Page 7 of Aug

SIX

Sunlight danced between the blinds, ending at Aug’s smooth skin. My fingertips ran the length of his arm and then back again. Having his body near settled my nervous system.

Freckles .

Though faint, I recognized the small, unpredictable markings of our Maker. My lips curled into a smile as I released a long, hearty breath. August’s level of perfection spiked.

Freckles .

Unable to contain the joy of my newest discovery, I listened to my inner voice repeat the same word.

He’s simultaneously perfect and so far from it .

My stomach knotted at the idea of his departure. I inhaled as my eyelashes touched. Darkness surrounded me suddenly.

Exhale.

Inhale.

Exhale.

As I grew uneasy, dealing with the aftermath of his absence, though he had yet to leave, I reminded myself to live in the moment. Down to the millisecond .

He’s here now .

I leaned forward with pursed lips and planted a kiss on his forehead. Slowly, I rejoined the light and made my way out of bed. My toes sank into the fluffy slippers near my bedside.

Up on my feet, I realized how active August and I had been throughout the night. My center still craved him, but its greed would only lead to my destruction. I suppressed my urge to return to bed and initiate what I knew would be my ending.

The bathroom welcomed me with coolness. I emptied my bladder, cleaned my face and teeth, slid into the slip hanging on the hook behind the door, and spritzed my body with the creamy vanilla-smelling body mist to start my morning.

My skin routine would have to wait. I wasn’t exactly sure if it would be pointless before August’s departure or not. He was unpredictable. So were the places he left his semen.

I strolled toward the kitchen, slow in stride. Each moment was exaggerated as happiness flowed through me freely. Something felt so right about what was happening between Aug and me.

“Still it was worth it. I would do it again.”

I swayed my hips to the tune playing in my head as I pulled out a skillet.

“I know you hurt me. But… It is just deeper than friendship. Now, let’s keep it awkward.”

SZA’s voice continued in my head as the butter and the rest of the ingredients were extracted from my fridge. I whipped my right hand in a circle before setting everything on the counter. I placed two glass plates next to the stove and started the fire.

“Can we still… love on each other? Can we still… touch on each other? Can we still… not judge each other?”

A sense of time and I parted ways as I got lost in the art of cooking. The small speaker on my counter hummed lowly, replacing my attempts at harmonizing.

French toasts.

Turkey bacon.

Turkey sausage.

Cheesy eggs.

Hashbrowns.

The stovetop displayed a beautiful spread that had been arranged in the order the food was prepared. Admiring my masterpiece, I stood a few inches away from the stove with a hand on my hip and my lips curled upward.

“Uh hmm.”

My eyes roamed the space in front of me. There was no sign of August.

Silly.

I turned, finding him near the edge of the counter. His body was fully clothed. His readiness was disheartening. My feelings were displayed through my features. There was no way of hiding them.

My eyes were my tell-all. One could read me like an open book through my orbs. Secrecy wasn’t a privilege of mine. I was open. I was vulnerable. I was sensitive.

“I stayed,” August whispered.

Closing my eyes, I tried pushing down the apprehension building in my chest.

“I know.” My voice was so small, so low that I barely understood a word from my mouth.

“Not only because you wanted me to, but because I wanted to, Ti. But, the sun is up and duty calls, Momma.”

“I cooked.”

“I smelled it all the way from the bedroom. I’m apologizing in advance, but I have to take it to go, baby.”

I grabbed my phone from the counter as August eliminated the distance between us. Rome’s name lingered underneath my fingertips as I typed a brief message. Upon its delivery, gray bubbles appeared. Her immediate response granted me sanity.

“Sit down, August,” I demanded.

“Or–” He toyed, wrapping his arms around me.

“Or nothing. I don’t give ultimatums. Either you will or you won’t.”

“We’re more alike than I thought, then,” he said, planting kisses on the side of my face.

He smelled like vanilla, lavender, and lemon. My bodywash settled well on his skin.

“With me, though– it’s either you will or you will. No ultimatums or other options.”

“Well, I guess I’m adapting your ways this morning. Have a seat. I’m going to fix your plate and you’re going to enjoy it as we get to know a little more than what makes each other climax.”

Chuckling, August backed up. “Yes, ma’am.”

He rounded the island and pulled out a chair at the bar top.

“The table.”

He pushed the chair back up and lifted both hands in the air.

“Alright.”

“Rome won’t be leaving for another hour.”

“You asked?”

