My stomach melted.
“Really?” I whispered, my word swept away by the music but she watched my mouth move and nodded.
Game, set, match to Knight.
My eyes shifted to the floor and I grinned a secret grin that wasn’t really secret but it felt that way.
Vivica kept going.
“Nick, one look, douchebag motherfucker. Knight, one look, yeah, the guy is a guy you do not f**k with but other than that, class, command, confidence and cash. And that last in a way that he just has it because he earns it and he’s not in your face about it because he’s got so much of the other three he doesn’t need to be.”
“I already decided I’m going to explore this, Viv,” I shared something she knew loud enough for her to hear but hopefully not loud enough for the others around us. They were my friends but this kind of stuff was only for the close posse.
“Yeah, and what I’m saying is, as you do, that man, you’ll find out shit that will freak your shit right out. You power through, girl, and get to the other side. Because if he stays the way he is with you right now, and I am not talking about dresses and space age phones, I’m talking about him making the world melt away while he sits with you on a booth seat in the busiest club in Denver, it will be worth it.”
“What do you mean I’ll find out shit that will freak me out?”
She glanced around then pulled me to the side away from some friends.
Then she started talking.
“He went from a drag racer to a club owner in a hop, skip and a jump. Club success at age twenty-six. He’s the master of all you survey and as far as I know, answers to nobody. So that means no investors so that means he dumped his own money into this place. I have no clue but just the glasses cost a whack so the rest of this place, my guess, millions. I also have no clue about drag racing but, my guess, that doesn’t make a millionaire. He drives an Aston Martin. He owns seriously exclusive real estate and sends a driver to pick up his woman and her friends. He keeps his shit so tight nobody knows a thing about him and, trust me, I’ve been asking around. He owns Slade. He’s got a motherfucker for a brother. He drives a sweet ride. He does not date but he gets wild amounts of pu**y by picking and choosing from his dance floor and none of those bitches talk but if you bring him up, they sure do smile. No one but no one who has all that, does all that and no one knows f**k all about all that doesn’t have secrets. Big ones. So he freaks your shit out, Anya, his secrets come out, you hold on and roll with it. Are you getting me?”
I stared at her.
Then I asked, “Wild amounts of pu**y?”
She stared at me and stated emphatically, “Wild.”
Oh my God.
“Babe, girl, babe, listen to me,” she said quickly, her hand grabbing mine and I knew I must have been freaking out visibly as well as internally. I focused on her and she continued, “You know me. I do my homework. And that shit dried up two weeks ago.”
“You’re sure?” I asked.
“No. I’m no PI and I don’t follow him home. But I know folks who practically live here. They see him, know who he is and know he gets himself some and he hasn’t been checking out his regular smorgasbord in a while.”
My head tipped to the side. “He doesn’t date?”
“That’s the word.”
“What does that mean?”
“He likes you, he’ll cook for you at his house. He wants to get off, he does and you go home.”
Cooks for you at his house?
Oh God.
Vivica’s hand gave mine a squeeze. “Babe, he took you to Wynkoop’s. And I don’t have to remind you that he cooked for you but he didn’t do you.”
“Oh God.”
Her hand now gave mine a shake. “Babe, listen to me, the dresses, the phone, the car, the VIP section, not his MO. Wynkoop’s, definitely not. Intel is still comin’ in but it’s slow and there’s not much to be had. But if he was a man on the town, it wouldn’t be. People would see him and report back. They haven’t. His life is this club and his condo. The girls go there then the girls leave there and, more often than not, don’t come back. And they don’t go there for a steak, heart to heart conversation about their dead parents, a nap then he takes them out to eat and sends them home without a kiss. Nor, to my knowledge, does he show at their house in the middle of a night finally to get that kiss. He’s into you. If he was a big spender, his f**k buddies would be reigning supreme in one of these sections and doing it regularly. From what I heard, you are the first.”
I was rethinking having shared such detail about my Knight Encounters but, alas, too late.
“Why didn’t you tell me all this before we went out?” I asked.