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The two receptionists working on our reservations share a speaking glance causing Khadijah and I to share a what’s-that-all-about look. The young man in front of me says, “Sir, it looks like there is only one room left.”
“That’s not a problem,” Jazzy inserts herself between Khadijah and I. “Khadijah can stay in our room and Cameron can have the last reservation. Right?”
Again, Khadijah and I share in a silent communication. She shrugs with a growing smile on her face as her stare lands on Kenya. “Could be fun.”
With no other alternative, I hand the man my credit card and book the room. Once we conclude our business in the lobby, I take Khadijah to the side.
“Deej, are you sure about this? Spending two nights with Jazzy and Kenya risks exposing who we are.”
She pats my shoulder in sympathy. “Don’t worry, Cam. I won’t fuck this up for you. Kenya seems like a genuinely nice person.”
Despite my reservations, I go along with her plan because as she told me when we were back at my apartment, close proximity is the only strategy that will work in my favor. We join Jazzy and Kenya and agree to meet in the lobby in fifteen minutes, giving us time to drop our things off in the room before exploring the various booths and killing time until the opening ceremonies and costume contest.
I make it downstairs first. Big mistake.
Without the ladies there as a buffer, a swarm of people circle me to ask for my autograph. I peek toward the elevators. There’s no sign of Kenya, but I bet the second I sign my autograph she’ll catch me. Even if I use an excuse that I’m pretending, it will make me look like an ass when the whole point of me being as close to her as often as possible is to show her I’m not.
I glance at the group of 10 women representing various characters from Sailor Moon and their nemesis, the Dark Kingdom. Regret chokes at me. Our band goes out of our way to appease fans, but I won’t risk it with Kenya on her way down.
“Wow,” I say with forced enthusiasm. “If you think I look like the real deal then my costume must be that good. I wish I could give you what you wanted though. Maybe I’ll see you at the costume contest. You’ll be stiff competition for sure.”
They turn in defeat, clearing the way for Kenya. Although it hasn’t been that long since I last saw her, being hit with her in Yor’s assassin get up is just as powerful as the first time Jazzy unveiled their looks. Everything about her screams alter ego. The all black outfit is very different from her usual colorful wardrobe. So are the revealing split and low cut sweetheart neckline displaying her generous flesh. Although her usual style varies drastically, somehow, this style suits Kenya, too.
Sultry without being slutty, even though I would welcome a slutty Kenya in private. What am I saying? I glance up to see other people…other men have taken notice of her. Not surprising as Kenya is fucking gorgeous. But some look to be walking in her direction.
I curl my fingers into a fist, allowing my nails to bite into my palms. I have to resist the urge to grab and block her from sight. I don’t have the right to be possessive, not yet.
Instead, I walk over to greet her and glare a warning to the assholes who think they can score with my woman. They stop in their tracks and pivot to some other lady who will never hold a candle to my Kenya.
“Jazzy kept talking about how you and Khadijah’s costumes are so realistic, but I never realized you would fool fans into wanting autographs.” Kenya’s gaze touches on the prosthetics on my face that disguise my real cheekbones and forehead and the custom-made contacts with our band logo surrounding the pupil.
“There are so many great costumes here I’m sure we’ll make that mistake, too.”
Thanks to Khadijah’s handiwork, the appliances blend seamlessly into my skin and the makeup disguises where they are glued to my face. Khadijah uses a different application for her look, but she is as unrecognizable from her day-to-day as I am when in costume.
“By the way, where are Jazzy and Khadijah?”
“They’re still in the room.” Kenya’s brow wrinkles as a frown forms on her face. “Jazzy said she wanted to pick Khadijah’s brain about something, but I can’t imagine what.”
“How did my sister react?” I swallow my trepidation at hearing those two are alone.
“She welcomed Jazzy’s questions. Actually she dragged her to the couch and demanded she ask everything she wanted to know while practically bouncing on the cushions.” Kenya pauses as if debating to ask me something else then she takes a deep breath. “Is your sister on something? Sorry, that came out weird. It’s just her energy and enthusiasm are next level.”
Kenya’s observation causes me to laugh.
“She’s been like that since we were kids. Khadijah exhausts everyone. We’ve talked about it before and we think she may be undiagnosed for ADHD, but she likes her life the way it is and sees no need to get an official diagnosis. I can’t push her to do something she doesn’t want to do.”
“That’s a good point, but maybe I should go back up there and make sure they’re both okay.” She turns to head toward the elevator, but I swing her by the elbow to walk by my side.
“I’m sure they’re fine. Let’s walk around and preview some of the booths. We have our phones for when they decide to join us,” I say with more confidence than I feel.
As a fan, Jazzy is more likely to discover Khadijah’s secret than Kenya is, but I have to give my sister’s plan to push me and Kenya together a chance. As we walk through the hotel to the adjoining convention center, we try to identify the costumes we see milling about. Masses of colorful people fill the convention center’s massive lobby.
“How are tickets not sold out for this event?” I ask Kenya, recalling the hassle-free purchase for admission. Even a few special panels had spots available.
“Not sure, maybe they need a new marketing plan. I’m just glad that Jazzy convinced me to come.”
My stomach rumbles and I look sheepishly at her. “Do you mind checking out some of the food options? I didn’t have lunch.”
