Warning about the next episode in the description!

I thought we’d get up to more sexy times, but no. Angel merely tucks me in with a chaste peck of the lips and a warm “goodnight, Princess.” Then leaves. Leaves! 

I wanted to be more angry, but I drifted off not ten seconds later.  (Hate it when men are right.)

Now we’re sitting on his back porch, eating the delicious breakfast he made—scallion pancakes, eggs, and bacon. My feet are stuffed beneath his thigh, warming me enough that I don’t have to wear god-awful socks. Angel keeps one hand on my legs in some fashion the whole time. As we gobble up the last bites, I’m stunned by how it feels like we’ve been doing this for years.

“That,” I declare, letting my fork rest. “Was delicious.”

“Thank you, Princess.” He kindly takes and stacks them on the table. 

“No. I should be thanking you. I’ll wash the dishes and cook lunch.” 

I thought he’d like the sound of that, but he recoils as if me being in the kitchen was a preposterous idea. Angel’s little scoff is a little sassy and unnecessary if you ask me. 

“We’ll see about that.” 

He’s going to find out real soon I’m more than willing to fight over a kitchen, let alone the kitchen of my vision board. Challenge accepted, although tabled for now. 

With no more plates as obstacles, I snatch my feet back without warning. Angel stretches out his hand, but I push it aside with more force than I intended to as I stand. Thinking this is about the food, he goes for the dishes. Again, I smack his hand away, using his growing shock to push him against the backrest. 

“Keisha” is all I let him get out before sinking onto his lap. I want to tease him, but Angel picks me up and places Me a little further down than I wanted. He spreads his legs just enough for me to sink between his legs, thick thighs bracing me on either side. 

I would complain about my plans being thwarted, but I can stare at his face in the warm sun. Angel must wear tinted moisturizers—which he hasn't gotten around to putting on yet—because I would’ve noticed the freckles last night. They aren’t abundant, but they’re sprinkled over cheeks and more concentrated on his nose. Yet, there’s a handful of larger spots: one above his right eyebrow, another beneath his left eye, and the left corner of his lip, that make me want to connect them like constellation points. So I do. 

Angel says nothing as I trace them with the tip of my nose. Imprecise and a lot of work, but I didn’t want to get up and wash my hands off the bacon grease and didn’t want to dirty his face. It became a great excuse for my lips ghosting his skin, ready and willing if he wanted me. And he did, the heat on his cheeks not escaping me. Yet, Angel, continuing to be different from all the previous men I’d been with, only lifts a brow when I lean in for a kiss. It doesn’t feel like a rejection. Nor is it an invitation. Rather, I'll have to cross a line in the sand if I want more like last night. 

My budding courage flees when loud barking echoes from what must be several homes down, and someone starts yelling after their dog. The tension dispels, and I have to hold back from moping as I hear the chuckle under his breath.

“Almost, baby. Almost,” Angel just had to add mockingly. 

Just when I want to flick him, he turns into an attentive teddy again. Now that my little piggies were out and slowly becoming frozen ham, I allowed Angel to finally put a blanket over me. He takes no small amount of pleasure in tucking the blanket beneath my legs perfectly.

Definitely into service. 

“Angel.”

“Yes, Keisha?” Finally satisfied with his work, he faces me with a content gleam in his eye.

“I wanna know everything about you.” I instantly regretted it as his eyes widened; I came on way too obvious.

Not again, Keisha. Don’t you remember Issac? Ran his ass away doing shit like this.

I try to take heed and drawback as I notice how close I’d lean forward. However, Angel silently objects to this. 

Wrapping both arms around me and lightly kissing my temple. My lungs take it as permission to accept air again. 

“Ask me anything.”

“What does Dee stand for?”

“Duma,” he mutters.

“Duma.” I like how his cheeks turn a little pink. “Handsome name for a handsome man. For some odd reason, I feel like there’s more to it. Is Duma the full name?”

“Technically, it derives from Dumakulem.”

“Sounds strong,” I purr, poking at his bicep definition.

“My mom said she was inspired by Tagalog myths when carrying me. Dumakulem guards the mountains, protects people from storms, and provides. He’s also, I suppose, a patron of hunting.”

How apropos. I can tell he senses this too because he won’t look me in the eyes as I grin.

“Wow. What else?”

“I-I don’t know.”

“You cool with your mom?”

“Yeah.”

“Then ask if she has any favorite stories about Dumakulem. I’m really intrigued now.”

“Fine,” Duma laughs. Nonetheless, he still indulges me, pulling up the contact for his mother and texting her swiftly, not caring about me peering down unabashedly. 

I have to bite my grin back as I read the exchange. 

‘Nanay, you remember the girl I told you about?’

‘She said yes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Anyone in her right mind would! Now why'd you really text me?’

‘She wanted to know if you on tales of Dumakulem and the other gods.’

‘Of course I do. I’ll write and send it to you in the next care package.’

They chat a little more, but he switches to Tagalog after she’d asked when he’d introduce me to her. I don’t mind waiting as they converse; I’m actually glad about their sweet interaction. Lord knows that hasn’t been the case for me.

“Nanay asked why you’re so interested? I think you’re the person to ask.”

“Names have a powerful way of shaping ourselves and our lives.”

“So you know your name's origin.”

“No, no, no. This is about you.“

“Fine. 

“Does anyone call you Duma?”

“Only my mom, and usually when I messed up pretty bad.”

Hmm. So no using that during sex. Got it.

“I think I’ll take a page out of her book then.”

“Oh, already planning to corner me?”

“Yup.” He acts annoyed with an eye roll, but his eyes seem to warm up--however, that might just be the sun shifting. 

“That begs the question of what you'll call me when I’m not in trouble."

“You don’t want me calling you Dee or Angel anymore?”

“You can, but" his smile that's been constant this whole morning turns shy. "I want something just from you.” 

“Ahhh, a pet name.”

“I mean, I do call you Princess and baby.”

Speaking of that…

“I think I want an upgrade.”