Geren decided to drop the matter. Apparently, it was one of those sistahgurl secrets women take to their graves. Just like men kept bachelor party happenings top secret. He was more interested in getting to know more about Tempest anyway. The bachelorette party was insignificant.
Tempest went inside but Geren hesitated in the doorway, awaiting a formal invitation. Even though he had been inside earlier, Janessa had been there, and it was the middle of the afternoon, not the middle of the night. He didn’t want to assume too much too soon.
After flinging her purse on the sofa, Tempest swung around to face him. She couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to kiss him when she saw him standing there with his hands buried in his pockets. He was a handsome brotha, there was no denying that.
“Aren’t you going to come in?”
“Sure!” Geren didn’t even try to mask his excitement. He came inside and closed the door behind him. “I didn’t want you to think I was being pushy or anything like that.”
“Not at all,” Tempest replied, suddenly realizing she was alone in her place at night with a fine-ass man for the first time in quite a while. “Would you like something to drink?”
“What do you have?”
“Hmm, the usual. Soda, orange juice, spring water.” Tempest cracked a grin and then added, “Cherry-flavored Kool-Aid.”
Geren licked his lips, and Tempest had the urge to lick them for him. He wanted to go for the Kool-Aid but didn’t want to risk a sugar rush so late at night. “I’ll take some orange juice, if you don’t mind.”
Tempest motioned toward the sofa on her way to the kitchen. “Please have a seat, make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”
Geren plopped down on the sofa and instantly felt relaxed. He had no doubt he could easily fall asleep on the soft, thick cushions, especially as worn out as he was after dancing his ass off in the Soul Train line.
He took a more detailed survey of Tempest’s apartment than he had earlier and was impressed with her African-American framed prints. The apartment was a mixture of dark furniture with lighter fixtures. He still couldn’t get over the fact that she was such a meticulous housekeeper.
Drawn to a huge cabinet attached to one of the walls, he got up to make a closer inspection. There were six rows of alphabetized original copies of African-American videotapes. He spotted several he had heard about all of his life but never viewed, such as Mandingo, Imitation of Life, The Mack, Dolemite, Foxy Brown, and Shaft.
“I’ve been collecting them since I was in high school,” Tempest whispered into Geren’s ear, startling him. He hadn’t heard her come back into the room. She was so close to him, he could smell the Lifesaver she had in her mouth—the mouth he was aching to explore with his tongue.
He turned to face her and had to struggle to resist the urge to kiss her thick, juicy lips. He took the glass of orange juice she was holding out to him. “Thanks!”
“Welcome,” Tempest replied, getting lost in his eyes. “So, do you like movies?”
“Yeah, I love them! Obviously not as much as you, though.” Geren walked around he
r and went to sit down on the sofa. He didn’t want her to bear witness to the erection growing in his pants. “You have quite an extensive collection.”
“Would you like to watch one? I know it’s getting rather late, but I’m a night owl anyway. I can hang if you can.”
“Sure!”
“Which one?”
“How about The Mack?” Geren didn’t really care about watching a movie. He just wasn’t ready to leave Tempest just yet.
“That’s cool with me.” Tempest giggled. She grabbed the video off the shelf, took it out of the case, and slid it into the VCR. Then she joined him on the sofa and sat extremely close to him. She shocked herself with that move. The old Tempest would have been pressed into the opposite corner with a toss pillow held up to her chest for added protection. For some reason, she felt comfortable around Geren. Any way she looked at it, that had to be a definite plus.
The tape started, but Geren was too distracted by Tempest’s beauty to give a damn what Max Julien was doing on the thirty-two-inch screen. He was drawn in by her hair, her full, sensuous lips, the tiny dimple in her left cheek, but most of all, he loved the way she smelled.
“So, Tempest, tell me a little about yourself.”
“Like?” she inquired, batting her long eyelashes at him.
“Anything and everything. I’d like to know it all.”
Tempest put her knee up on the sofa so she could face him. “Well, let’s see. I was born on a cold October night in nineteen—”
Geren chuckled and held up his palm. “Well, maybe not everything.”
Tempest blushed. “You did say you wanted to know it all.”