Page 112 of The Promise

“When and where?”

She pulled in a breath. “Here and there. The last time I saw him was in Costa Rica.”

“AtIDC?” That nigga was there, too?

Ashira shook her head, eyes suspiciously low. “No. He wasn’t able to make it. He flew in about a week before.”

“And?”

“And…” She shrugged, then took a sip of her coffee. “He was a dub. Very pompous. Haris is one of those non-American Blacks who believe they’re better than me. Nothing turns me off more than an arrogant man who ain’t even cute.” She shook her head, attention suddenly taken by her phone vibrating. As she checked it, Ashira continued to explain. “I made him believe I didn’t peep his condescension, always dangling his mother wanting a Black American daughter-in-law in my face as if that would impress me. It had me wondering if non-American Blacks believe we Black Americans are all bastardized people, desperate for a connection to culture.”

Ashira left the sofa and toed away. Then she turned back to look my way. “And if you’re curious about whether or not I gave him the cookie, remember who gave you your last orgasm. The last one I’ve given one to is gaping at me now in judgment.”

“Nah,” I tried to argue. “I ain’tjudge—”

“Yeah.” She kept walking. “Whatever.”

Shit…

“Thanks for today, Bella!” Ashira sang happily; I knew because she’d had a few drinks. I didn’t know how I felt about that, knowing I may have been the cause.

Either way, the night air was good, and energy on point with the music streaming from a live band. Francesco and Bella performed a two-step as Ashira swirled, swinging her long dress in the air. Only the security and I were lost on the festivities as we walked down the pier, turning onto the ramp for the boat. It was close to eleven at night, and damn, had it been a long day. I carried a sleeping Chivon on my shoulder.

“You’re very welcome, dear,” Bella returned. “I love Saint-Tropez. It’s a dream every time I visit here. Never gets boring.”

She was right. After our awkward moment this morning, Ashira and I went our separate ways. She took care of Chivon while I got dressed. We had breakfast on the boat while arriving at Saint-Tropez. We found a small petting zoo for Chivon. She loved animals and didn’t want to leave. Then there was a botanical park we visited, taking a gazillion goddamn pictures. It might have been bearable if Ashira had talked to me. I mean, she smiled and ordered me around for poses. She even sat next to me during lunch and dinner. But her energy was off for me; it could damn sure be felt.

I sensed it when we hit upRue François Sibilli, a shopping avenue. Amy and Rainey’s eyes lit up brighter and brighter each time we passed a familiar designer store. Ashira focused and went inside a few of them. I offered to pick up the tab, hoping she’d recognize my white flag. Her insistence on paying for it on her own pricked at me. I did it anyway, on the low, slipping my card to the shopping assistants. They were smart, catching on fast. I’d get my card back, and so would Ashira. But she’d get the receipt for the damage my card took. Even doing that didn’t make me feel better about what went down earlier.

I’d fucked up. Ashira and I had a few good days, and I fucked it up with the Haris thing. That upset me and set the tone for the day. I had no one to be upset with but myself.

“You didn’t want to get down with the girls?” Francesco asked Ashira, shimmying his damn shoulders.

He was referring to Amy and Rainey opting to hit the clubs tonight. Ashira and Bella laughed at that. I was too preoccupied in thought. The shit with Haris was still on my mind, too. And I wouldn’t lie and say hearing from Jug the way I did this morning sat well with me, either. It was the worst I’d heard him.

“Nah. This is my family vacation. I left my girls behind,” Ashira explained. “But best believe once I get home, I’ll make up for it.” That caused them to laugh, too.

Ashira did that to people. She brought out the best in personalities. It was a gift I lowkey hoped she’d passed down to our daughter.

“Alright, guys,” Ashira waved when we separated from Francesco and Bella.

“Good night!”

“Buona Notte!”

Ashira singing, “Buona Notte!” while twirling again had them cracking up.

Quietly, I continued to the stairs off the main deck and hiked up to the second level with Chivon rocking on my shoulder. When we arrived, I stopped to give Ashira a moment to catch up. Then I followed her down the carpeted hall to the room, listening to her steps in the hard bottom wedges she wore.

She opened the door, allowing me to cut around her. The first thing I saw were the shopping bags from earlier lined against the wall. I passed by them, taking Chivon straight to her bed. I unhooked and pulled off her sandals from her little feet. As soon as I did, she rolled onto her side toward the window. I knew her ass would fall out after the day we’d had.

When I turned to go, Ashira stood in the path of the doorway. She didn’t block it, but she clearly wanted to be seen. At first, she didn’t speak. Then she took a few steps toward me, leaned up, and kissed me. The first was just her warm, pillowy lips. Then, soon came her tongue, and it felt like my whole fucking body lit on fire. Right away, I was reminded of those sensations I experienced the first time we kissed in the hallway atDi’Fillippo’s. I didn’t move—didn’t lean into it more than lowering my chin. Yeah, I kissed her back—hell yeah!It was fucking Ashira Witherspoon. On my best day, I couldn’t deny her when she came this aggressive. I missed the silkiness of her tongue, the speed she took when in my mouth.

But it didn’t last long. Ashira pulled back, lowering herself to the base of her feet. She walked backward and turned to the side, giving me a full view of the door to the cabin.

I cleared my throat, feeling sonned, aroused, and torn as fuck. “Ashira, my bad about this morning. It’s just that…” I shook my head, licking my lips. “Shit with us is…”

“It’s unusual.” She nodded. “I get it. I don’t think I like it, but I get it. I’m trying for better, even if I don’t know what that is.”

---