Chapter Two

“Hey Monica, it’s me,” Zola spoke into her cell phone.

“You made it into Atlanta already?” Her best friend asked.

“Hell, no,” she responded bluntly.

“Uh oh, what happened?”

“The plane I was to take out of Virginia had some kind of technical difficulties and no more flights go out tonight,” she heaved a loud sigh.   I had to switch to another airline only to find out they had no direct flights to Atlanta.  I had no choice but to fly here to Washington, D.C. and keep my fingers crossed that it will leave on time with no other issues.”

“Both my fingers are crossed, girl,” Monica chuckled.  “Weren’t you and Rick supposed to have dinner tonight?”

“Yes, and he was a sweetheart.  He picked up Italian and put the good sheets on the bed,” Zola moaned.  “I tell you, if this Shirou Tsubasa’s nerd ass doesn’t agree to do this speech tomorrow night, I swear I’m going to rip him a new asshole.”

Zola’s eyes were drawn to the man across from her that suddenly laughed out and chuckled like a silly kid.  Was he laughing at what she said?   She couldn’t tell if he was listening in on her call or not.  All she could see was short, black, textured hair that looked damp, as if he’d just walked through a rain shower into the airport, over the oversized graphic novel held practically up to his nose.

“Zoë, the only way I see you giving him a piece of your mind is if he’s ugly or old as sin,” Monica said, drawing her attention back to their conversation.  “I know you have some odd fetish for those nerdy, brainy types.” Monica pointed out.  “I don’t get it.  Shouldn’t we big girls stick to the big, husky guys?” Monica asked.

“I’ve been there and done that with my exes because I thought the average to thin guys wouldn’t be enough for me.  But now, experience has taught me that the small packages can hold some big...big...surprises and big packages sometimes hold a gag gift.”  Zola laughed. 

“Plus, the nerdy guys try so hard to please when they have a girlfriend.  They are more accommodating and respectful to the fact that I have a career I love too.”

“Whatever! That just leaves more of the brawny, alpha types for me,” Monica let out a soft laugh.  “You know, occasionally I do luck up and find a man that has a big, fine ass body and a big dick.”

A frown puckered Zola’s brows.  She would swear that man was staring at her legs and heeled feet from behind the book.  His head was bowed so low it practically bobbed on his shoulders.  The book started to dip and he straightened, clearing his throat.

“Zola, are you listening to me?”  Monica yelled in her ear.

 “Ah...sure...you said big men...big dicks, yaddah...yaddah...,” she grinned.  “But tell me what good is the outside wrapping if he’s an inconsiderate lout that acts like you should feel blessed that he would even date someone that looks less than the ‘ideal perfect’ standard men got going on in their heads?” Zola rolled her eyes and shook her head.  “Don't even make me remind you that the one you’re dating now likes to fuck you, but has yet to introduce you to any of his friends or family.  Haven’t you been dating for six months?”

“Yeah, but--”

“Sorry Monica, I don’t need a man who is all into hours at the gym and flexing in every mirror he passes.  I don’t miss the dude that looks all delicious, yet gets you in the sheets, takes all the loving you got to give, and when it’s your turn, skims over the good parts just to quickly shoot his load and have to leave because he has to get up early to go to the gym.”

“It’s not always like that,” Monica argued.

“You know what I learned?  I was lonelier having to masturbate and get myself off after that fucker left than I am getting myself off alone.  Being a successful woman alone in this world isn’t as bad as our mothers and girlfriends lead us to believe.”

“Geez, just so fucked up,” the man across from her muttered from behind a book that looked similar to a small and considerably thicker sized comic book.

“I knew it,” Zola murmured into the phone.  “This man is listening to my conversation.”

Monica laughed into her ear.  “Girl, you’re crazy.  What man is listening?”

“Hey,” Zola whispered in hushed tones.

“What?”  Monica whispered back.  “Why are we whispering?”

“There’s this nosy ass man sitting across from me pretending to read but he’s actually all up in ya girl’s business,” Zola murmured into the phone.

“Huh?  How can you tell?”

“I’m about to give him something worth listening to,” she spoke softly into the phone with her hand over her mouth and the phone.

“Zola, don’t you even think about it or I’ll disconnect this call!”

