Page 40 of Deeper

“You ever get a melody stuck in your head?” Zander played a note and angled his head to hear it better. He wasn’t satisfied as he shook his head and tried another sound.

“Maybe a song or two,” I said.

“I’m going to write a song about your body.”

“Okay, John Mayer.”

He smiled. “Fuck you.”

Zander was frustrated, but he played well. His fingers danced across the keys, like a ballerina doing pliés and grand jetés. Everything about Zander was art—living, breathing, vibrant art incarnate.

“You’ll get it, you sound good.” I stretched, feeling listless suddenly. “I’m going to go soak in the tub.”

I left Zander to his battle with his music and I went up to the master bathroom and drew a nice bubble bath.

His tub was big enough to swim in, with jets for added allure. It was tempting to go under, but I pinned my hair up and lied back to relax instead.

Not too long into my soak, Zander came to join me. He stripped down gloriously nude before coming and stepping into the tub. There was more than enough room for the both of us, but he came and lay back between my legs, as if he owned me and had every right.

I pretended to click my tongue. “You got all this room in this tub.”

“I’m right where I want to be, though,” he quipped.

His hair was shaved shorter on the sides and longer on the top, but not too long. I ran my fingers through his thick mane as he tilted his head back. He was up against me, and though we’d already slept together and crossed that fine line, nothing felt more intimate than this moment.

I wrapped my legs around him, locking him in place. “Mine.”

Zander patted my thigh under the water. “Yes.”

His concession put a smile on my face. Zander was spoiling me, making me awaken and realize I’d been starved of affection and attention. Rod loved the night life, the flashy clothes, jewelry, and cars, and not to mention the different women who came his way. He only wanted me when I wasn’t there, but he wasn’t willing to stay and be faithful and true. Because there was always someone prettier than me, someone more curvaceous, someone more willing to do any and everything.

But there wasn’t another me, another Bianka Leslie.

Rod was right. Iwasone in a million, and it was his loss. After this weekend with Zander, when I was ready to go out there and try for real, I would use Zander as a model, a standard for how men should treat and value me.

Fuck your roses, Rod.

I almost felt tempted to text Victoria and Holliston my feat, my finally closing the curtain on the Roderick chapter of my life—but then that’s where things would get tricky. I didn’t want to have to lie any more than I’d already done.

“Okay, Q&A time,” I announced.

“All right,” Zander agreed.

You would think being Victoria’s best friend I’d know everything about him already, but I didn’t. Now I was finally curious, and why bother Wikipedia when I had the very person between my legs, against my chest, to provide me my much-needed info.

“Is Zander your real name?” I asked.

“In a way, yes. My full name is Saad Alexander Khalil. When we formed So What, management and the label decided that ‘Saad’ was too complicated—ethnic, so we came up with Zander instead.”

I paused, unable to believe what he’d said. “That’s shitty as fuck.”

Zander cupped some of the water in his hand and soon let it spill back into the tub. “Indeed, it was.”

“Which do you prefer?” I wanted to know.

Zander shrugged. “In a way, I sorta like how only family calls me Saad; it makes going home that much more intimate and special. It doesn’t really matter in the end since Zanderismy real name as well.”

I liked the sound of Saad—it was beautiful, but after seeing and knowing his image for all these years, Zander would always be Zander to me.

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