“So where are we headed?” she finally asks, liftin’ her Prada shades up and turning her head toward me. She’s lookin’ fly as fuck. I feel like pullin’ my dick out and lettin’ it hang in my lap as I drive to give her sumthin’ to look at while I’m flyin’ down the 405 freeway. On some real shit, I wanna pull over on the side of the road and fuck her bad as hell. But, I’ma keep shit in check. So far, she’s been actin’ like a classy chick, so I’ma continue to treat her as one. But, there’s a part of me that is hopin’ she ends up bein’ a bird, so I can pluck her tail feathers.
I smile, glancin’ over at her. “You’ve been kidnapped, beautiful lady. Do I need to blindfold you, too?” I ask, jokin’. She playfully hits me in the arm. I decide to drive down to Huntington Beach, which is ’bout forty miles south of L.A. It’s pretty much eight miles of beachfront wit’ a buncha shit to do, from hikin’ to kayakin’, from horseback ridin’ to skateboardin’ and surfin’. I’ve been there once ’bout three years ago, and kinda dug its vibe, so I decide to take the thirty-five-minute drive wit’ this beauty sittin’ next to me. I figure I can take her to Huntington Harbour—a part of Huntington Beach that’s made up of five man-made islands wit’ a buncha of channels and canals. Kinda makes you think you in Italy somewhere. That’s the vibe it gives you. We can take a gondola ride, take in the view, grab a bite to eat at one of the eateries, then jet back to L.A.
Right off of Pacific Highway, I pull into Peter’s Landing Marina, then park. “Aiight, pretty baby, we’re here,” I say, pullin’ the key outta the ignition. I slip my cell under the seat. Decide I’ma give her my undivided attention, so I won’t be needin’ it.
“How did you know this used to be one of my favorite places?” she asks, unfastenin’ her seatbelt. I tell her I know ’cause I’m psychic. She smiles. “Whatever. I wish you would have told me this is where you were takin’ me. I would have worn something else.”
In my head, I’m sayin’,
She peeks inside the bag, then looks up at me. “What’s this?”
“Open it up and find out.”
She pulls the box outta the bag, then opens it. “OMG, you bought these?” she asks, surprised. I nod. “That’s so sweet of you. But why?”
“Because I knew you were gonna need ’em,” I tell her, grinnin’, “so I scooped ’em up this mornin’ for you. Here, let me help you put ’em on.” I walk ’round the car and open the passenger-side door. She follows behind me, then sits in the car. I squat down in front of her, then remove her heels. Word is bond, my mouth starts to water the minute I see her pretty-ass toes. I wanna suck ’em, but a muhfucka keeps his cool. I slip the sneakers on her feet.
“Wow, and they fit. How’d you know my size?”
I flash a wide smile, winkin’ at her. “I told you I’m psychic, baby.”
“Oh, please,” she says, playfully wavin’ me on. “Try another lucky guess. But I’m impressed.”
“Yeah, aiight. Call it what you want, baby. Either way, I’m pretty good at sizin’ up a woman.”
“Is that so?” She stands up, glancin’ down at her feet. I can tell she’s pleased wit’ my selection—compliments of Cherry, of course. I take her shoes and place ’em in the trunk of the car.
“No doubt, baby.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask what else you’re good at.”
I grab her by the hand and lead her toward the dock. “Stick ’round, beautiful, and I’ma show you e’erything you need to know.” She smiles, shakin’ her head.
Two hours later, we’re at Habana Cabana—a Cuban spot— waitin’ for our waiter to come back wit’ our food. Kanika orders jumbo shrimp, and sliced lobster tail simmered in a Cuban red creole sauce. I order a mixed salad wit’ lettuce, tomatoe, avocado, cucumber and onions and the Polla a la Habana, grilled chicken breast cooked in a red sauce wit’ onions and peppers and a side order of plantains.
We’re both kinda sittin’ here in chill mode, sorta caught up in our own thoughts. I’m thinkin’ ’bout the hour gondola ride we had, and how she sat in front of me, laid back on my chest wit’ my arms wrapped ’round her as we went through the channels. Then dude—the Gondolier—pulled up under a bridge and started serenadin’ us in Italian. The whole vibe was sexy as hell. And on some real shit, I wanted to tongue her down, then fuck her right there on the spot wit’ dude watchin’.
She reaches over and lightly touches my hand, bringin’ my attention back to her. She smiles. “Everything okay?”
