Always Wrong - Xyla Turner Page 0,12

babies afterwards. He shared that it was not a death sentence. Then he took that back and said, “It’s not the death penalty, Sheryl. You’ve had a major loss and I’m sorry, but there is life for you and your womb after this.”

This made me feel better, but there was a part of me that had been missing.

For our meeting, Jacquez thought that we should have dinner and then go back to my place. I wasn’t opposed to that, since I’d have home court advantage. Though I never had men in my home. We used hotels so I could leave. I didn’t think any man that I was romantic with had ever been in my home, so if Jacquez was coming, that meant I could not leave.

Shit.

That day, I decided to work from home. The point was not to rush, but the place was busy. The people that cleaned my condo came again to make sure everything was clean, folded, and in the right place. My cooks made food and ensured that things were stocked. I had no idea what or if cooking would happen, but I wanted to make sure that I was prepared. Even if it was just mentally or emotionally.

He and I met at the exclusive rooftop restaurant in Midtown. I was fashionably late, of course, but damn, did he look good enough to eat. As I neared the table, Jacquez rose to greet me with a kiss on the cheek.

“You look good,” he whispered in my ear then pulled away to look at me from head to toe.

That look and the glimmer in his eyes spoke volumes about what he wanted to do. After the last evening we’d spent together, I knew what he could do, but something told me I didn’t know shit.

“You don’t look so bad yourself.”

I smiled while inhaling that expensive cologne of his. It was rich and had a heavy scent of cedar. Enough to lick him.

Down, girl.

Down.

We sat, and Jacquez ordered wine while I searched my menu. He must have also ordered appetizers, because the waiter, placed a plate on our table that contained caviar with some bread and olive oil. I must have looked at it some type of way, because Jacquez burst out laughing, and though I was mesmerized with his infectious laugh, I was also curious as to why.

“What?” I asked.

“I take it you don’t like caviar?” He was still chuckling.

“Nope. I’ve tried it, and it doesn’t fit my pallet,” I answered honestly without saying it was fucking disgusting.

“It’s a delicacy,” he explained.

“Yes, that you can have all to yourself,” I added.

He chuckled again and called the waiter over.

“Get the lady an appetizer.” He nodded in my direction.

“I’ll take the calamari,” I told the man, who nodded and scurried away. “Thank you.”

“Do you know what you would like for the entrée?” he asked me while closing his menu and reaching for the caviar.

We both ended up ordering the salmon and asparagus. Then dessert that we decided to have at my place. There wasn’t much talk of our plans, but catching up on our week, projects, and current events. It was a bit different to talk with someone who didn’t live in the States about business. The troubles in his country were a tad bit different than ours. Their politics were different, but seemed to have the same flare of drama. Maybe a bit more polished than our brand of ridiculousness that was happening in the house that happens to be white in Washington, D.C. He was well aware of our country’s issues, to his credit. Which made for an interesting conversation.

By the time we arrived at my condominium, my anticipation levels were up. We had not had any discussions about this baby business thus far, so later would be the time.

Right?

I was not one to mince words, so once we were sitting down in my living room, two fingers of whiskey between the two of us, I asked, “Let’s hash out some of the details about the baby.”

Jacquez smiled, then nodded his agreement.

“Perfect,” I replied and leaned back with some ease. “Do you really want to do this?”

“Do you?” he asked while holding up his glass and taking a sip.

“I said that I do,” I told him, “but this is a huge commitment, Jacquez. You and I are both, how shall I put it, well, we’re flirtatious. Having a child is one thing, but living together? Really? That’s a lot. I mean, that’s next level. How will we