"You'll be coming here often?" He asked me as he stepped out of his car.
"Hmm?" My ears perked up and I looked up from the doodle I had been drawing on my notepad.
He looked down at my doodle and made a face, "Is that swirl professional?"
"You weren't talking so I doodled." I told him and thanks Max for opening my door.
"As I was saying," He paused and opened the front door of his massive home to me, "You'll be coming here often?"
"Only if it's okay with you." I told him.
I walked into the large foyer and saw the dark wooden floors. The walls were a dark wallpaper of a pattern I didn't recognize. There were pieces of furniture in strategic places and a few photos along the walls. I assumed his family was at least one of them.
"You barely know me." He stated obviously and began to untie his tie.
"And?"
"You're here in my home. You're how old?" He looked me up and down, "20?"
"22 thanks though..." I sighed and shrugged, "This is for a project. And it's important. If I felt like you were unsafe I wouldn't have decided to do this on you."
"Mmm." He was barely listening and he walked swiftly down the hallway past me and into a large living area. "Wait in here." He pointed to a room off to the side with his pointer finger. I saw a silver ring on his finger. He had quite a few rings actually.
"Okay." I responded after he left down the hallway. I went into the room he had asked me to and flipped on a light switch. The room lit up with shadow boxes and records lining the walls. There were posters hanging symmetrically and there was a stereo system hooked up to the room. The record player in the corner was turned off. I examined the creme leather couch and the navy blue walls with my hands before going to read a few posters. A Kanye West poster hung reading, 'Rocky boyy, can't wait to work again my brother.' and then Kanye's signature.
My jaw dropped and I looked along at all of the posters. Madonna, Lady Gaga, Selena Gomez, Usher, and many other famous names.
"I work a lot." Rocky said into the room and I jumped at the noise.
"Sorry... I didn't hear you come in." I told him, "You know all these people?"
"Briefly." He responded. "I work a lot. But I also know how to have a good time."
"And what constitutes a good time?" I asked him slowly. I admired his navy suit and he had pulled his hair back into a bun.
He drug his thumb across his lower lip and looked at the records hanging on the wall, "I'll tell you in time." He turned and walked abruptly, "Come."
"You've got very nice style. I just wanted to tell you that." I said to him.
"Thank you." He flipped the light switch off, "My mother is my stylist."
"So your mom dresses you?" I asked.
"If that's how you want to put it." He shrugged. "She does a good job."
We walked down a hallway and past a wall of vintage guitars hanging as if they were royalty. "Do you play?"
"Often." He replied swiftly and picked up keys from a hook. "You'll ride with me?"
"Is that appropriate?" I asked him.
"You're in my home, Nicole." He made me aware yet again.
"This is true." I sighed, "Okay."
