Pleasurable Expectations

t h i r t y - o n e

I knocked on the door to Malcolm's hotel suite. The door pulled open, and I was met with Cameron. He was clad in a purple button-down—Laker's purple, to be exact—and a simple pair of slacks.

"Perfect. This is exactly what I told the stylists I was looking for," I spoke as I stepped into the room. "Where's our boy?" My head swiveled around the main room, Malcolm nowhere to be found.

"He's in the other room looking at himself. They just finished getting him ready," Cameron informed. "I should warn you, though. If this—"he gestured to himself, "Is the look you're going for, Malcolm might not meet the standard."

My eyebrows furrowed in questioning. I told them Cameron and I needed to coordinate gold and purple, and Malcolm would wear something that was an obvious yet tasteful mix of both. Nothing too old for him, of course, but nothing too informal at the same time. And, seeing as Cameron and I were delivered outfits that fit the bill, I don't understand how they could have missed the mark with Malcolm.

I asked, "Well, what did they put him in then?"

Just as the question surpassed my lips, a door opened, and Malcolm stepped out from behind it. My eyes took him in, them immediately sticking to the sleeveless Laker's jersey he was wearing. As they rolled down to his lower half, I felt my heart skip a beat as I saw ripped skinny jeans on his legs.

I scanned the rest of the room, me just now noticing the clothing rack holding a few outfits I had selected tucked away between the window and the bed. It was totally forgotten. I took a breath and closed my eyes. I let a moment pass before I released the air, plastered on a smile, and looked to Cameron.

"Why is he dressed like it's wear your favorite jersey day for spirit week?"

That earned a chuckle from Cameron, but he composed himself with a cough as he took in my eerily calm demeanor. "Um, is the excuse that it was too hot outside valid?"

I exclaimed, "He's wearing jeans!" I heard the bustle behind me stop, and I felt several gazes fall on me. I turned to the crowd with a sheepish look and gave a small wave.

"Miss Kiara!" Malcolm called. He shooed away the women fussing over him before he walked over to Cameron and me. "You're here, so that means we're ready to roll out, right?"

"Yeah, real soon," I answered with a slight nod. "But what's this?" I gestured at his attire. "You didn't like any of the outfits I had pulled for you?"

"Oh nah, they're all great, Miss Kiara," he dismissed with the wave of his hand. "It's kinda hot to be wearing dressy clothes. And I already had this 'fit picked out; my mama helped." His lips were pulled into a sweet smile. I swear I saw a sparkle in his eyes as he looked down at Nike's Mamba Focus 'Lakers' sneakers.

Malcolm was called away, and, as he left, I turned to Cameron and gritted out through an easygoing smile, "I'm not gonna be able to get him to change, am I?"

"I'll help you work out how to spin this on the way," Cameron offered.

We arrived at the service and headed straight inside. Malcolm questioned whether he should talk to the media covering the event, but I advised against it. It'd be better to make a statement after the service when there are things to reflect on, rather than before where it could be misconstrued that he's trying to "steal the spotlight."

The memorial service passed with stunning performances and words spoken by family and friends. I'd never had the pleasure of meeting Kobe personally, but friends I have who had always spoken highly of him.

Sniffles could be heard throughout the service. Person after person came up and offered kind words for the late basketball legend. Malcolm was a source of sniffles, his head turned away from Cameron and me as he attempted to hide his tears.