Blake

Lush snow blanketed the trees and the roof of the luxurious cabin Blake owned. Swirls of smoke puffed into the air from chimneys around the vast building. Blake stood in the kitchen, pouring himself a cup of coffee

On the onyx countertop was his iPad, the screen displayed the meeting room of his Santa Monica office. Five senior members of his computer tech team, basically nerds, were before him. Each member wore a t-shirt that depicted some sort of anti-political statement or cartoon. They were pigging out on calzones.

“Are you hitting the slopes?” Donald asked. He had been the only member who had voted for their annual team building vacation to be held in the winter at a ski resort instead of in Hawaii, which was a favorite tradition for everyone else. Blake had laughed. What had Donald expect? Most of the nerds running his company were all surf bums, if they weren’t hacking and coming up with new ideas, then they were seeking the biggest wave to surf.

“Hell yeah,” Blake replied, “Next year, we’re all gonna switch gears, by the way. There’s some really cool stuff up here you all would like once you give it a chance.”

There were a few moans and groans from some of the true Californians. In the end, he knew they’d all agree to the team-building activities that were offered with a trip to cold weather.

“Now, back to the matter at hand.” Blake rubbed his palms together. “We bulldozed Twitter, and now, we have a hand in Pinterest. What are we doing to dethrone the Instagram app?”

“Aren’t we working on China?” Claud asked. “Since some areas don’t use Facebook.”

“You tell me. Donald, how are you guys with fixing the kinks in the app prototype?” Blake asked while adding a bit of cream to his mug. “If we’re going to try to shift gears, and I’m blowing money out of my ass, I need to feel confident that when we make a request to meet with Kiyota, he will not laugh at our newest baby.”

Kiyota owned one of the largest marketing firms in China. With Blake’s resources and Kiyota as the face of a new social media brand in Asia, it meant more riches than they could ever imagine.

Donald perked up. “I think our app is—”

“No thinking, Donald. Feel that shit.” Blake placed the mug down. “Your lack of assurance makes my investors leery. Clearly, you’re not ready to pitch it to me, let alone to Kiyota.”

Along the top of the screen, a notification indicated that Zenobia Washington was FaceTiming him. Blake brought the discussion to an end. “I’ll be back in town by Monday. Have something for me that will interest Kiyota, or we scrap half a year of coding.” Blake cut the screen for his video conference and picked up the connection with Zenobia.

Zenobia was the younger sister of his best friend, Isaac, whose mother had taken Blake in when his own teen mother had gone to jail for petty theft. Serenity Graham, his mother’s best friend, had raised him as if he were her own. She’d kept him from a foster care placement, which he would be forever grateful for.

“Hello, Zennie,” Blake said.

“Hey, Brendan.” Zenobia called him by the name he hated. She had always been a thorn in his side as a child, so there was nothing he could do but allow it. She had her hair in a different style than usual. Braids that were as thick as his thumbs were neatly draped over her shoulders. Zenobia peered around, and Blake stepped closer toward the iPad.

“What’s up, nosy?” he asked.

“Nothing much. Just wanted to see if Mila left you, yet.”

“And why would she do that.” He reached over to grab his coffee.

“Like I told you, you had a few sistahs when you were a kid. Taking them to Micky Ds or that nasty ass Jack in the Box, back in the day, always helped you get some coochie—but—black women only like pretty picturesque snow when it’s posted up in a frame. Taking her to the snow? You really aren’t trying to get Mila to marry you.”

Blake hid a smile as he drank some of his coffee. “Okay, Zennie, whatever you say.”

“Don’t okay me. Dang. I’m rooting for you. It’s slim pickings for us girls doped up on melanin. I’m trying to help you, but feel free to continue with your shenanigans.”

“I will. I more than appreciate the advice.”

She smirked, changing the subject. “What’s the next proposal concept after the snow?”

“Bungee jumping,” he joked, aware that it would just give Zenobia more ammunition. She had a mouth, and she loved to use it.

“Right,” she chuckled. “Where is Mila?”

“Asleep.”

With a wag of her finger, Zenobia said, “You just don’t want me to speak to her.”

“Now, why would I keep you from Mila?”

“Because at our get-together last month, I almost screwed up your proposal. Though, I doubt that it matters since you popped the question a handful of times since then.” She smirked.

“That’s very observant of you. And I’ll ask until the day I die if we aren’t married by then.” Blake smiled.

Blake had proposed at The Butterfly House in St. Louis, where he and Zenobia’s family were from. A flurry of beautiful butterflies flitted around. Within that flurry was a micro drone perfectly replicated to look like a Richmond Birdwing Butterfly, a rare species of black butterfly. The prototype, which had cost Blake a fortune, had an engagement ring tied to its middle. Mila had said it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. She had looked like she had wanted to shout “yes” from the highest rooftops, in his opinion. He had not understood why she held back.