Her friend yelled at her, but her laughter bespoke any seriousness in her threat. 

She dropped her hand and said, “Oh, baby, you know I’m thinking about it.  I’m thinking about it all the time.  I’m so horny now even making out with you sounds good to me.”

Zola looked up again at the man across from her.  The book started to lower once more and he jumped as if he’d been startled.  He turned a page with long sexy fingers and cleared his throat.  Was she wrong?   

“Stop it, Zola Simpson, or I’m going to dial up your Mom and do a three-way call,” Monica threatened.

“You want a threesome?  I’ll think about it.”  She giggled.  “But that third person just won’t do. Maybe you should let me choose.”

“Okay, yuck!  Are you kidding me?  It would be like sleeping with my sister.”  Monica made gagging noises over the phone.

Zola giggled, shaking her head.  “Hmm… I can’t even imagine it, baby.”

“You know you do have a sexy phone voice though,” Monica teased.

“Get out of here,” Zola snorted out a laugh.

“No, really,” Monica laughed too.  “When Rick always jokes that you should do phone sex for a living I thought he was talking out of his eternal hard-on for you; but seriously, girl, you could retire early with that sexy voice of yours.”

“Stop it.”

“No, seriously, you could seduce a nun into divorcing Jesus.”

“Now you’re just being a smart ass,” Zola shook her head with a lingering smile on her lips.

“Whatever,” Monica clucked her tongue.  “Oh shit, I’m late!  Sweets, it’s been fun.  But I, unlike you this evening, have a date to get me some real sex.  I’m not into this phone boning shit like you and Rick have been doing.” 

Zola moaned her envy.   “It’s not like I don’t want it.  I’ve been so busy lately.  I’m too tired to make the effort.  Tonight I was going to make the effort,” she pouted.  “Some real sex sounds so good right now.  Phone boning is good to get the juices flowing but there is nothing like my soft, fleshy body rubbing up against a nice hard body.  Hmm to be buried twat deep in cock...”  Groan.

 Monica laughingly said, “You’re one twisted puppy torturing that poor man sitting across from you talking this sexy shit.  I bet he’s squirming in his seat.”

“Hell, no,” Zola cursed.  “Girl, I think he’s gone to sleep.  I’ve been tripping all this time for nothing.  That proves I need to get laid.  I see everything as sexual.  I haven’t even seen this man’s face and he’s looking very fuck worthy to me right now.  Can you go crazy from being horny too long?”

“Zola, girl, you have a safe flight and call me when you get to Atlanta.  If I’m otherwise detained, make sure you leave me a message and I will call you back in the morning,” Monica stated.

“Okay, will do.  Have fun and think of poor little me slaving away kissing the ass of some genius in order to keep my job in the coming new year.”  Zola whined before saying her goodbyes and disconnecting the call.  She eased her cellular phone closed and slipped it back into the side pouch of her purse.

The book was now over his face, as if to block out the bright florescent lights.  His hands were interlaced low on his stomach and his legs now extended before him and crossed at the ankles.  It looked as if he had settled in to nap the rest of the evening away in the airport.  She couldn’t think of a better way of telling people not to disturb him.

In her boredom, Zola started people watching.  She would choose a person and proceed to break them down.  There was another man two seats down from the one sitting across from her. 

She glanced at the “napping” stranger and did a quick comparison study of the way he dressed and lounged in his seat to the man two seats down, sitting straight and erect with the ankle of one leg resting on the opposite knee.  His briefcase was balanced on his lap with the lid up.

This man was dressed in a single-breasted, dark blue suit, pale blue button down with a baby blue silk tie, and a leather briefcase, which he continuously leafed through as if he was searching for something important.

 He seemed as intent on looking in his briefcase as Mr. Comic novel man had been reading his book, but she noted each subtle time his pale gaze swept the airport terminal area to see who might be noticing him.  She looked away before the blond man caught her staring.   He would be the type to see eye contact as an invitation to be overly friendly and most likely manage to get a seat next to her and talk her to death on the plane.

In Zola’s current profession, her old FBI training as a criminal profiler came in handy.  It made her number one in her field amongst all the other Public Affairs Specialists at NASA.  Her career in the FBI had been one of the casualties of her failed marriage.

