Page 31

Dinner and an Uzi

H ave you ever met somebody, and they captivated you from the moment you laid eyes on ’em?

They didn’t look like everyone else. They didn’t stand or move like everyone else, either.

In fact, everything about that person caught your eye and wouldn’t let go.

Even the gristle and gnarled bits you didn’t like about that individual, you found that shit interesting, too.

Somethin’ to chew on. Worth a look or two.

Poet is the type of person you’d find smiling more times than not.

She has a strange, yet beautiful, smile, like a dark crescent moon.

A crooked smirk with a straight arrow to your heart.

It isn’t that the smile is fake, but she smiles when she isn’t happy, too.

That is the thing about her that makes me want to fall in love.

See, this is how I figure it. Smiling makes her more comfortable, I imagine.

Like a wall to hide what’s going on in that complicated head and heart of hers.

I imagine the inside of her brain looks like the wall of numbers and symbols in those Matrix movies.

I bet it has a hell of a theme song, too.

She ain’t easy, but she ain’t hard either, unless you make it so.

She ain’t shy, but pretends to be when it suits her.

Something dark, deep and purple lives inside of her.

See, purple, accordin’ to my mama, is the Lord’s favorite color.

This woman has danced with the devil, but she walks with God.

She’s a puzzle with a solution—you just gotta look close enough.

It don’t bother me none. I don’t like easy women.

They don’t turn me on for more than a night.

I don’t commit easy, either. Not ’cause I’m afraid to, but because I know what I want and what I need.

I love hard. I don’t take any shit, and I protect what’s mine. I’m visual, but I’m cerebral, too.

When I’m into a woman, I mean, really, truly into her, her face and body may have gotten my attention, but this won’t hold me.

Her mind and personality will. Can she hold a damn conversation?

Does she care about other folks besides herself?

Does she have her own goals, ideas and wishes?

I like a challenge. I’m possessive, and at times prone to jealousy.

That’s nothin’ to brag about, but I’m just being honest. The point is, make me chase you a little.

Don’t drag the shit out too long, but take your time.

Show interest in me, but don’t give me all of you too fast. Make me earn it.

I want to hunt you down. I want to track you in the woods, and corner you.

I want you to enjoy me chasin’ you as much as I enjoy doing the chasin’.

Poet is who I want. I found her in my neck of the woods.

I chased her. I cornered her. I claimed her.

I’m fallin’ for this lady. I’ve got no gripes or concerns about that.

She checks all of my boxes, and then some.

The lady can shoot a gun. She’s comfortable in the outdoors.

She’s not squeamish. She’s fucking beautiful: skin the color of roasted pecans, and her cheeks warm to a deep cinnamon when she blushes.

Soft black hair. Pretty, expressive eyes.

Juicy lips, shaped like a walkin’ dream.

Nice titties and ass. Personality? On point.

She’s initially a little reserved, but warms up fast. She’s brave.

She’s funny and sarcastic. Smart as can be.

She’s always watching. Payin’ attention.

She had a strange upbringing, in a beautiful sort of way.

Kind of like myself. Our daddies are dead, and we never knew them.

In fact, both of our families are unique.

Not too many Black women can say they were raised by a Filipino woman, and not too many guys in the world can say that their father was the president of a notorious Texan motorcycle gang, and their mother the damn daughter of a notorious trailblazer in the Dixie Mafia.

Grandpa is the thing of nightmares and curses.

We’re strange. Misfits. I know I’m a gotdamn monster—just like my grandfather said that I was.

It’s in my blood. I am a wolf, slipping into the darkness, ready to pounce.

I’ll tell you what though… somethin’ about Poet makes me think that though she’s a little Red Riding Hood to the naked eye, she’s got a bit of wolf in her, too.

She ain’t no stranger to this circus of madness. She’s a motherfuckin’ ringleader…

They’d had a nice dinner. Just the two of them at his big dining room table, accompanied by the sounds of Lindi Ortega’s, ‘Murder Of Crows,’ talking about life, and everything under the sun.

The room was illuminated by a few white candles—the kind he used when the power went out.

