The Meeting

One night, I saw this handsome brother at the spot looking extra fine. I turned to my girl and said "Who is that?!" I never saw him before but was immediately intrigued by his stance. There was something so cool about this dude. His style was rather divine and his swagger was so freakin delicious. Apparently he thought something of me too because we locked eyes for what seemed like 2 seconds. But you know me. As calm as I am, I didn't show my face. You know how it's done. You play it cool like nothing's happened; like you're not phased. But it was hard not to flutter when he started walking towards me. As confident as he wants to be. I think my knees even got weak. I didn't know what to expect or if my tongue would allow me to speak my name. Get it together girlfriend. He's just another LA man. But how do I look? I hope he thinks I'm fly. Are my lips glossed? I should have worn that other shirt. But the closer he got to me, the more my attention shifted to him. Drink in the left hand. Crisp white shirt. Top button was unbuttoned and easy. Black suit jacket open. Black shoes freshly shined. Slender in stature but tall in height. There's no doubt that this man was sexy. I've never seen "GQ" in real life and here it finally was... standing right in front of me. My heart stopped beating. "What's your name?" Wait. This is not right. Where's the proper hello-how-are-you with the extended hand? He was making it easy to speak without stuttering. I answered, a little suspicious of his greeting. He asked me another question in a sweet, southern type of drawl; completely uncommon for the area. It was a little surprising to be honest. It was a southern twang that could be mistaken as 'slow'. Again, I answered waiting to see where this was going. Would the conversation be as "GQ" as his looks? "Can I get your number?" My eyebrows furrowed. I think my heart dropped and my nerves settle simultaneously if not within a nano second of the other. No need to sweat girlfriend. This isn't what you thought it was. Man, how looks can be so deceiving. I looked into his beautiful, bright, brown eyes and asked, "Really?" I wasn't going to add anything more, but thought it might be best just in case he really was 'slow'. I titled my head to the side and said, "Is that how you talk to the ladies?" He knows nothing about me, yet wants my number. He must not value himself very highly. Doesn't he want to know if I'm psycho, a mother of 6 kids, ghetto, or just plain ole' crazy....deranged? I was right. He was just another LA man. A little hood at that. He might as well have yelled down a dark alley, "AY! Yo baby! You is fine! Put your number in my phone!" The beautiful speciman of a man interrupted my thoughts and answered the question with some bull about that working for him sometimes. He must have clicked on to the fact that this was not one of those cases, so he added, "But I guess it doesn't work all the time." At that moment, I turned on my leather stiletto heels, flipped my hair, and walking into the lounge. What a waste.