The man in the business suit she read as “a perpetrator of success.”  This man presented the “perfect idea” of a successful American businessman.  Only a keen eye would spot that the suit was purchased off the rack and was ill fitted.  There wasn’t anything important he needed out of that briefcase. He just wanted people to believe he was someone important with even more important things to do than sit in an airport waiting for a plane.    

Zola’s interest didn’t linger on the blond man.  It was the lean and mysterious one with the hands of an artistic man that had snared her attention.   She was amazed that without any effort on his part he had managed to make her fantasize about him.  Once she saw his face, would he be as attractive as his fit body bespoke or would he be a disappointment to the illusion of her own fantasies? 

He slouched down in his seat as if he didn’t have a care.  The reading material he chose to read was lighthearted entertainment.  His indifferent façade was dangerously deceptive and oddly arousing.

 “Hello, passengers of flight seventeen bound to Atlanta, Georgia, your flight is now boarding.”

Zola looked at the man who hadn’t moved at the sound of the intercom.  She gathered up her things and started for the line.

With a deep, resigned sigh, Zola turned on her heels and walked back over to the napping man.  Lifting the open paperback from his face, she quietly spoke so as not to startle him out of his sleep.

 “Excuse me, I don’t mean to bother you but if you’re flying to Atlanta, they just called for passengers to start boarding.”

“Huh?”  He stared up at her with confused sleep-filled eyes through round, black-framed spectacles.  He sat up in the chair, arching his back and stretching his arms over his head with a yawn.

It was infectious.  “Oh, please don’t do that,” she chuckled, covering her mouth with her hand.  “You’re reminding me how tired I am and I have a long night ahead of me.”

“I do too,” he murmured.  “Are they boarding for Atlanta?”

Zola didn’t detect an accent, so she assumed he was an Asian American.  “Uh, yes, that’s why I bothered you.”

“Thank you.”  He smiled and stood.  She was momentarily mesmerized by the dimples that appeared in his cheeks and his near perfect smile.  His bottom teeth were crooked and she silently thanked God he had a flaw.  His features were symmetrically perfect.  She would have hated him for standing in the attractive line in heaven too long if he hadn’t had at least one thing about him that wasn’t physically pleasing.

He leaned down to pick up his dropped novel and stood again, but oddly he seemed to be standing closer than before and once more she inhaled his wonderful scent.  Zola thought it cool and refreshing like he’d just walked out of the shower.

Zola wondered if he would be a good lover or if all the things she had heard about Asian men were true.  From what she gleaned when she stared at his crotch earlier, he didn’t look small down there at all.  She mentally shook her head.  What was she thinking?  Even if this man was physically her type in his stature and nerdy sex appeal, she dated Black men and she dated Caucasian men and it didn’t work out. 

She’d had enough with the complicated relationships.  They both thought they were so different from one another but after dating them, she realized they weren’t all that different.  A cheating motherfucker came in all races, and they all sang the same “no one understands how hard it is for a man in this world” tune.  She didn’t need to add the Asian man blues to her growing list of failed affairs.  Oh, well, he was a nice fantasy while it lasted.

“Uh, no problem,” she took a step back.  “I guess I’ll go and get in line.”

“Thank you again,” he stalled her.  “I haven’t been sleeping well lately and one moment I was reading and the next I was having the best dream.”  He dazzled her with another smile in his otherwise contemplative expression.  “It’s been a long day.”

  “Yes, it has been a long day,” she found herself agreeing with a nod.  “I flew here from Virginia where did you fly in from?”

 “Atlanta,” he answered.  “I arrived only a few hours ago although I have a meeting to pull an all-nighter tonight back in Atlanta.  You know when I got news that a specialist here could see me, I thought it was a sign of something miraculous about to happen,” he confided.

“Miraculous?  How?” Zola could read the abjectness in his expression, the slumping of his shoulders as he spoke, and the strain in his deep voice all tell-tale signs that whatever it was that brought him here must have been serious.

“I had hoped that this time...this person would...”  His voice cracked with tearful emotion and trailed off. 

“What?”  Zola didn’t know why she should care but his bereaved expression tugged at her heart and drew her in like an emotional magnet.  She wanted to know what he was going through and—to her surprise—she wanted to help if she could.

