Page 8 of Spellbound By a Sagittarius
I couldn’t believeI’d just made it back from my appointments. I didn’t even get around to eating lunch. The day went by so fast. I had gone from my massage appointment to my lash fill-in appointment. Finally, I wound up at the nail salon right by the hotel for a quick pedicure. It was worth it because I felt good and looked even better.
When Dre called me because I reacted to his text with an emoji instead of texting back, it tickled my soul for the day. He was such a hard ass when he wanted to be. I observed that already, but I’d break him eventually. I pulled out the only little black dress I kept packed in case something that required it came up. The black, spaghetti-strapped JluxLabel cocktail dress was perfect. Time had already gotten away from me, so Isteamed it as fast as I could. It was already past 7:30 p.m., and I had an hour. After I thought about it, I really had less time than that. I took a quick shower, then prepared to do my makeup.
My face still glowed like glass after the mini facial I received complimentary with my massage earlier. I pulled my makeup bag from my luggage, threw a towel down on the bed, and dumped it all out onto the towel. Since I wore red lipstick on flights, I always wanted a natural nude, soft-pink, or ombre-toned lip elsewhere. Once I gathered the products I needed, I quickly sat down in the bathroom, elated that the hotel room had a vanity and great lighting. I plugged my mini flat irons in to touch up my edges and flyaways so it could look freshly done. It was all happening so fast, but I loved spontaneous shit. No way did I wake up and think I would meet Dre’s fine ass, but there we were.
I beat my face to completion in twenty minutes flat. I bumped my hair and finished it with a little of the argon oil that worked wonders on the natural hair of mine. I held the dress up to make sure I hadn’t missed any spots when I steamed it, then put it on. The way it hugged my body should’ve been a crime. There wasn’t a wrinkle to be found. I pulled out my black YSL strappy heels and put them on next. I put on my diamond tennis bracelet with the matching tennis necklace to let him know I was Big Lyra, not the little one. Plus, diamonds and black paired perfectly together.
A few sprays of Good Girl by Carolina Herrera and my favorite perfume oil would seal the deal, then I would be good to go. I had just enough time to get a half glass of wine in to calm my nerves. I picked up the phone to dial the room service line.
“Yes, could a bottle of chardonnay be sent to my room promptly? Whatever house brand you have on hand is good. Thank you,” I said.
“Yes, Ms. Jackson. We’ll send it right up.”
“Thank you again.” I hung the phone up and snapped a few selfies while I waited. I chose the one I thought was best looking and sent it to Dre along with a text.
Me:
Ready before 8:30.
He texted back within seconds.
Dre:
En route.
Me:
I thought you were sending a car.
Dre:
I changed my mind. I want as much time tonight as possible. Send your room number.
I laughed out loud. This nigga thought he was slick.
Me:
You don’t need my room number. I’ll just come down.
Dre:
Send me your room number, woman.
Me:
I don’t even know you like that.
Dre:
Should’ve thought about that when you asked me to watch your damn luggage earlier, lol.
I had something for his ass. I reacted to his text like I’d done earlier, just to be petty. I waited a few moments, then sent him the room number. He was right. After all, I had basically trusted a stranger with all my belongings. It might turn out terrible, but doing it for the plot always did something to my spirit. Having the freedom to do whatever the hell I wanted and pleased lit me up every day. It was the Sagittarius in me that I could finally nurture because of the career choice I’d made.
Yeah, I got lonely sometimes and craved deep love and affection, but I just chalked it up to it not being my time for love yet. That night would be no different. It would be a harmless date. If that man showed up at my room with nothing in his hand, then I would know he was just trying to have sex, but if he showed up with a gift, then I would know he’d put in a little effort.
It was either Dre or the concierge with the wine who knocked on the door a few times before I snapped back to reality.
“Coming!” I called out.
