Naughty Or Nice Part 7

"d.a.m.n."

He took a breath and said, "You're right."

"What?"

"We should talk about something else."

His angst made lines in his forehead. I reached over and touched his hand. I said, "You should keep a journal. Write it all down, what you're going through."

"Is that what you're doing?"

"You could say that. My younger sister told me to journal."

"Writing down negative feelings . . . that helps?"

"It's not about being negative. It's about honesty with yourself. Helps me try to understand what I'm feeling."

"Do you?"

"Not really. Right now it looks about as coherent as something Algernon would write."

"Who?"

"Oh. My bad. Flowers for Algernon is a book about a r.e.t.a.r.ded guy named Charlie and Algernon was actually a mouse . . . and . . . never mind. Long story."

"I get it."

I asked, "More sake?"

"Sounds good to me."

We sipped our poison and talked.

He said, "The night life is kicking down here."

"Lot of clubs down here with live music, if you're interested."

"Sounds like a plan."

Our waitress came over to check on us. A short and dark sister, beautiful face and wonderful pet.i.te shape. I doubted if she was out of college yet. Didn't have adult problems yet, not the kind that wore you out and robbed you of your right to sleep. All of the other workers at this j.a.panese sus.h.i.+ bar were Mexican, and she was the only person here who spoke English. Black woman in charge of Mexican cooks at a j.a.panese restaurant. It was kind of funny. It gave me and my date something to chuckle and whisper about.

He said, "Have to be honest . . . this is awkward."

I blew air and nodded. "It is."

"Wanna . . . stop?"

I said, "Let's just stop bulls.h.i.+tting each other."

"Aw, man." He nudged me. "Sure you want to? We were having so much fun."

"No." I laughed. "Not unless you do."

"You keep touching your hair, your face."

"Do I?"

He nodded. "You're all over the place."

"Your leg keeps bouncing," I told him. "The change in your pocket is talking to me."

"Trust me." He had a nervous grin. "I'm over here hoping I'm funny, hoping that I'm impressing you in some way, hoping I'm a good date so far, hoping we have a good time."

I raised a brow. "You're trying to impress me?"

"You're beautiful. Good personality. Not what I expected."

I nudged him. "Stop stealing my thoughts."

He laughed again.

I said, "I'm over here trying to think of open-ended questions to keep us talking."

We laughed together.

"What we said . . ." I let my words hang, then s.h.i.+fted, didn't know what to do with my hands, so I swallowed some more sake. "Did you want to . . . do something else?"

"Yeah. If you want to. No pressure. I'm free for the night."

He gave me a boyish smile, reached across the table, took my hand, rubbed my skin.

He said, "Ready to go?"

"Lead the way."

We left Nippon, hand in hand, opening the door between us a little wider.

A lot of traffic was going into Horton Plaza, a combination of seasonal shoppers and moviegoers. Military sentiment and support was on b.u.mper stickers, in store windows. This was a military town and a lot of the men had the buzz cuts to prove it.

Carpe asked, "What kinda music do you like?"

"Doesn't matter. I'm open. You dance?"

"Little bit."

We heard blues playing and went into Croce's, a shotgun-style bar that had a small stage up front. We sipped beers, ate peanuts, were having a great time. Two Heinekens later I was thinking, f.u.c.k Weight Watchers and f.u.c.k the rest of the calorie-counting world. The music resurrected my soul, and it felt like I was nineteen again, reliving my college days, wild and loose, throwing caution to the wind, going after whatever made me feel good at the moment.

I didn't know any of the songs, but I was rocking and clapping my hands and loving every minute of it. We'd been there about an hour when a couple of nice-looking sisters came in and sat at the bar. Fine women with big legs in short skirts. Carpe rubbed my leg, told me he'd be right back, then went to those women. It was interesting watching him introduce himself, interesting watching the way they reacted to him with smiles, and just like that they were in a conversation. Not more than a minute went by before he came back to me.

He said, "There's a hip-hop club around the corner."

"Yeah?"

"You said you wanted to dance."

"So, anything I ask for, you can make it happen."

"I'll do my best."

"A sister could get used to being treated like this."

As soon as we walked into the club, we took off our coats and made our way to the crowded floor, found some elbow room, and danced to the remixed and hard beats of Too Short telling motherf.u.c.kers to quit hatin', then bounced to 50 Cent, DMX, Nas, Snoop, and a few others. We danced until I felt sweat covering my arms and back. We rested long enough to wipe our brows, get more drinks, then went back to the dance floor.

A camera kept flas.h.i.+ng. It was a red-haired white girl, snapping away.

