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Reader's Name: Camille. Starring: Allen Iverson.
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"Okay, here's the checklist."
Her right hand deftly scribbled across the jet-black lined white paper attached to her pink plastic clipboard. Her chestnut brown eyes were focused on the checklist, her jet-black pen as she filled each line with precision. She leaned her back against the coffee cream one-seater armchair, surrounded by the four walls painted in the same shade and adorned with his family pictures. The room had a few windows with chocolate brown curtains, and the air was filled with the scent of strong cologne and vanilla-scented perfume emanating from their clothes. Meanwhile, he stood before the framed full-length mirror, his baggy black attire adorned with silver chains that clung together with each gentle tug of his hands. The soft hum of the air conditioner filled the spacious hotel room.
"Alright, Gatorade and cold water bottles in the fridge?" Camille inquired, lifting her head to make eye contact with him through the reflection in the mirror. She caught a glimpse of his grin and quickly averted her gaze back to the checklist, hoping to hide her flushed cheeks from his sight.
"Check, can you help me with my durag please?" Allen asked kindly, holding up his black silk durag his hand.
She sported a jet-black blazer, paired it with a crisp white collared tee shirt that was buttoned up to her collarbone, along with a black knee-length skirt. Two small gold hoop earrings dangled from her ears, and a gold necklace with her initial 'C' hung gracefully around her neck. Her dark brown box braids were neatly tied back in a ponytail that swung. Jet-black rounded-toe pump heels adorned her feet, As she peered through her thick glasses, her warm brown eyes shining with intelligence, Camille was the epitome of style and grace.
"Absolutely," she replied with a smile, rising from her seat and setting her clipboard aside. Looming toward him with ease, she deftly plucked the black silk durag from his grip and draped it over his neatly braided cornrows. She wrapped it snugly around his head, tucking in any loose ends as she made slight adjustments to his liking.
Her eyes carefully studied the detailed tattoos on his neck, his arms, and she found herself gazing for too long, "Thanks, what's next on the list?" Allen said, turning around to face her. Not knowing her heart skipped a beat.
"Visiting the flower shop, a birthday present for your mom, and snacks," she replied, picking up her clipboard once more. "We don't want to be unprepared."
"Well, there is one thing you forget on the list," he chimes in, gesturing towards it with a sly grin on his handsome features.
"What is it?" Camille asked him, confusion etched on her face as her brows knitted together.
Camille was an assistant to the Philly Sixers' point guard and shooting guard basketball player Allen Iverson, her job was to ensure that he was always on time, prepared and had everything he needed for the day. She had been working with him for a few months now and had developed a good rapport with him. However, she couldn't help but feel a little nervous around him.
