Eight

The best things about Jasmine's mother's job was her night shifts seemed to always fall when she needed them to fall. Like tonight when she was having her very first romantic date with Marcelo. It was also very favourable that her big sister had no plans on going out: then the little devilish little sister was definitely rattling them both out. But now with one person around, they could cover for the other.

Jasmine was more worried about her outfit. She'd gone through her suitcases like a million times since she got home from the market. She'd finally settled for a white  dress borrowed from her sister, paired with her favourite blue jacket to keep out the chill of the night.

She didn't exactly tell Jessie where she was off to but did tell her it was a date. She left the house about fifteen minutes after her mother, hop into a taxi and left.

She arrived the resort a few minutes later than the set time. He was already outside, waiting impatiently, dressed in a white shirt rolled up to his elbows over white knee length shorts.

The minute the taxi came to a stop, Marcelo let out a heavy breath; she came. He walk to the door and helped her out. Taking aback by surprise, Jasmine followed his lead, forgetting she had to pay the driver.

"Madame you neva pay!" The driver called on both their attentions.

"Oh! Sorry," Jasmine said, struggling with her purse to get the cash out.

"It's ok Chicca I got it!" Marcelo told her as he hand a clean two thousand francs bank note to the driver, "keep the change my good man,"

The taxi drove off with the driver hurling all sorts of praises at Marcelo. The latter guided his date inside the gates right but not his suit. He led her towards the events hall of the hotel where he'd set a romantic candle light dinner date for two.

"I couldn't find a musician: a violinist more precisely so I bought a stereo instead,"

"Oh my Lord!" Jasmine gasped, stupified by the beauty of everything she saw. Too many flowers on a romantic date for her was just too cunny, but Marcelo didn't know that. He'd put out just the right amount of flowers; a red rose on the table. The lights had been carefully arrangedas such that it shun it reflected on a small Eiffel tower, enlargening it's reflection on the wall; giving an impression of Paris.

"Marcelo, did you do this? It's beautiful!"

"You should know I have never made this much of an effort for anyone,"

"Lemme guess; but because I am so special, blah, blah, blah... I've heard that line before Marcello but ..."

"Don't fool yourself chicca. I have had too much time in my hands so I decided to make use of it. Plus I wanted to test my skills in interior design; after all, I did spend six months attempting to study it in the university." He drew out a chair and she sat.

"You went to the university?"

"I tried to but, it just wasn't for me. I got kicked out in first semester for cheating during exams so I quit."

"Wow." Jasmine answered. She took out her phone and typed in a message to her sister. Marcello watched. He studied again her facial features like it was the first time she was before him. Everything about was like a puzzle he wanted to solve. Like why she always bit her lips and how did it make her look picture perfect ready vixen. How she could blink like ten times in a few seconds but made it look like a stream of sexy blinks. The way her hands would sequentially go to her hair, checking if it's still in in good shape: and it always was. Every little detail about her fascinated him. Even the her fingers on the phone's screen to him was like something magical though he too did it.

"What about you? From the looks of it, I can guess you're still in school. How far are you?"

"Oh! I just graduated from high school. I've been accepted to study Journalism and mass communication in the university of Buea."

"Wait," he called, a little astonished, "high school? University? How old are you Jasmine?"

"Turned eighteen a couple of months ago." A look of shock appeared on Marcello's face. He stood up from his seat,

"You're eighteen? Chicca," taken aback too, Jasmine got up,

"What were you thinking? How old were you thinking I was?"

"I knew you were young but not that young. " He rakes his hand violently through his hair. True, Jasmine didn't look her age, the things she said sometimes and did made her seem more mature. Not only with him but she's had to face some kind of age discrimination pretty everywhere she talked about her age.

"You know if it bothers you so much, then maybe I should just leave," Jasmine picked up her phone and turned on her heels, "you're being shallow!"

"No no wait! Mierda! Jasmine, wait!" He grabbed her by the hand, "I didn't mean to. I swear! I was just taken aback."

"No Marcello, you were being shallow. If you truly like me, which I am not even sure about, you'd look pass that!" Her breathing grew heavy as she continued non-stop ranting, "I do like you but do you see me complaining about your being fifty plus? No! I looked pass; because I know it doesn't matter but you-" he cut her short by smashing his lips unto hers, claiming every part of her mouth for himself. Then broke apart, but not far enough to not still feel the heat of her breath in the cold air of the night.

"You talk too much sometimes chicca, and I'm not yet in my fifties." He grazed her nose with his, "you taste like heaven," he pulled her closer and tighter unto him,

"How- how old are you?" She barely got out, straining against the temptation of sealing her lips back into his again and never letting go,

"Thirty-eight! And I don't care if you're fucking twelve," he sealed his lips on hers again. A burning sensation of need began growing inside Jasmine. Very unfamiliar, but very tempting and as inexperienced as she was, she didn't know how to resist it; or him!

She broke of the kiss, thinking to herself,

I'll burn in he'll for this but...

"Take me to your room."