velvet paradise (ftm x fem)

Track 33

ALAIA

Jaire's firm grip anchors my hand as my heels click against the concrete. In the distance, the faint hum of traffic and indistinct murmurs of strangers fill the streets, but amidst it all, I sense we've wandered into an alleyway. The last time I glimpsed the world was back at our hotel after we freshened up. Now, the only assurance against stumbling lies in Jaire's guidance, the very person who persuaded me to wear this stupid blindfold.

With each step, my stomach grumbles in protest. Just as I'm on the verge of questioning our proximity, he leads me into a cozy building. The Atlantan air transforms, taking on a scent of salivating aromatic spices and sizzling grilled meats. Elegant melodies of jazzy, romantic music serenade the vicinity, increasing as we stride further inside.

With Jaire's help, I sink onto a plush pew, the cushions almost providing enough comfort to lull me to sleep. "Alright, princess," he says after a few seconds. "You can take it off now."

His chuckle, laced with a hint of mischief, gives me pause, but my hunger overpowers any doubts. With the blindfold removed, I catch sight of Jaire sitting across from me, his grin illuminating the dim atmosphere. In my peripheral, a figure stands tall, dressed in all-black, hands clutched at their middle section. As I notice the familiar color scheme and contemporary restaurant design, my pulse quickens. He didn't.

"Bonsoir, madame," the confident timbre greets. I arch my neck and meet the dark, mesmerizing glare of the muscular man. "Bienvenue dans l'Ambrosia noire. Je m'appelle le chef Naaji 'Naz' Ofori." ("Welcome to the Black Ambrosia. My name is chef Naaji 'Naz' Ofori.")

He pronounces his name as if I'm clueless about his identity, as if he wasn't my dream partner (before I met Ja), as if I don't religiously check what cute shit he and his fashion designer girlfriend Kai Havens are up to.

Jaire's chuckle interrupts my shameless ogling of Naz's prominent Ghanaian facial structure. Both men, in my esteemed opinion, rank as the top two sexist specimens walking. I'm just not sure who the hell is number one. "Lai, it's rude to stare," Jaire prompts.

"I—oh...hello." I don't think I've ever greeted someone with "hello" in my life.

Naz cracks a gorgeous grin and then peeks at Jaire. "Bruh, I thought you were joking," he says, laughing as his burly shoulders shake. When he speaks, his accent effortlessly combines the smoothness of a Houston drawl with the rhythm of Twi inflections. As the guys' throats vibrate with amusement, I resist the urge to fan myself. "She really has a crush on me? That's wiiiild."

"Woy! Heh?!" I shout, shooting a dagger at Jaire. His laughter rises in volume, making me question disclosing my list of celebrity crushes. "I said you were attractive, but I don't have a crush on you," I explain, unable to look him in the eye. "I adore you and Kai, so I'm a little starstruck."

"You're starstruck by me? A chef? You're the one with a number-one hit." He widens his eyes to highlight his admiration, and then they narrow. His lips smack together as he vigorously shakes his head. "Kai loves singing 'Ready or Not' and getting a l'il fake attitude as if we ain't in a healthy relationship. So, your angelic voice is always floating through our crib."

As I giggle, a warmth spreads across my cheeks. Okay, maybe, it's a little crush, but thee Kai Havens is not about to beat my ass. She doesn't play about her man, and rightfully so. "Don't even trip," Naz says as if he can read my mind. "Ja, hit me up at the last minute so Kai couldn't make it. But if she could've, she would be standing here proposing a foursome."

Her stunning looks are only surpassed by her sharp intellect. Adding her and Naz to Ja and I's equation may yield earth-shattering, orgasmic results.

While I bat my eyelashes and try not to stare at him in awe, Naz peeks at his luxurious watch. "Perfect," he declares. "Y'all came right on time. Everything should've cooled by now. I have a diverse range of Ghanaian dishes infused with soul food flavors that I'm delighted to have you sample. Ready?" The rumbling in my stomach provides a straightforward answer. Snickering, the chef heads to the kitchen to gather his cuisine.