She came out on the floor, a brother dancing all up on her, licking his lips and smiling like he wanted to use her to end racism, at least until the sun came up. San Diego looked like that kind of town, where Mayflower descendants had Amistad fetishes, and vice versa. She was drunk as h.e.l.l, whoo hooing, in full tourist mode, taking pictures of everybody and everything.

She laughed and pointed the camera at me. "Smile."

I gave her the "move b.i.t.c.h" face. "Do you mind?"

"I'm from out of town. Just trying to have a little fun."

I ignored her. Turned my back and let her rude and drunk a.s.s photograph other people.

She was trying to out-dance me, but my ethnic pride refused to let me be out-danced.

Carpe said, "d.a.m.n. You are working it."

I laughed. "I haven't even warmed up yet."

The camera flashed, that drunken girl taking pictures of herself, the guy she was dancing with, then everything. The brother she was with was all over her, holding her shoulders, helping her stagger off the dance floor. Looked like she was heading to the bathroom to toss her cookies.

I shook my head, wiped the sweat from my brow, went back to my own fun.

Atomic Dog came on and the room went wild, sent the house into freak-me mode. With the sensual moves and s.e.xual energy, with all the whites and Mexicans and Asians in the crowd, it was like being in the middle of one big international orgy. I joined in, put my hands on my thighs, backed my pride and joy up into Carpe, my backside rolling up against his groin.

My date was with me, slapping my a.s.s, dry humping me to the beat, rocking me booty song after booty song. With every touch we were opening a door I didn't want to close. When the booty songs faded, I ran my fingers through the sweat on my skin. He stayed behind me, held me close, dancing up against me, the kind of dancing that was more s.e.x than anything else, his fingers moving up and down my body. And I felt him. Felt his heat and desire to live inside me harden against my a.s.s. I closed my eyes, pressed against him, and danced my angst away.

I turned around, faced him, wondered how he moved in bed, how long it lasted.

He took my hand, rubbed my skin with his. My nipples were hard, aching.

I swallowed my own fire. "Let's change the temperature."

"Okay."

I touched his face, tiptoed, and we kissed. Not long, just enough tongue exchange to let us know where this might be going. It was a nervous kiss, a good kiss, slow and deliberate, his tongue feeling and tasting d.a.m.n good, the kind of kiss a woman wants to fall into.

We stopped and stared at each other.

Then he let his tongue dance with mine.

I wiped my lipstick away from his mouth and we danced like we owned the city.

My problems were fading away and I was at Disneyland. My other life didn't matter anymore. Livvy didn't exist, only Bird. I loved the way Bird was feeling.

We danced until last call. Then sipped on water until the lights came on. I was tipsy, sweaty, tired, feet hurt, but not ready for Disneyland to shut down the ride.

He picked up our coats and led me through the thinning crowd.

He said, "It's after two."

"Already?"

It was the end of the night and we both knew what was next.

With sweat drying on my skin, the night air felt cooler. The nightlife was closing down, but people were hyped, trying to couple up and find their own one-on-one after-party to go to.

We held hands all the way back to my SUV. He was parked next to me. We stood between our vehicles and kissed some more. Kissed and he rubbed my b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"What you said . . ." I let my warm words hang on the coolness of the night breeze, then s.h.i.+fted, didn't know what to do with my hands. "Did you want to-?"

"End the night with a smile on your face?"

"Yeah."

Our tongues danced again, this time longer. He rubbed against me, sent me a hard question. I rubbed back, sent him my wet answer. Then we stopped kissing, held each other, got ready to figure out how we were going to handle the next transition, the widening of this door.

He pulled my hair from my face. "Would you like to . . . the Hotel del Coronado?"

"Nice resort. Pretty expensive."

"I'll put it on my American Express."

I kissed him again. "I already have a room."

"You do?"

"Comfort Inn. Suite 2218."

His smile was almost as anxious as mine. Still, this had me bouncing my leg.

He followed me back toward I-8. Hotel Row. Miles of places built for indiscretions.

Room 2218 was upstairs, away from the office and street traffic.

The room was just that, a room. King-size bed that had a little sag in the middle, old cover in blues and earth tones, industrial green carpet, a chair with no arms next to the dresser at the foot of the bed, another chair with arms at the small desk next to the bed. Heavy golden curtains and some sort of atrocious green and gray wallpaper throughout. There was barely enough room to walk by the foot of the bed and the dresser. A mirrored closet was on the other side of a small nightstand, a reflection that would reverberate whatever happened on that bed.