by Nia Arthurs
“Guess that’s my cue.” She stands with a sigh. Her blazer tapers softly to her waist. She shakes her hair back with a gentle toss of her head. “Let me know if you need my help.”
“I’ve got it. But thanks.”
She nods and leaves.
As soon as the door closes, I collapse against my desk.
Breathe in.
Out.
Try to find the peace in the chaos like the yoga instructor from my first and last session at the community center instructed.
Inhale.
The yellow sticky note flashes in my mind.
Exhale.
Troy dating some other woman…
My eyes pop open.
New plan.
I ignore both problems until I can’t anymore.
Good thing I have a full schedule this morning.
By the time I’m done with my last consultation, I realize I’m going to be late for my meeting with Troy.
Thankfully, the café’s right next-door.
I head outside and slip my shades on.
Even with all the crap going on, I’m unnaturally giddy.
Because of Troy.
It’s been years since we’ve sat and talked—just the two of us.
I look forward to catching up with him.
Just seeing his face.
Being in his company.
I missed him.
He’s always been my…
The hair on the back of my neck stands to attention.
I stop.
Turn around.
The sidewalk isn’t very crowded. My eyes scan the perimeter for anything out of order.
There’s nothing.
Weird. It felt like someone was watching me.
“Don’t be so paranoid, Venus,” I mumble to myself. Straightening my shoulders, I strut to the coffee shop.
As I draw near, I catch sight of Troy. It’s hard to miss him. He’s tall. Italian-supermodel handsome. Right now, he’s got his face tilted toward the sky and the sunlight bathes his skin in gold.
My fingers tighten in my skirt.
The beat of my heart skitters louder than my heels hitting the sidewalk.
Forget this.
If I have to choose between a weird stalker and letting Troy go, I’ll choose the stalker.
Every. Single. Time.
Nine
Troy
The sky is blue. The wind is gentle. The sun shines brightly, warming my face.
It’s a gorgeous day.
Picture perfect.
I take a moment.
Stand on the sidewalk.
Suck in a breath.
I missed this place. Everything about it. The weather. The people. The community. All those years growing up, bouncing from one place to the next, nowhere felt like home ‘till Mom and I stumbled here.
Leaving eight years ago broke my heart.
But I made it.
Now, I’m back.
A different man.
One people look in the eyes.
One they respect.
It was something the fourteen-year-old me could only dream about. ‘Guy from the wrong side of the tracks makes his triumphant return’. It’s every bit as glorious as I imagined.
It’d be perfect.
If not for Venus’s nighttime admirer and the knife I found in the dumpster.
“You shooting an ad or something?” a voice chimes.
I drop my chin. Notice Venus standing to my left. A wry grin flirts with her plump mouth, lips painted a brilliant shade of red. Her hair is parted at the side and sweeps across her forehead.
My eyes slowly fall down her neck to her blouse—that’s open one button too far—the checkered skirt and the knee-high boots.
She looks like a naughty, sexy student.
Which isn’t something I should be thinking given our history.
My history.
My darkness.
The feelings I have but would be crazy to act upon.
She steps forward. Tilts her head so her curls fall the other way. Well?
Sunlight glitters in her eyes. Golden rays point to the skin peeking out from the open collar of her shirt.
Just one look at her chest is all it takes for my engines to rev all the way up.
Since when did Venus look so damn sexy?
Pushing away my attraction, I fill my tone with annoyance. “I was waiting for you.” I check my watch. Tap my shoes against the pavement. They’re worn. Paint speckled. I didn’t dress up for her. I made a conscious effort not to. “You’re ten minutes late.”
“Sorry.”
“You don’t sound sorry.”
“I got caught up.”
“With what?”
Her eyes skitter. “Work stuff.”
“You could have sent me a text.”
“I rushed here instead.”
“Late.”
“Yup.”
“You work right next door, Venus.”
“Yeah, yeah.” She tosses her hair dismissively. “You can punish me later.”
You can punish me…
My body tightens. An image of Venus over my lap, receiving that punishment, parades through my mind.
Six times six is thirty six.
“Let’s head inside. I need coffee and not that tragic, mud water that Kayla makes.” Venus nods to the door. “Ready?”
“Yeah.” I’m ready. I can have a decent conversation with Venus without picturing her naked. I can make it through this small meeting without looking like an idiot.
Grabbing the door from her, I hold it open so she can pass through.
Venus shoots me a look. I opened it for you.
I shrug. Too bad.
It’s not a diss. She’s a lady and I’m a gentleman.
Doors get opened by me. Period.
Venus slides by with a huff.
Inside, the café’s painted blue with lots of white frames. Plastic snowflakes dangle from the ceiling. Tiny lights wind around the front counter. We’re hit with an immediate blast of cold air and the rich scent of coffee.
My eyes dart to Venus who wraps her arms around herself. She notices me looking and chuckles self-consciously. “Wrong day to wear silk.”
