Page 94 of Curvy Girl Summer

He held my gaze. “I know you do.”

“How many dates did it take you to determine she’s the one?”

“By the end of the fourth date, I know what’s up.”

“So, on the fourth date, you knew you found the one?”

“On the fourth date, I know what I want to do. If it works out, it works out. If it doesn’t, it doesn’t. But by the end of the fourth date, I know if I want to focus my time exclusively with that woman.”

I nodded as I mulled over his thought process. There was something incredibly refreshing about a man who knew what he wanted and followed through with it. As evidenced by the ring on his finger, he didn’t just talk the talk. He walked the walk, too.

By Ahmad’s logic, if I hit it off with Silas tonight, we’d know where we’d want to take it on my birthday.

“When do you know?” he asked, interrupting my thoughts.

“Depends on the man,” I answered honestly. “I’ve known I was interested in more on the first date. Sometimes it took a little longer. But from this point forward, I’m just trusting my gut.”

“Smart. You have a good head on your shoulders.” He put his hands a few inches from his head. “That big head of yours will serve you well.”

“I do have a big head,” I acknowledged. “That’s not the first time I’ve heard that. Sorry you can’t relate.”

It took him a second before he burst out laughing. “Yooooooo.”

A couple of women approached the bar, and instead of going to Asia, they stood next to me and waited for Ahmad.

After he served them, he turned to me. “What does this Silas do? Please tell me he has a job.”

“He’s a tattoo artist.”

“That’s what’s up. He any good?”

I frowned. “I don’t know. He showed me pictures of some of his work, but honestly, he could’ve taken those pictures from anywhere on the internet.”

Amused, he shook his head. “You don’t trust nobody, do you?”

“I sure don’t!”

“You trust me, though.”

I rolled my eyes, but I didn’t answer him.

Funny enough, I did trust him.

As if my silence gave him confirmation, he smirked and moved on. “Well, if you get to know him and verify his work, let me know what’s up. I was thinking about turning this half sleeve into a full sleeve next month.”

The black ink dancing across his arm was mostly hidden by his shirt sleeve. But every time he reached over to mix a drink, wipe down the bar, or put something away, an intricate design peeked out. Even when I tried not to look at his muscles as he stretched out the fabric of his shirt, I noticed. I wasn’t checking him out, but I had eyes.

“What do you have and what are you thinking about getting?” I asked, studying his arm like it was the first time.

“I have prayer hands up here”—he pointed to his upper arm—“a Bible verse, a, um… a quote, and a design that goes all around my bicep. I want to get the design connected down to my wrist to make a full sleeve.”

I nodded slowly. “Did all that hurt?”

“Not as much as I thought it was going to. Do you have any?”

I shook my head. “No, but I’m getting one for my birthday.”

“Of what?”

---