The Hurt

“I want to meet you.” His message read. I paused for a moment, thumbs tapping the side of my phone in thought, deliberating a response. My phone dinged a second time, “Can I come see you tonight?” He added to his second message. I inhaled deeply, thinking about the week ahead; “I will be staying at the hotel for work until Thursday,” I began to type. The bubbles showing he was, again, typing popped up before two kissy-face emojis appeared. I smiled and sent my message. A moment later, he sent a message back asking for the hotel name and address. “On my way, I can’t wait to see you in person.” His message sent a jolt of both anxiety and excitement through my body. I also realized that I only had so much time to fix myself up from work to appear semi-presentable as much as one could on a work trip. I frantically looked through my bag to see what resources I had available to me: a razor, my deodorant, and a perfume I forgot I even had tucked away. This would have to do, I thought to myself as I took these things into the bathroom with me. This was my first time meeting him in person; my heart was pounding with every stroke of the razor against my leg that was awkwardly bent, so I could use the sink to rinse the blade. Finishing my tasks, I placed them back in my bag, and began pacing back and forth from the window overlooking the parking lot, to the door, to the nightstand to check my phone, and back again. My head was abuzz with thoughts; I hoped he would not find me underwhelming after all of this time of us talking. Sure, we had sent pictures back and forth and had video chat a few times, but this was real life. Even still, I felt inferior to him. I could hardly sing a note, had no artistic ability, no talent, could barely manage myself with anything more than a two-inch heel, but could shoot a trap and a bow like nobody’s business. What good would that do? He was an up-and-coming country artist, had just released a new music video, and the song to match. He was working on a new album for his label, all while still managing a statewide company with hundreds of employees. Though I was a manager myself, I only had 10 employees under me, with one just putting in her notice. I shook my head from these thoughts. I just wouldn’t let myself get too attached, is all. Then there would be less hurt when he decides I’m plain as paper, and leaves as everyone else has. I wanted to message him to cancel the whole thing; I sat on the edge of the bed and held my phone in my hands. I sighed and tussled my dishwater-blonde hair out of my face, “Plain as paper,” I muttered to myself, slouching and poking at my stomach. I shouldn’t have ordered out before coming back here, I thought. But how was I supposed to know I would be blessed with the presence of an artist of color this evening? Boy, great-granddaddy would be pissed if he knew I was dating a black man. But he’s dead and gone now, bless his soul. I was brought out of my thoughts by my phone ringing. It was him. My stomach nearly leaped out of my mouth as I answered, “Hey, sugar, you out front?” “Yes’m, what room are you in?” “On the top floor, room 334.” “A’ite then, I’ll see you soon.” He hung up. I paced the length of the room, counting the seconds until I heard the knock on the door. Despite all of my insecurities, I was really excited, and not just because I knew the s*x would be good. Shortly, he knocked, and I exhaled, reaching for the handle. I opened the door. His bag slung over his shoulder, guitar case in hand, his chiseled and groomed jawline, and his signature white hat and black boots. He looked like he ought to be on the cover of a magazine or one of his albums. He looked at me, “What?” he said, flashing a white, toothy smile. “Nothin’, you’re just easy on the eyes,” I blushed, looking down. He laughed, walking past me. He had a swell laugh, like warm molasses in the sunshine. He set his things down, kicked off his boots, and draped his leather coat over a chair. I sat on the bed, just watching him, enjoying the warmth he brought along with him. He walked towards me, smiling, “Hi, honey,” he bent down to kiss my forehead and put his hat on me before walking to the restroom, “‘Scuse me.” His smell lingered, a mixture of ginger and Hinoki. I got up to close the blinds, and he returned to the room, coming up behind me to hold me in his broad arms. A sense of security and relaxation came over me, replacing any feeling of anxiety I once felt. He started kissing my neck, he breathed into my ear, “I’ve waited so long to feel you, baby.” “Me too, sugar,” I sighed, leaning into him. He pulled me closer to him, as I started to unbutton his plaid shirt, his curly chest hair coarse underneath my fingers. I kissed him gently. “Oh, Kay, you’re so sweet,” he breathed, gripping me tighter. “You turn me on so much, I want you.” I breathed, putting my hands on his belt. “It’s just you an’ me, baby. Jus’ you an’ me,” he cooed in my ear, backing us up to the bed. When we were done, I went back into the room from the bathroom and crawled back into bed with Sean, who seemed half asleep already. “That felt wonderful,” I put a hand on his leg underneath the blankets. “Mm hm,” he hummed, eyes closed. “Are you doing okay?” He lazily opened his eyes to look at me, “Baby girl, I am great! You jus’ took a lot outta me,” he grinned. “So…” I trailed off, starting to rub his leg, “I guess round two is out of the question?” His eyes widened, as well as his grin. “Uh, well, I didn’t think…” he trailed off nervously, clearing his throat, “Do you want to?” I bit my lip and turned it into a mischievous smile, “Hell yeah, cowboy.”