He wasn’t the best cook, but he did okay that evening, if he said so himself.

It was beautiful watching Poet eat, and hearing her compliment him on his culinary skills.

After all, he’d put in a bit of effort. Even watched a couple of YouTube recipe videos for inspiration.

He wanted her to be satiated, comfortable.

He wanted her to eat, and then be devoured soon thereafter…

As he listened to her speak of her job, and a neighbor who was causing her trouble, he found himself drifting in thought .

She looks good in purple. She should wear it more often.

Poet was wearing a long-sleeved lavender shirt, gold bracelets, and dark jeans .

Her hair was down, showing off those thick, pretty ringlets that he loved.

They framed her heart-shaped face. She’d kicked her shoes off at the door, and she had an easy, relaxed way about her this evening.

Seductive, in fact. He could still smell her perfume from when she’d embraced him at his front door.

It was soft, and feminine. Like a whisper of roses.

She’d driven all the way to see him, spend time together, and he was planning to make the most of it.

Al Green’s, ‘Beautiful’ played softly now.

He remembered her saying she liked old R&B, so he obliged.

He hoped it was to her liking. She leaned back in her chair, sitting at the other end of the table holding a glass of white wine.

She’d brought it with her and shared it with him, for their flounder dinner he’d prepared.

“Let me ask you something.” She took a sip of the beverage.

“Mmm hmm.” He dabbed his napkin against his lips. “What is it?”

“You told me a while back that you’re divorced. What happened between you and your ex-wife?”

He picked up his fork and tapped it against his now empty plate. “I’ll tell you ’bout me and my ex, just not right now. It’ll drag the date down.”

“I don’t mind bein’ dragged down.” She winked.

He chuckled at that, then sucked his teeth. Balling up his napkin, he tossed it on the table and leaned forward, clasping his hands.

“I’ll tell you either later tonight or tomorrow, baby. I just don’t think it’s fittin’ dinner conversation.”

“Do you promise to tell me later tonight or tomorrow, Kage?”

“Yeah. Ain’t no point in keeping it a secret. Besides, that’s something you should be told anyway. It’s not a problem. We’re courtin’.” He shrugged. “Of course you’d want to know ’bout my past. I want to know about yours, too. All of it.”

Her smile slowly faded, then reappeared as if she’d suddenly realized it had slipped. She seemed to now be studying him with those big, gorgeous eyes of hers, then slumped in her chair.

“What are we doing next?” she asked. “You said you had something planned. I’m ready.” She took another sip of her wine. This time, a gleam of mischievousness flashed in her eyes. His dick jumped from the way she licked her lips.

“I thought we’d go out for a night stroll on my property. You wanna see that bobcat you came ’round here lookin’ for when we met?”

Her eyes lit up like lanterns. “Yes, I do! You think I’ll really see her?” She sounded like an excited child rearing to get a toy. It tickled him so.

“There’s a chance.” He shrugged. “I didn’t correct you the first time around, but I need to clarify something.

I named her Persia, and she’s familiar with me.

” She nodded in understanding. “Yeah, she’s that unusual ruddy color you mentioned.

She’s a lil’ shy. She’s got babies ’nd such.

Anyway, I’m gonna grab my dagger and rifle, and we can get goin. ’”

“Dagger and rifle? Bobcats don’t usually attack people though.”

“You’re right. Bobcats don’t have a long record of jumpin’ on people and attacking all willy nilly, unless they’re defending their young or feel threatened. Like I said, Persia knows who I am. The gun ain’t for her, baby.”

“Then who’s it for? The meth heads you warned me about?” she asked with a smirk as she stood to her feet.

He walked over into his living room, opened the closet door, and yanked a lightweight jacket off a hanger, then slipped it on. “It’s for whoever needs it.”

“I’d hate for you to have to need it. I imagine there may be some snakes ’nd such. Never heard of someone shooting a snake, it seems that the knife would be enough, but I figure you want to be safe rather than sorry.” She wrapped her shawl around her shoulders, and slipped into her flats.

“The forest respects me because I respect it. Sometimes though, there are uninvited guests, and they have to be taught a lesson…”