Guess Who's Back?

Caroline

Lance re-entered my life with hurricane force and arrived precisely during a dry spell that could only be quenched by a the sweat of a tawny West Indian. Me and artist friend for all intents and purposes called it quits and work kicked it up a notch. I was pulling over time at the office every night and even coming in on Saturday mornings. Sometimes that's what it takes to get the job done. Anyways, as always, Lance has impeccable timing and charm that can sooth the most stubborn demeanor.

The week began with a shy text message. "Hey there... flying in tomorrow". I mean, what was I supposed to do with that? Except maybe, ignore it. Which I did and I pressed on with work. Went out, met up with Noni for martini's and couldn't hold it in.

"Heffa are you crazy?" she teased, when she found out I was playing hard to get. "Girl, that fine ass man is actually about to get attacked by thirsty women when he gets here. Claim him!"

"I just don't know if I'm prepared for his drama, for the commitment. Girl, everything makes sense right now. Finally."

"What? Are you scared he's going to get on his knee and force a ring on your finger the moment he sees you?" she laughed. " God forbid. Just do it Caroline... And I do mean that in both ways." 

There's no quieting Noni. She's thought Lance was the one since we were in undergrad. But now that I'm a grown woman, I rightfully have my reservations.

Lance settled, and then a few days later, took a second chance.

He called.

You see a call is different than a text, especially when it arrives at 11:12 PM, while I'm laying in the bed, listening to the Quiet Storm on WBLS. 

His voice... oooh... sent chills down my spine.

"Hi there."

"Hi."

"I'm here."

"I know." Clearly, we were both grinning on the other end. I was aroused by the low timber of his voice (and the Luther Vandross in the background) and the thought of him sitting in a scantily furnished apartmen... in his briefs. 

"So when do I get to see you? You playing hide and seek."

"No, just busy."

"Ouch. I feel like I'm getting played."

"Oh please, Lance."

"You busy this Saturday?"

"I'll have to--"

"Let me repeat the question. Are you busy this Saturday?" 

I took a deep breath. Held back, the smile that wanted to burst all over my silly face.

"Saturday when, Lance?"

"Saturday, night. Maybe we can hit up a jazz club, grab dinner. I want to take you out and catch up."
"Yea, that sounds nice. Just let me know what time."

"So where do you live?"

"Harlem."

"I know that."

"Hamilton Heights."

"Oh okay." He was breathing so close to the receiver. If I didn't know any better I'd sware I felt his warm breath on my neck.

"And what are you wearing?"

"Lance!" 

"It's a simple question. Answer it."

"My night clothes."

"Silk, cotton, flannel, panties? I remember you used to sleep in lotion."

"Actually, I'm hanging up." Again, clearly, I was playing. I wasn't hanging up anytime soon. This is the kind of banter I missed. "I am wearing a black silk gown and a matching robe." 

"Are your toe-nails painted."

He remembered. I keep a serious pedicure. "Yes."

"What color?" He was making his voice as Billy Dee-like as he could and it was killing me. Softly. 

"Pink."

"Oh." He said nothing for a few seconds. I sighed deeply into the phone and waited for what I knew was coming next.

"So is the sound of my voice making your nipples hard."

"How dare..."

But let me not kid you. I wasn't bashful. We had phone sex, just like we used to do when we lived an ocean away and his words worked me up into such a fit, I was ready to have him come over, that night. Forget Saturday. He wanted to, but something inside me didn't want to spoil the reunion. So I held off, and after 20 minutes of his vocal erotica, bid him good night. As you might imagine, it was quite difficult to fall asleep.

-Caroline