Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I tried to be cool about it. I tried to walk away like I was the shit, like I had succeeded at a very difficult task and I could now go on and live my life. I tried to let Rowland be just Rowland: the past. I tried to act as if sleeping with Nina Ortiz one time was enough and all I needed to go forth. As if it were an itch I'd needed to scratch just once and I could finally move on.
I tried, but the itch spread.
After dropping Nina off I went home and lay back in bed. The moment I shut my eyes I was greeted with a vivid image of Sunday night. The memory of her lying there naked in bed before me, mine for the taking. The sight of her as I was on my knees before her as she sat on the table, hot and ready. Images of flesh on flesh, hands in hair, fingers tracing skin and multiple positions marred my mind. Not to mention the taste of skin and lips. It all stuck to me. The look on her face at the club. The smile. The vulnerability she'd displayed as I woke her up the morning after. I was haunted by tasty thoughts of this troubled angel.
My eyes flew open and remained that way. I couldn't sleep an ounce after that, so I found myself up at my desk, grabbing an old sketchpad and drawing a picture that was burned in my head. By the time I was done the photo lay before me, depicting an arm covering a pair of breasts, and a slender hand with a huge rock on the ring finger, a dark rock, or really, a dark stone. A blue stone.
Nina.
I sat at my desk, staring down at the sketch, lost in thought, up until she texted me around seven fifteen.
This wasn't normal for me. Hooking up with random girls and then walking away. Nina herself brought my body count to three, and my desire and awareness to one.
When she texted me I debated for all of a second on ignoring her versus going for it. I read her text as if I could just picture that pretty face of hers twisted in annoyance. Texting hadn't been enough either. The moment I got her on the phone secured my seeking more. I didn't want to leave it as it was and appear as if I were using her. And beyond that...I thought she was cute and I wanted to see her again. If only to experience that smile again, and see what was beyond that guard of hers.
I wasn't Bentley, I wasn't Chuy, and I damn sure wasn't Luis. I was just an idiot caught up by a pretty smile and fierce attitude. Even still, I was excited to take her out.
All that I was and all that I learned, from the way that I dressed, to the way that I talked, walked and carried myself, was very hip-hop inspired. Every rapper I admired talked shit and refused to go soft, even over a female, and here I was, rereading a conversation over text messages and feeling satisfied with myself.
I was such a goddamn simp.
Finally, I stood from my desk and went and got ready for school. I managed to keep calm as I pulled into the student parking lot and shut off my engine upon parking my ride. I ceased my rap music and sat back against my seat. I was partially tempted to light a cigarette, to let nicotine calm me down further.
