fill out those skimpy outfits and thigh-high fuck-me boots has my dick pulsing with need.
Dammit, Cameron, thinking about her cosplaying isn’t where your mind needs to be right now.
I’m right of course. If she glances at me in this state…I squeeze my fist and try to picture the grossest shit imaginable; a river of sludge, anything to cool my ardor. Along with the unsexy images scrolling through my mind, I recite my list of noes.
There will benooverwhelming desire to hold her hand,noburning need to stare at her and watch the emotions flit across her face,nosweaty, pulsating urge to lock the door so I can at long last taste the heaven between her luscious lips.
The last one pulls me up short. If I were to list the things I regret not doing our night together, at the top would be that I didn’t teach her how to give me a proper kiss. From the innocent peck she gave, I knew she was inexperienced. That didn’t stop my overly cocky attitude or my demand for her to jump straight to sucking my cock. Between tasting her mouth and having her almost suck out my soul, I’m hard pressed to choose which I’d prefer.
One drive is all it takes to make me realize how full of shit I am. Although I’ve eased the sexual desire to a manageable state, I must still grip my hands tight to stop myself from pulling her hand off the steering wheel to hold within mine. In all spaces, I want nothing more than to physically connect to her. Tobeconnectedwithher.
Kenya turns into the parking lot of a building with Roxy’s Diner written on the awning.
Thank you God!
I leap out of the car and race to her door. I open it for her and hold out my hand to assist her from the vehicle. With bated breath I wait for the moment our skin will touch. Closer…closer. Before she withdraws her hand because she fears the spark of attraction that arcs between us, I close my fingers around hers.
The welcoming zing when our hands meet zips through me, causing the opening chords to Kenya’s melody to play in my mind. Of course I name the melody after her. It’s sweet, shy, curious, and a little naughty. Just like Kenya. And the sound is one I can’t imagine tiring of. Also like Kenya.
She leads me through the maze of cars to the diner’s door. “You know how everyone wants to go to Key West for key lime pie? Everyone comes to Roxy’s Diner for conch fritters and ceviche.” Kenya beckons me inside with a nod.
Stepping into Roxy’s is a surprisingly comforting experience, reminiscent of entering my grandmother’s kitchen. I get a whiff of all my comfort foods, meatloaf, chicken fried steak and gravy, mac and cheese, and sweet vanilla from various baked confections. The food must be good because the place is twice as packed as the lot outside would have me believe.
A woman in her mid-thirties holding a coffee pot does a double take when she spots us. Her inattention leads to her missing a step and almost tripping over herself.
“Hey Roxy,” Kenya greets an attractive middle-aged woman who spares her a smile.
“Heya Kiwi,” Roxy responds, her eyes glued to us as we walk through the diner. A cough from a nearby table gets her attention and she resumes going from table to table, filling coffee cups. From across the room, she addresses Kenya, “I was wondering when you would make it over here. Find a place and sit yourself down. I’ll come see about you in two shakes of a tail feather.”
As we sit at a table facing the street. I sit back to observe Kenya in an informal setting without the stress of her grandmothers or work. I’m more than a little curious about Kenya’s life here. My interest borders on obsession. When we first met, her shyness and innocence lured me in. But even then, she had a bone-deep tension she couldn’t hide. At first I thought it was due to me catching her in the act of breaking into Gio’s club, however inept she was, but every interaction I’ve had with her since has shown me she carries the weight with her everywhere.
There’s no time like the present to get to know Kenya.
As I open my mouth to do just that, Roxy sidles up to our booth. “Sorry for taking so long, Kiwi.” She hangs her arm next the backrest beside Kenya’s head. “Do you want your usual?”
I don’t miss the speculative gleam in Roxy’s eyes as she looks me up and down.
“You must be the new guy Ms. Onyx and Ms. Laila mentioned a few days ago.” Roxy shoos at Kenya until she wiggles closer to the window, making room for the diner’s owner to join us. “Mm, those ladies sure have taste. And the way you two looked walking through my door together? I started counting the fire extinguishers because I didn’t think I had enough to put out the flames you were bringing.”