The fiasco had ended up as one for the books. Once they returned from the Butterfly House—Zenobia and her big mouth—she just knew Mila had said yes. It was awkward after Zenobia had eagerly asked to see the ring.

“I don’t hold grudges,” Blake began.

Blake tried to clear the image of what he assumed was the most romantic proposal from his mind while kneading the back of his neck.

“Yeah, right,” Zenobia quipped. “You don’t hold grudges? Then why do I recall a few pranks at my expense?”

Hearing the sound of footsteps, Blake glanced down the pathway to see two shapely, bare legs. Mila wore his shirt, the one he had tossed off yesterday, and damn, she looked even better in it. The shirt softly caressed her hips, those luscious handles that made bouncing on his cock all the better. Her hair was in a flurry, a lopsided ponytail flopped as she descended the last step.

A fog of sleepiness and what appeared to be her searching for something disappeared from Mila’s eyes when she saw Blake watching her. Her sexy almond eyes widened some, and her mouth curved into a genuine smile. She had found him.

Damn, he loved her with every bit of him. Blake almost felt like tossing her over his shoulder and dragging her to the Justice of the Peace. It almost hurt knowing that he had yet to fully claim her in all aspects. A man could lay with a woman. And indeed, he’d had Mila Ali in every sense of the word. But to lay with her as his wife, that would be a treasure in itself.

“Um . . . hello?” Zenobia spoke.

Mila reached him. At that moment, her smile was the closest thing to family Blake had. He’d forgotten all about Zenobia until Mila bypassed their morning embrace.

“Zennie, what’s up, girl?”

“Hey,” Zenobia brightened. “Just making sure you haven’t frozen to death.”

“It’s toasty in the cabin,” Mila replied.

She placed her forearms on the countertops. Her ass tooted up somewhat as she spoke. Blake stared at her. Did she not know her appeal?

“I swear it wasn’t as cold yesterday. As long as I’m allowed to stay inside for the duration of our trip, I may survive.”

“You actually went out?” Zenobia’s eyes bugged.

Mila laughed, telling her about jumping from the ski seat and almost doing the splits.

“You could’ve died!”

“I almost did,” Mila agreed. “Not like you think. Nevertheless, I did take a serious fall on the slopes.”

Blake took that as his cue to walk away and allow them to finish their conversation. It wouldn’t have mattered. There was no stopping Zennie; she had that damn mouth.

***

Wooden pillars dissected the enormous room, and windows lined the exterior walls. The serene snow falling outside almost calmed the ache in Blake’s heart. Proposing to Mila had been a challenge, one that he enjoyed every moment of. But he was beginning to think that marriage wasn’t in the cards for them. The thought didn’t stop him from still thinking about ways to make it happen though.

I’ll purchase her her very own island and write a marriage proposal in the sand—fuck, my friend Daniel did that last year.

I could rent the Golden Gate bridge for half a day. It would piss off the folks from San Fran but fuck it. I could do that. Then what? Fuck!

Blake’s thumb cruised over emails. He knew that the more wealth that he had, the more damn emails he would get. Most of them he deleted, as he thought about marrying Mila.

The sarcastic idea of bungee jumping he just mentioned to Zenobia popped into his head. Blake leaned back into the couch and had a good laugh while muttering to himself. “Might as well tell her I’m gonna go run with the bulls if you don’t marry me.”

“What’s that?”

“Nothing.” Blake sat up. Mila stood about thirty yards away on the opposite side of the living room with two cups of coffee in her hands. She gestured to his cup. “I warmed it up after getting off the phone with Zennie.”

Just the gorgeous sight of her transported Blake into the past. They were at Warren Jamerson’s funeral when they met. His mind had been inundated with the nastiest of thoughts all throughout the proceeding—at a church no less. Damn. If Blake had known the man’s fiancée was so fucking hot, he’d have made a fool of himself a lot sooner.

“Here.” Mila handed his cup over.

Shit. He hadn’t even noticed that she had walked over to him.

“Blake, what’s wrong?”

He shrugged as she looked down at him.

“Really?” She placed her drink on the coffee table as he sat his on the side table.

“Nothing’s wrong, Mila.”

His woman sank to her knees, planting herself before him. Mila’s soft, tiny hand caressed the stubble along his jaw. “Blake, please talk to me.”

And say what? I’m gonna marry you come hell or high water.

“Blake!” Her hands slammed down onto his muscular thighs, but the only pain to be had was in her eyes.

“What, Mila? We don’t have a problem. Don’t make one.”

“Are you sure?” She asked, searching his eyes.

Fuck yeah, I’m sure. We don’t have a problem yet. I’m not an easily dissuaded man. If it comes to it, I will drag you down the aisle.