A muscle in my jaw ticks as she shivers. Silk isn’t the problem. The woman’s barely wearing anything.
“Here.” I shrug out of my hoodie and drop it roughly over her shoulders.
She looks up at me with a smile that almost knocks my heart straight out of my ribs. “Thanks, Troy.”
Someone’s trying to kill her.
The phrase slams me back to reality. Does a better job than multiplication ever could.
I glance away and nod to the short line in front of the counter. “Over there.”
We get in line.
She’s in front of me. Close enough that the fabric of the jacket brushes against my chest. Close enough that her flower fragrance winds around me.
The thump of my heart is louder than the pop-rock music in the background.
My body’s already on high alert, straining toward her.
Must have Venus.
She flips her head around. Curls fly with the movement, softly caressing the underside of my chin. “Troy.”
“Yeah?” My voice is husky. I can’t help it. Can’t help how crazy she makes me, even if I know it’s wrong.
“I’m sorry.” She bites down on her bottom lip. Staring at them is torture. She glances up, her gaze demanding my attention. “For being late. I know you’re busy too.”
It’s such a mature thing to say, to do.
She apologized.
Not the Venus I remember.
The first signs of a crack.
“Did something happen?” I ask, unable to keep the note of worry creeping into my voice. Hoping that she says ‘no, I’m completely fine. There’s no one bothering me. I have all the happiness I deserve.’
She opens her mouth. Closes it. Glances at the customers in front of and behind us
. Both eyebrows hike. Later.
Damn.
She knows something.
Her neighbor must have squealed.
I nod.
She leans back. “So what are you working on right now?”
“My latest book cover?”
She folds her arms over her chest. “I’m not asking about the day job.”
“It certainly pays.”
“Because you’re hot.”
I roll my eyes to the ceiling, but my chest warms.
The compliment feels good.
At least from her.
Still, I set her straight. “I’m good at what I do.”
“And you’re hot.” She pokes me in the side with her elbow. “I’m sure that helps.”
“No one cares what the graphic designer looks like.” I arch an eyebrow. “It’s not like my face is on a cover.”
“It could be.” Her gaze moves across my shoulders, over my chest, down my waist to my shoes. She lowers her voice, almost as if she’s musing to herself. “I’d buy that book.”
I snort.
Her eyes find mine. She grins. Joyfully. Playfully.
Venus has always been a fun girl.
The life of the party.
More energetic that I could ever be.
I can’t let anyone hurt her.
“But I’m talking about your true passion, not the one that feeds your obsession for stocks and bonds.”
“It’s not an obsession. It’s good business practice. A diverse financial portfolio is always a smart choice. Especially in a career based on the arts. Things can shift so easily.”
She rolls her eyes. “Please stop.”
“I’m a big fan of saving.”
“Ew.” She makes a face like I just told her to eat cat droppings off the floor. “And don’t try to change the subject.”
“I didn’t.”
She pushes out her bottom lip you were. “Now that you’re back home, are you working on a new exhibit?”
My nerves tighten. “Uh…”
“Here’s an idea.” She cups her chin and points a finger at her face.
I tease her. “You want the art critics tearing me to shreds?”
“Hey.”
I smirk.
“I always wanted you to paint me.” She licks her top lip. “We have an insanely talented painter in the family, but I’ve never gotten a portrait.” When she sees me hesitating, she tacks on. “It doesn’t have to be on canvas. Even just a sketch…”
“Hm.”
“Troy.”
“What?”
“When will you paint me?”
Damn.
This woman.
She’s never gotten a sketch, but I drew many. Hundreds.
Venus sitting on the porch, her head lifted towards the stars in rare, quiet contemplation.
Venus in the couch, devouring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb, her knees tucked to her chest and her plump lips chomping on a Belizean-style ideal.
Venus at the beach.
Venus in a bathing suit…
Venus without the bathing suit…
I pinch her cheek. “You’re too ugly.”
“Ha.” She jerks her face out of my reach and shoots me a defiant look. “I’m hotter than you.”
“That’s a stretch.” I tease. “Considering the competition.”
The line moves.
It’s our turn.
I order the iced coffee. Venus orders some ridiculously complex drink with extra pumps of foam and vanilla.
While the barista runs off to fill the order, she faces me.
I arch an eyebrow. “Really?”
“What?”
“That was a lot of words to describe ‘sweet coffee’.”
“Make fun all you want. My frappe will blow your mind.”
I smile.
She smiles back.
My heart burns.
Touch her.
I fist my hands to resist the urge.
It’s a relief when the barista hands us our drinks and we move to one of the tables in the corner.
I sit across from Venus.
It’s enough space to wrangle my thoughts and put them back in the Do Not Touch box where they belong.
She takes a sip of her coffee and the moan of pleasure that slips through her perfect lips has those feelings jumping back out like chickens escaping the coop.
