“Can I help you?” I finally glanced up…and I mean up.
My eyes traveled his all black jersey. I idly realized no one ever wore official league jerseys to the country club, he was no different. But what jolted my attention was the ink. It was an entirely different experience than that from afar. This man’s arms and neck were covered in red, black, and yellow tattoos; from the portion of his chest that I could see, all the way up to his neck, and down to his knuckle.
I don’t think I’d ever seen so much graffiti on a body before in my life. There were so many shapes, colors, words, and expressions. There was an embossed star on his neck, just below his earlobe, a meticulously jagged barbwire that was etched around his neck and came around to his chest, expanding into a larger image that his jersey concealed. On his left shoulder was a pair of skulls with red eyes and other fiery ornaments, and just below that was a tribal sun. And surprisingly to my dismay, that was all I could observe considering his stance in front of me.
I could easily get lost in isolating each one and discovering the totality of them individually. I found it strange that those markings made his presence extremely…masculine. What was more eerie about this ink encounter was the fact that I was surprisingly drawn to them. Me! Drawn to marks that marred the beauty of natural skin!
My eyes trailed up to his orbs and that was my undoing. Stenton’s eyes were a rich combination of brown and gold hues, some even sparkling, snatching the breath from my hyperactive lungs. They reflected like marbles. The cinnamon skin on his face was free of inked patterns. His eyebrows were thick and handsomely bushy. His nose was moderately wide and long reaching just above his neatly trimmed mustache. And his lips were full with the top spread wider than the bottom, making them resemble the shape of a heart. I found myself biting my bottom one, embarrassed by my assessment of this man’s assets.
Wow! Angela is going to have some tall and handsome babies!
“I did want something to drink, but Facebook seems to be the service of the day,” he said pointedly glancing at my phone.
I pushed it into my pocket, straightened my shoulders and asked, “What can I get for you, Mr. Rogers?”
His long, inked and corded arm reached toward me, “Your phone, please.”
My heart sank. Not that I cared about being released from this stupid program, but I didn’t like the idea of failing at something, even something as brainless as Working Toward the Stars. His tone made me feel like if I didn’t at least cooperate, he’d report me. I chewed on my bottom lip as I contemplated. My eyes scoured the court. No one was paying us any attention. Yet. I sighed as I pulled my phone from my pocket and handed it to him.
He handed it right back, “Password.”
I rolled my eyes, took it to unlock it and handed it back. Stenton tapped a few times and I could tell he was strolling down my timeline. I figured he was trying to see if I’d shared any pictures from the country club recently. He probably went into my inbox, too.
“I could rat your ass out,” rumbled from his throat.
I shrugged my shoulders. “And I could show the world your horrible jump shots.” My eyes gestured over to the Olajuwon fellow. “I could tell everyone how you need assistance from a guy with a name like that.”
His thick brows pinched, and tempting mouth curled into a controlled grin, simultaneously. He held my gaze for a minute before going back to my phone, flicking away. I was incredibly annoyed by his invasion of my privacy to see if I had breached his. Then I caught Angela’s questioning glare from across the court. I shrugged my shoulders slyly, or so I thought. When I glanced back up to Stenton Rogers, I was met with a scowl sans the grin as he followed my line of sight over to Angela.