*Kwame Asante*

Our table was a little bit removed from all the party action, but it offered a great view of the city at night, a cool evening breeze—unlike the stuffy air on the dance floor—and the alluring smell of spiced grilled meat.

Arturo took the liberty to order a batch for our table as the ladies settled down. I put a bottle of beer in front of each of them, earning me a grateful smile. But funny enough, it was the brown-skinned beauty's that affected me the most, and I had to mentally slap myself so it wouldn't show. Control yourself, Kwame!

"So! Here are our orders. Not sure what you ladies wanted, so I picked a little bit of everything." Arturo placed a platter of grilled meat dredged in red powdered pepper and several onion slices. "Bon Appetit!"

"Was that supposed to be a French accent?" I quipped, slotting a piece of meat into my mouth.

"Oui, oui, monsieur." Arturo plopped down beside me. "How did I do?"

"A word of advice." I gave my friend a soft pat on the shoulder. "Stick to your Mexican roots."

"Wait, you're Mexican?" The short blond looked surprised.

"Si, soy Arturo Gonzalez. Born and raised in San Cristobal de las Casas, Mexico. However, I moved to Los Angeles in 2015 to pursue a photography career. Although I do visit home very often. Gotta make sure my mama doesn't miss me too much." He shrugged.

"Aw, that's sweet," she beamed.

"We should get started on intros," Arturo said. "I've already set the ball rolling, so why don't you take it up?"

"Oh, ok, uh, my name is Dayton Michaelson from Texas, USA. And the only interesting thing about me is that I come from a long line of hardcore ranchers."

"Well, would you look at that? We've got a bona fide cowgirl in our midst!" Arturo cheered.

"Oh, please." Dayton put her hands up in mock defence. "I'm far from a bona fide cowgirl. I can't even ride a horse to save my life. I tried to when I was a kid, but after falling several times and breaking some bones, I just figured the ranch life wasn't my thing. So, when I turned 18, I got into NYU in Manhattan. That's where my passion for journalism started. I worked part-time for the university's radio station for about four years. Once I graduated, I branched out into print media, and voila! Here I am, sitting in front of you as one of the lead entertainment reporters from NY Press."

"Wow. That's a really interesting backstory you've got there," I said, tilting the beer bottle to my lips. "I wonder if Ms. Damsel in Distress can keep up."

Her blazing chocolate eyes met mine immediately. "FYI, it's Delores, Delores Brown." She remarked with an eye roll, her lips pulled into a snarky grin. "And I may not have a unique back story like Dayton or Arturo. I've lived pretty much my entire life in New York, but I've also had some pretty amazing things come my way. Like the fact that you guys are currently in the presence of the three-time Ellie award-winning photojournalist."

"Ok, ok," Arturo laughed. "It appears we've got some tough competition, right Kwame?"

"Yeah, right." The snarky response came out with a subtle smirk. "I'd like to see Ms. Brown try to give me a run for my money."

"Oooh." Dayton and Arturo chortled at the same time.

My eyes remained fixed on Delores, who faced me with an unflinching stare. "Are you challenging me, Mr. Asante?"

"If that's what you call a challenge, then yeah." I nodded. "I am challenging you."

Her eyes darkened to the colour of pitch black, and it sent a pleasurable shock down my spine. I know I promised myself to stay the heck away from this woman, but the fire she carried was... beyond exquisite. It flickered and grew at the sight of danger. Delores was the very definition of bold and beautiful. She looked into my eyes without effort, without fear, but with a promise that she was going to match me boot for boot.

And being a man who'd never backed down from a fight, I couldn't wait to see what she had up her sleeve.

"You guys! Stop the staring competition." Dayton shook her friend's shoulder with a laugh. "Kwame, it's your turn. Tell us about yourself."

"Other than the fact that I was born here, there isn't much to tell."

"Really?" Delores' eyebrows flew up in disbelief. "You're Ghanaian?"

"Yeah," I smirked. "Why? Is that hard for you to believe?"

"Yes, cuz you look nothing like a Ghanaian," she remarked, propping herself up on the table. "You look more like a Jamaican."

A chuckle burst past my lips. "Sorry to burst your bubble, but I'm a hundred per cent Ghanaian. I was born and raised in Kumasi in the Ashanti Region, but when I turned five, my family moved out of the country to live the American dream. I've spent the majority of my life in Chicago, following my father's footsteps to become a sergeant in the U.S Army."