The Asian man’s face became ruddy and his expression sheepish.  “Oh geez, I’m sorry.  I don’t know why I’m going on like this.  You don’t know me and I’m taking up your time.” 

His face flustered.  Zola watched him turn away from her concerned eyes to shove the graphic novel that had been crushed between his fingers into the brown shoulder satchel resting on one of the terminal chairs. 

She normally would have walked away, but for some reason she couldn’t.  His pained expression gripped at her heart.  She didn’t know what had him in such turmoil, but she had been there herself a time or two and the loneliness she felt during those times was what she remembered most.  He shouldn’t be alone going through whatever he was going through.

When he turned back to her and slid the shoulder strap of the satchel onto the opposite shoulder, she caught his eyes with hers.  “It’s alright.  Really,” Zola empathized.  She reached out to touch his shoulder in some capacity of comfort but ended up taking his warm dry hand in hers. 

From this simple touch, she deduced the man wasn’t a labor worker.  He didn’t have a single callous on his hands.

“I feel embarrassed,” he confessed.  The way that line formed between his eyes indexing his emotions made her squeeze his fingers reassuringly.

  “When I was going through stuff of my own,” Zola began, “I had this huge support team of my family and friends that I could speak to, but I just couldn’t talk to them.  I guess I didn’t want them to worry about me, or maybe because I just didn’t know if I could be completely honest with them about how worried I was at that time.  I went out to a bar and met a woman who did something for me no one else could.  She listened and you know what?  It was what I needed; no more...no less.”

He was silent, but his face reacted to all she was saying and it gave her the assurance to continue.

“I found out I didn’t need advice or help to fix my problem.  I just needed to say it aloud so I could put my situation in perspective and start getting beyond it.  I was the better for it.”  Zola gave him a smile she used when she was being particularly gracious to a distraught business associate.

 She saw his eyes drop to his hand resting in hers.  The contrast of their skin pigmentation was greatly discernible but oddly harmonizing like two coordinated pieces of an outfit; her skin a tobacco brown and his skin a creamy French vanilla.

He kept his gaze unblinking.  “You would to that for me?  A man you don’t know.”  

With a half-smile on her lips she said, “If you need someone to talk to during the flight...” Zola drifted into silence and lowered her hand.  She didn’t know what else to say or why she was opening herself to this man. 

“Thank you,” he nodded. 

Zola was so mesmerized by his intense gaze into her eyes.  He gave a great stare.  She cleared her throat and the color deepened in her cheeks.  Smoothing her sweating palms against the length of her skirt, she turned away to board the awaiting airplane not waiting to see if he followed.

****

Removing his glasses for a moment, he wiped at his tired, burning eyes.  He needed to get new spectacles again and it had not been long since he’d purchased the pair he was wearing now.  He leaned back against the headrest of his chair.  His head lolled as the feelings of self-pity overwhelmed him.   Why me?  Why me?  He cried to himself.

“Here you are.  Up here in first class.”

Her sexy, husky voice whispered close to his ear.  His eyes snapped open, startled by the woman’s sudden appearance just when he needed to be rescued from the depression of his own thoughts.  She was a blur but he knew that voice; it was the woman from the airport.

Clumsily, he perched his glasses on his nose and pushed them into place with a finger, bringing her pretty, smiling face into focus.

He gazed directly up at her standing next to him, sunning himself in the presence of her genuine smile.

“Mmm, here I was back there in the hell section, sausaged between two other people worried about you, and here you are up here in the heavens in this big luxurious chair, resting like the beautiful angel you are,” she said in a pouting, teasing tone.  “You rent out the entire joint for yourself?”

He laughed out at her euphemisms.  “I got my usual two seats.  I imagine not many people are flying first class these days.  Unless...” 

“Unless what?”

“If you get tired of all the airline bullshit...”

“Then take a bus?”  She finished for him.

“Hell, no.  Who takes a bus anymore?” He shook his head.  “You rent your own plane and make your own rules.”

“Oh, please,” she rolled her eyes.  “That must be a jest wealthy people tell over champagne and caviar.”  Her brown eyes twinkled.  “My Greyhound Bus crowd wouldn’t get it.”

“Champagne and sushi,” he corrected and spoke in his most preppy tone, “Caviar is so de passé.”

