The Reinvention of the Rose - Christina C. Jones Page 0,23

and I… don’t understand why. It’s a problem for me to want to know you better before being intimate?”

“The intimacy will better inform if I want to know you,” I countered, not backing down even though I could feel myself digging deeper into an even worse space than we already were.

“I guess we’re at an impasse then?”

I shrugged. “I guess so. Can you leave now?”

“No, I’m not fucking leaving,” he grunted, throwing up his hands. “I’m trying to bluff your stubborn ass into… shit, I don’t even know. You’re frustrating the hell outta me right now – I thought women liked when niggas weren’t trying to jump straight into bed.”

“I’m not this nebulous women you speak of – I’m Tempest,” I told him. “I can’t speak for what anyone else likes, but no, I didn’t like offering myself to you and getting turned down. It didn’t feel good. At all.”

He pushed out a sigh. “I get that. And I’m sorry for making you feel bad – that wasn’t my intention at all. It had nothing to do with me not finding you attractive, or anything like that. I thought I’d made myself clear.”

“You did make yourself clear, as far as I’m concerned.”

His expression shifted back to a smile. “So we’re good then?”

I returned his smile. “You’re good. I’m good. And you can go now.”

“Wait, what?”

“You heard exactly what I said,” I told him, pulling the door open and gesturing for him to step out.

Was I making a mistake here?

Probably.

Would I regret it?

Probably.

Could I let go of my stubbornness long enough to accept his words, instead of my perception, as the truth, and move forward from there?

Absolutely not.

He let out another heavy sigh before he stepped out, turning to say something as soon as he was on the other side of my threshold.

I wasn’t trying to hear it.

I closed and locked the door, then moved back to my workshop, leaving him standing there looking dumbfounded.

Good.

I hoped he felt as confused as I had.

I couldn’t let it go.

Which is what a person who really wasn’t bothered would’ve done.

Nope.

Instead of minding my business and making some damn candles, I found myself at Urban Grind, in skintight jeans, a lowcut top and no bra, heels, hair and makeup done to perfection.

Seeking attention.

When Tristan was very clearly at work.

Just like the first night I met him, he had on the security tee shirt, helping keep the weekend crowd under control. And just like any other time we were in the same room, he spotted me.

Only now, I didn’t quite feel like I could trust what I’d thought was obvious attraction in his eyes.

I could, however, trust these other motherfuckers.

They weren’t shy at all with their intentions, and I believed them when it all came spilling from their mouths, fueled by liquor and marijuana and my blatant flirting. After that confusing ass encounter with Tristan, the brazen attempts to take me home – or to the bathroom – were actually… kinda soothing.

I hadn’t lost my touch.

“We really should get out of here, you know…”

I couldn’t remember his name, but he really did look good. Tall and sandy, slim and well-dressed, and very, very pretty.

And his breath smelled good.

“Let me guess… you wanna get to know me better?” I practically purred, pressing myself into his chest as he curled an arm around my waist… with Tristan looking on.

I could feel his annoyance from across the room.

Whatever-his-name-was grinned at me, the metallic glint of his grill flashing before he dipped his head to speak into my ear. “Certain places on you? Absolutely?”

I giggled about that – his words, and the minty-coolness of his breath against my skin. Biting my lip, I stared up at him, and was damn near ready to ask where we were going when he suddenly snatched away from me.

Or, more accurately, when Tristan snatched him away from me.

“What is the problem?” he yelped, glowering as Tristan got in his face.

“You tell me, bruh,” Tristan growled, wearing this terrifyingly cold expression that sent a chill up my spine… and between my legs.

My potential dick for the night took a step back, hands up. “That’s you?” he asked, pointing to me.

“No!” I answered, at the same time that Tristan said “Sure is.”

Obviously, that eliminated any “potential”.

“What the fuck?” I asked Tristan, ignoring the eyes that had been drawn by that little scene to confront him. “Why would you do that?”

“Why would you?” he countered.

“Because I’m a grown ass woman, and I can do what I want