“Plus, I was thinking we have a quick little fashion show after.”
“A fashion show?” I tittered.
“Yes. I be checking you out, Kit. You got some heat in those suitcases.”
“My things are all unpacked. I don’t have anything in my suitcases,” I joked.
“You know what I mean. It was enough of them motherfuckers. Now I see why.”
“Yes, I love my things.”
“Me, too, and I want to see you put that shit on for me.”
“Only if you do the same.”
“I don’t have too much here.”
“Which will make it even more interesting. My wardrobe is limited as well. A few suitcases. I’ll have to get creative. I’ve learned from being here that, that is not a problem for you.”
“Nah. It’s not.”
“So, you’re participating. Right?”
“How about we up the score a little and choose a winner at the end? The loser cleans the dishes for the next week straight.”
“Fohr, we both do the dishes with pleasure,” I reminded him.
“Then, the loser makes dinner for the next week.”
“Then, I have to win, because I can’t imagine you in the kitchen for a full week.”
“See, that’s your motivation right there. And, don’t act like I’m not getting better. I’ve been holding it down in the kitchen.”
“You’ve been better, baby, but not good enough to be responsible for dinner for a week.”
“Maybe.” He laughed with a shrug.
“Wait, who will judge?”
“Both of us.”
“How?”
“You’ll see, baby. You’ll see.”
I took that as my sign to quiet down. In silence, I finished Fohr’s haircut. When I was finally able to cut the clippers off, I studied my work closely. Satisfied with what I’d done, I stepped back and marveled at the masterpiece sitting before me.
“You fucked my shit up or what?” Fohr asked, running a hand down his head.
His fingers were long, slim, and very useful in the bedroom. He was skilled and not only on the field. He’d helped me score a homerun each time he stepped up to bat. The way he swung his pole had me oozing at the very thought.
“I didn’t. I think it looks pretty good.”
I reached behind me to hand him the mirror. He accepted it, placing it in front of him to see for himself.
“Oh, you trying to get your shit pushed through the mattress tonight?”
My cheeks flushed a shade of mahogany. I closed my eyes and shook my head, completely and utterly obsessed with the man in the mirror. He left no stone unturned when it came to me. To us. To this thing that we were building.
