by Nia Arthurs
When I get to the other side of the room, a woman wearing a beautiful navy dress and a string of pearls tips her cup at me.
I nod.
Her sharp gaze slides over my little black dress that was a surprise-find in the clearance rack at the local mall. Her nose scrunches. An eyebrow arches high who are you?
The liquid in my glass sloshes over the rim and splashes on the corner of my hand as I point to the cake.
Understanding dawns in her eyes. She trots over. “I’m Evelyn, the organizer of today’s event. Are you Chandra Howard?”
“I’m Chandra’s employee. She asked me to attend in her place.” I take another sip. Hide my nerves behind the glass. That’s another thing alcohol is good for. It gives the hands something to do. It says ‘I belong here’ even if I really don’t.
“Oh.” Evelyn gives me another head-to-toe sweep. Her tiny grunt of disapproval rings loud and clear.
And I get it.
I do.
I stick out like a sore thumb.
It’s imbued in the air.
Written in the stars.
Someone here is not like the others.
I shift from side to side, waiting for Evelyn to say something.
She doesn’t.
I cough. Drink another mouthful.
The glass is empty.
I need another cocktail.
This is all Chandra’s fault.
My boss is on a romantic getaway with her boyfriend Ollie. She pushed this die-hard introvert out of her comfort zone and into the land of the wolves. Of course, I’m getting torn apart.
Evelyn clears her throat. “Well, enjoy the party.”
“Thanks.”
She sashays away, probably to lecture the bouncers outside on the riff-raff they allowed into her gala.
I sigh.
Turn.
My gaze shifts back to Teale.
Or where Teale was standing a minute ago.
Barbie is still there, wearing a frown that I can see from here, but the tech guru is nowhere to be found.
“Looking for this?” a deep voice rumbles.
Every muscle in my body tenses at once.
I turn.
Find myself face-to-face with Teale.
He holds a drink between his long, tan hands and offers it to me. I fight the fluttering sensation in my stomach.
“I’m good,” I say. My voice only trembles a little.
“You sure?”
I nod.
Teale knocks the glass back and licks his full bottom lip.
My eyes study the sweep of his tongue.
My body tightens with longing.
My arms and legs tingle.
My heart.
Between my thighs.
Teale is the only man who can entice such a physical reaction from me. It’s beyond my control.
And that’s the scariest part.
I can’t control how much I want him.
Even if he’s bad for me.
“Don’t tell anyone,” he says in a conspiratorial whisper, “but I really like these drinks.”
“Why is that a secret?”
He winks. “Because I’m not brave enough to admit I like pink cocktails.”
I find myself smiling despite my nerves. “Revealing the truth would be devastating.”
“Exactly.”
I gesture to my mouth and pretend to pull a zipper. “My lips are sealed.”
“I knew I could count on you, Sweetheart.”
My heart thunders in my chest.
Did he just…
Sweetheart.
The pet name, on Teale’s lips, is enough to weaken my knees.
He doesn’t mean it.
The guy flirts with anything as long as it has a purse and a pulse.
In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s calling me ‘sweetheart’ because he can’t remember my name.
Still, excitement clamors through my body, my toes, my chest, my head. The butterflies I did my best to restrain are hard at work wreaking havoc in my stomach.
Teale steps closer. Looks down at me—he has to, he’s over a foot taller—with a roguish gleam in his eye. “Want to get out of here?”
“What?”
“Chandra’s not forcing you to stay for the whole thing, is she?”
“No, but—”
“Good.” He takes the empty glass from my hand. His fingers brush mine.
My body responds enthusiastically.
My pulse hammers a crazy rhythm.
Heat crackles along the back of my neck.
His touch has been my dark, overwhelming desire since the moment he strode into Brew Drop. Even the slight brush of his skin against mine awakens a hunger I barely knew I had.
Teale moves away and deposits both cups on a circulating waiter’s tray. I find myself missing the warmth of his fingers, wishing he hadn’t broken the contact.
Stop it, Zania.
It would be a mistake to think he’s into me.
The entire room wants Teale.
He could have his pick of gorgeous, successful, sexy women. They’re all ready to throw their panties at him.