"Ok, now I'm impressed. That means you've got some hardcore combat skills up your sleeve." Genuine interest covered every inch of her face.

I laughed. "Well, I wouldn't call it hardcore, but yeah, I do have some potent skills from my years of training."

"All that discipline and sense of endurance." Delores smiled. "Are you currently on staff somewhere?"

"Actually, I'm a veteran. After completing my service, I decided to venture out into the world, try something new. You can't keep doing one thing your entire life."

"Yeah, understandable." Dayton nodded in agreement.

"I've actually covered a few stories on veterans," Delores said before sipping her beer.

"Oh, really, what exactly did you cover?" I asked.

"Mostly pieces on the challenges veterans face when reintegrating into civilian life," she explained, eyebrows pinched into a frown. "Issues like PTSD, unemployment, and finding a sense of purpose. It was tough to see what these brave men and women go through after serving their country."

"Yeah, it's definitely not easy. I'm just lucky I fell in love with photography right after my exit. My dad didn't have it that way tough." A thoughtful expression touched my face. "A year before my contract ended, I lost him to a severe gunshot wound that wouldn't heal because of his diabetes. Plus, he was struggling with PTSD. All of it took a huge toll on my family, especially my mum. It was one of the hardest moments in my life."

Silence befell our group.

Arturo laid a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Sorry you had to go through that, bro."

"Thanks for the concern," I said, pushing myself to smile.

Piercing feedback from the microphone punched a hole into our conversation and it wasn't long before Didi's voice replaced the irritating sound.

"Ladies and gents, I believe you all had a great time tonight, as we promised. Do keep in mind that the festivities are not over yet. We have an even bigger list of events prepared for tomorrow, and to enjoy them, I think it's time we return to our various hotels. The tour buses are currently waiting in the parking lot. They will be leaving at 11:30 so please get on one as soon as possible. Thank you."

After Didi's announcement, we gathered our stuff and joined the thread of people exiting the party area.

"I'm sorry about your dad."

A glance to the side and my eyes met Delores'. Arturo and Dayton strolled ahead of us, engrossed in their conversation.

"I know what it feels like to lose a parent you look up to so much." Delores turned, keeping her vision on the stairs we were descending. "It's not a pleasant experience."

"Yeah, I know." I shoved my hands into my pockets. "Although it comes with pain and sorrow, sometimes it's for the best. I mean, I saw how my dad struggled during his last moments, and it made me promise to make the most out of my life. And thankfully, photography has given me that chance. Without it, I wouldn't have a successful career, I wouldn't be travelling the world, and most importantly, I wouldn't have met Arturo, Dayton, or even you."

We stopped in the parking lot, facing each other.

"Sometimes unpleasant experiences open doors to greater opportunities."

Delores' lips tweaked up. "When you say greater opportunities, does that include our earlier accident? Cuz if it does, I totally wouldn't mind running into you again and spilling beer all over your shirt."

I laughed, trying not to feel the expanding warmth of affection in my chest. From the very moment I saw Delores, I had already established that this woman wasn't good for me. She was a distraction, a challenge, and a dangerous reminder of everything I wanted to forget when it comes to love.

Yet, for some bizarre reason, my heart, body, and soul wanted her. They wanted that treacherous linkage to her, which was currently freaking me out because my mind couldn't handle a second heartbreak.

Oblivious, Delores smiled at me like an angelic goddess who had just descended from heaven. Her radiance called out to me, and I was almost at the brink of cupping her soft cheek when a figure drenched in the pure stench of alcohol wedged himself between us, causing us to bounce apart.

"Well, if it isn't my two favourite people!" The Captain Hercules douchebag from earlier drawled, before gulping down more beer from the can he was holding. "So, what's shaking?"

"Argh!" Delores pivoted on her heel and entered the bus, putting herself right next to Dayton on the third seat.

"Oh men, did you see that ass?" The alcohol-induced drunk slurred with a smile. "I've got to get my hands on it."

That last past made me smack the drink out of his hand. Orell turned to me, a mask of utter shock on his face. "What the fuck?"

Shooting him one last glare, I mounted the bus, ignoring the stares from the other journalists. I perched myself in the back seat beside Arturo, who gave me a fist bump. "Nice one, bro."

"Thanks." When I turned back, my eyes caught a brief smirk from Delores, then she turned as the bus began its journey back to the hotels.

*****