Wrong Injection

CHAPTER 11

I wished he would leave, so I could take some cute photos of myself and the pool. I stood there for what felt like an eternity, hoping he would walk away. But instead, he turned around, and I was met with a shock that left me frozen in place.

My eyes widened as I stared at the man, my mind racing with thoughts of how to disappear into thin air. I was at a loss for words, unsure of how to react to the person standing tall in front of me.

"Sultan King West?" I whispered his name as he began to walk towards me. This couldn't be happening, I thought to myself, unable to tear my gaze away from him. He was even more handsome than he appeared in pictures and on TV. I took my time scanning him from head to toe, admiring the outfit he wore - a black ripped jeans, black tank top, and black flip flops. I had never seen an all-black outfit look so good on someone, especially at night.

He approached me with a charming smile and spoke in Spanish, "Hola Bella mulata," which caught me off guard. Why would he speak Spanish to me, I wondered, especially since he had no way of knowing that I was half-Mexican?

"Hola." He raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised.

"You speak Spanish?" I nodded shyly.

"A little." It was the truth - my mom hadn't spoken much Spanish with me, but my aunts and cousins had taught me the basics during our visits to Mexico.

"So you understood what I said earlier," he said with a smirk, noticing that I was avoiding eye contact. I nodded, still trying to wrap my head around the fact that I was having a one-on-one conversation with Sultan King West.

"Yeah," I replied, trying to sound casual and He scratched the back of his head, still grinning from ear to ear.

"I'm sorry, I mean for calling you mulata." He apologized, and I nodded shyly, still feeling a bit self-conscious.

"It's...it's fine, yeah. Besides, that's who I really am," I said, trying to brush it off.

"Okay, if you don't mind, may I know how you ended up being a mixed-race?" I looked up at him, taken aback by the question.

"Uh, excuse me?" I asked, trying to sound calm.

He raised an eyebrow, and I could sense a hint of surprise. So I decided to take a stand, looking him straight in the eye. "Do you have a problem with me being a mixed-race, Sultan King West?" I asked, my voice firm and confident.

"Oh, you know my name," he said, grinning, and I rolled my eyes, thinking, Show off, of course, you're famous.

"Of course, who doesn't know Sultan King West?" I replied, trying to sound nonchalant.

He chuckled and dipped his hands into his front pockets, still grinning. "Just wanted to know if you're one of the few people who knows me." He pinched the bridge of his nose, and I nodded, keeping my gaze down.

But then he asked again, "Oh, you still haven't answered my question." I sighed inwardly, thinking, Can't he just drop it? But I decided to humor him, after all, he was a prominent person.

"My dad was a Ghanaian, and my mom is a Mexican," I replied, trying to sound patient. But he didn't stop there.

"Fantastic, so you live with your daddy here in Ghana, right?" I felt a surge of annoyance, thinking, Can't he see I'm getting bored with his silly questions? I forced a smile, trying to be polite, but inside, I was thinking, This conversation is getting old fast.

"Sir, can you please stop asking questions?" I asked, trying to sound firm but polite. But I could tell he was taken aback, his expression hinting at offense. I didn't mean to come across as rude, but he had been pushing me with his questions.

He muttered something under his breath, looking around, and I couldn't help but notice how adorable he looked. Everything about Sultan King West was captivating, and I had to admit, he was incredibly handsome and masculine.

"Sir, uh, can I take a selfie with you if you don't mind?" I decided to make amends, trying to sound as polite as possible, and to my surprise, he smiled warmly and took my phone from my hands. He pulled me into him in one smooth motion, and we locked eyes for what felt like an eternity - two whole minutes.

I felt a flutter in my chest as he said, "Turn around." I slowly turned around, replaying the moment our eyes met. But I flinched slightly when he wrapped his left arm around my small waist, pinning me into him. I felt his member against my butt, and it made me feel uncomfortable, yet a part of me was drawn to it.

"Look into the camera mulata," he instructed, holding up my phone, and I obeyed, gazing into the lens. Then he snapped three quick photos before handing my phone back to me.

I quickly pulled away from his embrace, avoiding eye contact, and muttered a shy "Thank you." He dipped his hands into his front pockets, his eyes fixed intently on me and he nodded. Then I took the opportunity to make a hasty exit, saying, "I will take my leave now, nice meeting you, Sultan King."

As I turned to walk away, I heard him call out, "Wait! Can you at least tell me your name, mulata?!" But I ignored him, quickening my pace, and didn't look back.