She laughed as he hoped his attempt at humor would make her do.

His breath caught in his throat.  She had a sensual way of uncovering her teeth when her wide mouth parted into a smile.

“Unlike you, Mister, I never get to travel first class.  It’s not in my travel budget.  At least not this year and if a certain pompous scientist gets his way, I may be jobless next year,” she muttered.

“What is this about a pompous scientist?”  He asked with his curiosity peaked.  “Is it someone well known in the field?  What is it you do, exactly?”

“Nope,” she shook her head.  “I’m not going to ruin the little time I have left to myself feeling anxious over what I have to do when I get to Atlanta.  I hiked up here risking a beat down with the flight attendant to see for myself if you were feeling better.  So...how are you feeling?”

“I’m feeling better by the minute.”  Her show of concern warmed him.  “They will be serving dinner in a little bit.  I paid for an extra seat so they can’t complain.  Would you care to join me?”

“Oh, because I’m a big woman you think you can seduce me by feeding me, huh?”

“I...I...no...I--”

She laughed.  “I was just playing with you.  Sorry.”  She shrugged her shoulders.  His eyes went to the “v” in her white, button down blouse, displaying plump mounds of creamy, brown flesh.  He was beginning to see some advantages to being with a voluptuous woman.   Tits a man could bury his face in and drown.

“Why do you do that?”  He asked.  She cocked a questioning eyebrow.  “Joke about yourself.  I think your body is perfect.”

She looked surprised by his words.  He was surprised also.  He never thought much about what he preferred physically in a woman.  He never really felt he had a choice in the matter.  However, now that he saw that he could be comfortable around a woman outside his culture, his taste was broadening.

“You must really like my body and face too.  You’re staring,” she commented with a playful wink.

“I won’t apologize for it,” he said stubbornly.

“I won’t ask you too.  You see, I think my body is perfect too.  It's perfect for me and as long as I am happy with it, who else has the right to tell me otherwise?” 

He never thought about it that way, but it was true.  “I’m just discovering I find self-assurance in a woman sexy.”  He leaned back to regard her speculatively and stared up at her with unblinking eyes.

“I get the impression there is yet a lot more for you to discover about women—especially African American women,” she said.  Adding in a more serious tone, “The medical profession goes on and on about how much a healthy person should weigh, giving merit to others that it’s okay to be rude and ugly to people different than themselves and make claims it was for their own good.  I personally think doctors know this is a great business opportunity, and the more fear they put into people, the more patients they get.  More patients mean a bigger payday.”  She shrugged her shoulder.

“It is a billion dollar business,” he nodded.  “We trust them.  They sell it and we buy it because there is an element of trust until they give you reasons not to.”

She leaned down closer, giving him a great view of the breasts he’d been admiring since he first saw her walk into the terminal and take a seat.  It was also why he chose to sit down across from her to read his book. 

The physical attraction he felt the moment he saw her was immediate and surprising.  He had heard about such things happening to others.  Yet, with no adequate scientific deductions to assure him of the theory, he still wasn’t willing to call what he felt as “love at first sight.” 

He personally concluded it had more to do with no physical contact with a woman for months, being tired, and seeing this curvy woman dressed in a black, slim-fitted skirt, a snow white blouse that molded her breasts to perfection, and a pair of pointed toed, black stilettos that set his pulse racing.

 “Weight reduction is a billion dollar franchise.  Who is going to admit they are wrong when they are raking in all that dough?  That’s just bad business.”  He found her saying once he was able to focus on more than her breasts going up and down each time she breathed.

Her nipples were hard and he would have sworn if he stared hard enough, he could make out the areola through her shirt.  Then again, it might just be wishful thinking on his part.

“A person should lose weight for her health, hah!  I work out four times a week.  I don’t smoke or do drugs.  I have a physical every year.  I can prove that I am healthier than some that never been over a size six.”

“That’s commendable these days and times,” he commented.

“I think so.”  She nodded.  “Except for my doctor making me feel like an alien creature by deeming me one of the obese— it sounds like some creature, doesn’t it?  I am a healthy thirty-two year old woman.  I—I’m ranting,” she ended on a chuckle.  She fingered her short hair behind her ear.  “Sorry.”