She’s distracting.
She’s…
I need a freaking therapist.
“Alright.” I push my coffee away. “Let’s get to business.”
She stares at me, her lips still stuck on the straw.
I squeeze my eyes shut at the imagery that pops up then. Push the words out while I’m still a functioning, responsible adult who remembers the bro-code. “I’ll do it.”
“What?” Her eyes widen.
“Make It Marriage. I’ll agree to be matched.”
Venus taps her finger on the table. Her nails are blue. “Troy.” She swallows visibly. “Are you okay? Like, you’re not sick or anything? Right? Is there something I should know?”
“But there’s a catch.” My voice trembles.
This part…
Is incredibly stupid.
But there’s no other alternative.
Not when it comes to keeping her safe.
Surprise knits her brow. “A catch?”
“Move in.”
She coughs, brown eyes filling with shock.
I stare at her.
My voice deftly hides the nerves I feel. “I’ll get you that promotion, if you move in with me.”
Ten
Venus
My heels tap the floor. My tongue slides over the top of my teeth. Troy’s offer floats in the air between us like some kind of outrageous cartoon cloud, no rhyme or reason to its existence.
Move in with me.
I take a sip of my coffee to buy some time. Pinch my arm under the table.
‘Move in with me’ sounds mind-bogglingly close to ‘Venus, I love you. Marry me’—the latter being my dream since I was nine.
Not that it’s still my dream.
I’ve matured.
Troy and I are friends.
Just friends.
That’s all we’ll ever be.
And that’s great. Really, it’s awesome.
Except when he flies out of left field asking me something a boyfriend would.
A steady boyfriend.
One I’m outrageously, deliriously in love with.
It’s the farthest thing from what we are.
Such words should never leave his plump and kissable mouth.
The pinch doesn’t wake me. I dig my fingers harder into my skin, stretching it almost painfully.
Still nothing.
Except a ridiculous ache in my arm.
The coffee loses its taste.
I give up on drinking it and set the cup back on the table.
Troy is still watching me. His brown eyes are steel. The chiseled jaw, hard as granite. Like the sculptures in the art museums he used to drag me and Evan to. Like a weapon.
Strike the option that he’s joking. Troy’s expression is a man going to war. Way too serious to be pulling my leg.
And this isn’t his style of humor anyway.
Maybe he’s got a concussion? Or he’s mistaking me for his ex, Brook?
I press my lips into a smile. A calm that’s not a good idea smile rather than the yes, yes, I’ll move in with you; should I start buying my ring smile that wants to pop out. “Where did that come from?”
“I’m worried about you.”
“So the next logical step was to offer me room and board?”
“The world’s a scary place.” He leans forward. Right into the pocket of sunshine streaming through the window. The light hits his cheekbones. Turns his tan skin an angelic shade. Frames his brown eyes and thick lashes in a perfect honey tone.
“I’m aware of that.”
“It’s dangerous fo
r a single woman to live alone.”
I try to keep my voice steady, but it doesn’t quite make it. “I know.” Recent events prove that particular theory. “But that’s my problem.”
“It’s mine too.”
“Why?”
Troy’s eyes fix on me.
It’s not a look I can read.
“Move in with me,” he says again.
No.
Hell no.
A thousand times no.
I know my limits. Living in close quarters with the man I’ve had a crush on since forever is like skipping through a minefield blindfolded.
Something will explode.
Probably my self-restraint.
Definitely my heart.
There’s not a reason in the world that’s worth the risk of—
“I know someone’s been watching your apartment. ”
My eyes flit up. “You talked to Ms. Shayla?”
“We met by chance.”
“You did.”
“Yeah.”
A knot forms in my stomach. “And?”
“She told me about your little visitor.”
Little visitor? That’s a non-creepy way to say it.
Stalker. Door Pervert. All acceptable terms.
Little visitor?
That’s like calling a burglar casing the joint a little house admirer.
Troy’s lips drop into a thin line. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I…”
“Or Evan.”
“He’d freak out,” I mumble.
The way Troy’s freaking out.
The way I am.
Fear tackles my heart like a drunk and bitter ex pouncing on the new and younger wife.
The emotions I’ve been running from all morning flood my bones, washing away the false sense of calm and control I thought I had a lock on. Anxiety overwhelms me. Pulls at me. Pushes me under.
It’s sickening.
I fight the helplessness as best as I can. “It’s not a big deal.”
“Venus…”
“Troy.” I lick my lips. “It’s nothing I can’t handle. Honestly. I don’t know what my neighbor told you, but she’s a little old and she can’t see that well—”
“I found a knife in the dumpster.”
That shuts me up.
A knife?
Like the weapon used to chop onions and stab people?
“So what?” My voice is as shrill as a whistle.
My bravado’s a sham.
No one’s convinced.
