I had been to my fair share of rooftops, but only a couple in South Beach. As many times as I’d been there, I had not explored the nightlife the city offered. Dre shifted in front of me as the elevator opened, looking all around as if he was looking for someone.
“Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. I’m so used to being in protection mode that I instantly step off the elevators and look around to check for any threats.”
“Protection mode? What do you do for a living? Should I be scared?” I quizzed as we made our way to his truck parked right outside the doors of the hotel.
“Not at all. Get in.” He opened the passenger door of the black Lexus truck. I glanced over at the driver’s side to make sure his door was unlocked. My daddy always taught me that if a man could open the door for a woman, make sure his door was unlocked by the time he got around to his side, at the very least. I then began doing it out of habit every time I went on a date.
“Now, are you gonna tell me what you do for a living?”
“I own and operate a private security company. I protect elite clients all over the southern region of the states.” He spoke confidently.
Shit. Just the way all of that rolled off his tongue was turning me on a bit.
“That’s great. How long have you been in business?”
“Almost eleven years now. Before this, I was in the streets.”
I could tell. He didn’t get that rugged look from just anywhere. I could sense it on him. It didn’t matter how put-together and polished he looked; his demeanor told the story. He wasn’t dressed in a suit like he was that morning, but he still looked good as hell. He wore a gray fitted tee and a black pair of chinos with all-black Jordan 12s. He had minimal jewelry on—a black Rollie and black diamonds in his ears, and he smelled good, too.
“I can tell.”
“The tattoos, huh?” he questioned knowingly.
“More than that. It’s your whole demeanor. How watchful you are of your surroundings… all of that, love.”
“I see.” He chuckled and tugged at his beard. “How long have you been a flight attendant?”
“This is my third year, and I’m actually the lead flight attendant.”
“Oh, shit. Let me put some respect on your name then, Miss Lyra, the lead flight attendant.”
“Mhmm. That’s more like it.” I tilted my head and winked at him.
“Are you married? Got any kids?”
“Now you know damn well, if I was married, I would not be sitting in this truck with you right now. And I don’t have any children. What about you?”
“I mean, shit, you never know. Women are something else these days.”
“I’mma stop you right there. I’m not just ‘women.’” I chuckled.
“Aight. My bad then, beautiful. You’re not just ‘women.’ I can clearly see that. But to answer your question, I have a seventeen-year-old son. His name is Junior.”
“Oooh whee. Somebody’s fine ass daddy.” I played too much sometimes, but I was for real. Dre was indeed someone’s fine ass daddy.
“Thanks.”
“How is your relationship with his mother?”
“It’s pretty good. We are both too old for the baby momma, baby daddy bullshit, so we put our differences aside long ago to make sure Junior is good.”
“That’s beautiful.”
I knew from that statement alone that he was an active and loving father. Hopefully, he was honest about his relationship with his son’s mother because I couldn’t do a jealous bitch in the mix if we were to date consistently. I wasn’t even trying to think that far, because whenever I did, I got let down. I just wanted to enjoy the night. That was it.
He drove through the streets of South Beach as we continued to chit-chat and feel each other out. My hair blew in the wind while we rode with the windows half down. South Beach hada vibe of its own. The streets buzzed with locals and tourists. Music played at almost every stop. Neon signs and lights were on every other building, and the streets were lined with palm trees. Being in South Beach felt like being in a Rick Ross video.