Feeling her apology was unnecessary, he remarked, “I never would have thought you were five years older than I am.  Not by looking at you.”  He regarded her from head to toe speculatively, liking more and more what he saw.

“You are just too sweet.”  She gave him a knowing smirk when he lingered on her breasts longer than necessary.   Embarrassed to get caught staring, he cleared his throat and looked away.  “You like my tits?  They’re real.  Do you want to touch them?”

“Do you always say what you’re thinking?”

“Always, except when I sense honesty won’t be appreciated.  I have this gauge that tells me how much of my personality to reveal and how much to hold back.  You know my specialty is reading people,” she answered truthfully.

“Like a psychic,” he looked at her skeptically.  This was an argument he wasn’t going to get into.  He absolutely did not believe in such things.

“No, like a person who has spent hours in a rigorous training program to be able to detect signs that others don’t know they are projecting,” she confessed.

Studying to take your mental capacity to a higher level was something he believed in.  “You’re saying you picked it up from me in the little time we have spoken that I am a man that appreciates directness?”

“Do you have time for anything else?”  she asked, raking her eyes over his face.  “You try hard to appear relaxed but you’re chomping at the bit to find your next mental stimulation.  You are a no- nonsense person,” she stated.  “You appreciate directness in others because you are direct to the point of unintentional rudeness when you’re distracted by something you decide is of less importance than whatever you’re focused on.”

“True.” His eyes narrowed on her face.  “I’m sure my assistant would vouch for that.”

 “You think too much.  It’s exhausting.”  Her eyebrow cocked knowingly at him.  “You want me and instead of going for it, you’re over thinking the situation.”

“Am I?”  He fingered his chin thoughtfully.

“Aren’t you?”  she spoke slowly.  Then with a curling, little smile added, “Or am I projecting what I want onto you?”

“Maybe I’m hoping the want is mutual,” he admitted since she opened the door for him.  I find you interesting,” he admitted with his own boldness.  She was right about him being blunt and direct, but it was only in business.  He would have never had the nerve to be so approachable to her if she hadn’t made the first move.  It would have remained his personal unrequited lust.

“And I find myself interested,” she said.  “So the next question is what do we do about it?”

“I think I can get use to this,” his grin spread wide.

“Use to what?”

“A woman that says exactly what she means.”

“It makes things less complicated.”  She disarmed him again with her beautiful smile and sudden change of topics.  “What are we having for dinner?”

She was staying.  It took him a moment for his sex numb brain to remember what the flight attendant had told him once the plane had taken off, “uh...prime rib or chicken?”

“How about we get one of each and we try a little of both and for dessert we sign up for the ‘mile high’ club.”

It was on his list of experiences he would like to have.  “I would like that,” he replied. His headache had practically faded with the extra push of testosterone circulating the blood to his hardening cock. 

“Good.”  The pink dart of her tongue grazed her bottom lip.  “I will go and get my things and freshen up for dinner.”

“You drink wine?”

“Damn, you get wine too?  You are living large up in here,” her eyes grew round.  “All I got was iced down cola and she wouldn’t even leave what was left in the can.  I was offered a snack of two packets of peanuts—regular ones for dinner and honey covered ones for dessert.” 

He didn’t think he’d ever find a woman that he would enjoy speaking about such trivial things with until now.  He also couldn’t remember the last time he laughed this much.

“To celebrate our meeting, why don’t we pull out the big guns and order glasses of champagne?” He asked with a twinkling in his eyes.  “But don’t get overly excited.  It’s probably that cheap stuff hotels send complimentary served in plastic champagne glasses.”

“Oh, my, you got hotels kissing your ass too?”  She winked at him and clucked her tongue.  “I’ll be back.”

He moved, turned, and half stood to look at her bottom wiggling as she walked and blushed a shade of red when the airline associate caught him.  He quickly gave her his order for dinner and settled back down in his seat.  

The muscles in his stomach tightened in anticipation at what was to come.  Damn, he didn’t have any condoms.  Wait, he shouldn’t assume she meant fucking in the bathroom.  It could be a simple make out session with no penetrating of any orifices.

He couldn’t believe he was about to do this.  He was nervous.  What If she found him lacking?  Would that put an end to the comfortable banter they were enjoying now?