Page 53 of Dare You to See Me
Me: How can you miss me? You don’t even have me.
King: Oh you’re mine. I’m just waiting for you to admit it to yourself.
Me: You’re awfully confident.
King: Because I’m the King, baby.
A shiver rolls through my body now the way it did last night. I stood at the counter, squeezing my thighs together as the arousal soaked my panties. But that was only the tip of the iceberg because Malik added to the lusting.
Malik: So about this morning…Do any more thinking on it?
Me: I have. I am. But I have concerns.
Malik: Tell me. What are your concerns?
Me: I don’t want Dahlia to know. She’s a child and I don’t want her getting any ideas.
Malik: Ideas? Like what? Like you and I could be a forever thing? That we could have the happily ever after you’ve always dreamed of? Wish fulfilled. What’s next?
Me: Malik. You cannot say things like that. We barely know each other.
Malik: I can say them if they’re true. I feel it, Soleil. I feel you in my heart. I feel that we can be great. Say yes to us and I’ll show just how amazing we can be.
I was a mess of need and emotions and utter chaos. How did I go from resolving to put my all into my daughter and fine with setting my life on the back burner, to being pulled between two men? One that I can never see, and one that can see through me.
“Mommy. Did you hear me?” I blink and suddenly I’m back in my kitchen with the water still running and my daughter staring at me, and not laying in Malik’s arms in bed.
“I’m sorry baby. Can you repeat yourself?” I turn off the faucet because I don’t even remember why I had it on in the first place, and walk over to the table where she eats her toast.
“I said I think I need more cimmamim on my peanut butter and banana toast.”
“Cinnamon,” I correct.
“Right. Cimmamim. Can I have more please?” With a smile and a nod, I grab the spice jar and shake a few more times on her toast.
“Good?”
“Perfect. Thanks, Mommy.”
“You’re wel–” My phone buzzes on the counter, echoing through the mostly quiet house.
Dahlia takes a bigger than necessary bite of her food, not the least bit concerned with the buzzing of the phone, while I wonder who could be calling so early.
Flipping it over I see a number I don’t recognize, but it’s local and it could be something important. Dahlia is engrossed in her book about a little boy who just doesn’t understand the word no, so I step into the laundry room to take the call.
“Hello?”
“Soleil?” the deep voice on the other end says.
“This is she. And who is this?”
“It’s Wesley. Collier.” Goosebumps dot my flesh putting the name and face together.
“Not to be rude but, how did you get my number?” I finger the mismatched socks that sit on the dryer and remind myself to go in search of their missing mates.
“The parent information form. I know it says for emergencies, but I’m not on school drop off this morning and I wanted to ask you about this afternoon.” His voice is peppy and it irks me.
I rack my brain for something that school or Malik has scheduled this afternoon but nothing comes to mind.