“I suggested,” I corrected him.

Nodding, pleasure appeared on his handsome face. His long limbs made a home on the L-shaped sofa that fit perfectly in the breakfast nook. In front of it was a round table with fresh flowers atop.

I plated August’s food and mine before heading to the table. In my attempt to return for the orange juice I’d freshly pressed the day prior, I was apprehended.

“Sit down.”

August pulled me down onto his lap. He slid me across his dick and into the empty space beside him as he rose. I watched him fetch our glasses, two bottles of water, silverware, and napkins.

“You sure you didn’t live here in your last lifetime?” I joked. “You sure know your way around.”

Shrugging, he responded, “Is that why I feel the things I’m feeling?”

“Because you were here last lifetime?”

“Because you were here with me,” he clarified.

Silently, I stared at him, wanting him to say more. Every time he opened his mouth, I hung onto the words coming from them. It was always of substance. Always of truth.

“Tell me your story.”

My appetite was irrational. I could hardly contain it, but food wasn’t the subject. August was. I wanted more. I needed more. I wanted to know who the man was who was after my heart because I was ready to let him have it.

Exhaling, he stuffed his mouth with a piece of syrupy french toast. Slowly, he chewed. It wasn’t until he’d washed it down with water that he began to speak.

“A Black man from the projects in Dooley. Channing-born. Single mother. Good mother. My entire universe. The reason I’m still alive today.

She’s the only woman, aside from my grandmother and aunt, I’ve ever loved.

Spent my entire life avoiding commitment.

I lived a dangerous life. A careless life.

Toting a gun wasn’t an option for me from the moment I held one in my palm.

It was a necessity. Marksmanship for me is what ballet is for you.

Word got around that I was for hire. Moved around a bit.

Ended up in front of Balle’s people. Been discovering a new version of myself every day since. ”

“That’s your entire story?”

“Nothing to me, baby. I’m simple. Not very interesting. Boring in almost every sense of the word.”

“It’s not boring and neither are you.”

I took a bite out of the turkey bacon.

“Your mother?”

“Still in Channing.”

His eyes softened at the thought of her.

“Asking for grandchildren every chance she gets.”

“No siblings?”

He shook his head.

“One kid was hard enough alone. She didn’t bother making the same mistake twice.”

“Mistake?”

“Getting pregnant. She promised marriage– a happy marriage before she had another child. Though she married, it wasn’t happily. It ended within four years. I’m all she has.”

“And vice versa.”

He shook his head again.

“I have you now,” he reminded me.

His words were heart-shaped daggers straight through my chest.

“Aug–”

“I do,” he interrupted. “And, vice versa.”

Silence plagued me. I wanted something to say. I needed something to say. But, he’d stolen my thoughts. He’d left me mindless. I had nothing but mush up top.

“This shit feels heavy,” he sniggered, inhaling.

“Do you want children?”

He nodded.

“I want to be a father, Ti, much more than I want children. But, I’m not ready yet. I’m not the man who would make the father I often think of being. Haven’t reached that version of myself yet.”

“August, your mind– it– it’s fascinating. The things that come from your mouth– I don’t know– I just…”

“Your mother taught you how to cook?”

Turning my head from side to side, I admitted, “My father.”

August found my response comical.

“My point. I ain’t that nigga yet because my best meal ain’t even a meal, technically.”

“What is it?”

“Boiled chicken,” he chuckled.

“That’ll do. Quite honestly, if you took all the same steps and put it in the oven instead, you’d elevate that meal a few notches, and you can put baked chicken on your list. Minus the cups of water, of course.”

“Really?”

“Um hmm.”

“I’ma try that shit.”

“I can’t wait to taste it.”

“You would?” He asked.

“I would, August.”

Quietly, he stared in my direction. My limbs had found minds of their own. My legs were draped over his. One of his hands lowered, taking my foot into his palm. Slowly, he ran his hand up and down my skin, bringing warmth to the slight chill.

“I’m a little saddened you have to leave.”

“Don’t be. I’ll see you at eight.”

“Eight feels so far away.”

“It isn’t.”

“I know. I guess– I just really enjoy having you around. I’m almost jealous that Rome gets so much time with you.”

My jealousy was healthy and had absolutely nothing to do with my best friend. Koen was on the list as well. So was Saint.

“Work is work. But at eight, I’m all yours.”

“Attire?”

“Elegance.”

“Elegance it is,” I responded, stuffing my mouth with a piece of turkey sausage.