Even now, I can feel Barbie’s stare like daggers in my back.
Must resist.
I inch back. Jut my chin toward the blonde woman. “What about your friends?”
“My friends?” He looks genuinely confused. Then he turns. Grins. “Oh. Them. They’re boring.”
“And you think I’m more exciting?”
His eyes slide over my body. “I do.”
Flames lick at my cheeks.
Those eyes… he’s looking at me like I’m one of my famous red velvet cupcakes. Like he wants to devour me.
Or am I just imagining that?
I glance over Teale’s shoulder. Notice Barbie marching toward us, her beautiful face mashed into a silent war cry. “Incoming.”
Teale looks back.
Sees her too.
“Alright, time to go.” He grabs my hand. Long fingers wrap around my palm.
My heart skitters.
I want his hand to stay there. To move up. Down. Wherever it wants.
Teale pulls me forward.
We race out of the banquet hall.
But we don’t run far.
Because Teale doesn’t take me out of the building.
He takes me to a room upstairs.
“We’ll wait here for a few minutes then I’ll drive you home,” he says after closing the door.
I glance around the opulent space, my heart hammering. “Why do you have a room here?”
“My place is being renovated. Why?” He turns. Slants me a wolfish grin. “Are you doubting my intentions?”
I’m in a hotel room with Teale.
Alone.
Of course, I’m doubting his intentions.
I’m doubting mine too.
Because I really want to make use of that gorgeous bed. Which is bad.
That’s bad.
It’s… bad, right?
I take a deep breath. Slowly let it out.
Teale’s used to girls throwing themselves at him. I’ve got to play it cool.
“You do have a reputation.”
He walks slowly toward me. “What have you heard?”
“Enough to know how this ends.” I realize I’m being presumptuous and quickly tack on. “Or how it would… if I were someone else.”
“Someone else?”
Someone like the girls downstairs. But I’m not admitting that out loud. My insecurities are mine alone. “Never mind.”
He steps closer. “I’m curious.”
“About?”
“Why you’re comparing yourself.” Blue eyes glide down. Back up. “You’re beautiful.”
His words wash over me. Like a wave. Like the entire ocean. “I’m average.”
“You’re stunning.”
“And you’re a sweet-talker. I take everything you say with a grain of salt.”
He holds a hand t
o his chest in mock-hurt. “Did Chandra poison you against me?”
“I have eyes.”
“And do they like what they see?” He drops his hands. Lifts his chin. The light bounces against his sculpted jaw.
My stomach coils.
My breath thickens.
“You look ridiculous.”
We both know I’m lying.
He regards me. Intently.
Like he’s seeing past my skin to my soul.
A slow, sexy smile spreads across his face. “Would you like me to show you, Zania?”
Zania…
He said my name.
He knows my name.
I blink. Struggle to hold on to sanity. “Show me what?”
He steps closer. So close I can see the golden flecks in his blue eyes. Softly, he says, “How this ends.”
Is he…
Wait.
Is this really happening?
His fingers reach up. Barely graze my cheek. The touch is enough to prove that I’m awake and not dreaming.
“I will,” he whispers. “If that’s what you want.”
I close my eyes. Raise my hand. Press it against the back of his. His skin is soft.
But the rest of him is hard.
The feel of Teale against me…
My body knows what it wants.
Shyly, I dip my chin down.
Nod.
Yes.
Teale kisses me.
He tugs the straps off my dress.
Pushes it off my shoulders.
Down my hips.
Down my legs.
Then he does things… the kind of things I’d only heard whispers about.
And, when I’m warm and ready, he spreads me out on the bed. Produces a condom from the nightstand. Pulls it on.
It all happens so fast.
By the time I blink, he’s on top of me. Inside me. Growling wicked things in my ear.
It’s my first time.
I forgot to tell him that.
It hurts.
A lot at first.
And then a little.
And then not at all as the pleasure and excitement of being with Teale in such an intimate way takes over.
It feels like time stops.
Then it’s over.
He hands me my dress.
I wait for him to say something more.
Something that will hint at his feelings.
A future.
It never comes.
He drives me home.
And leaves.
The next day, he boards a flight to Australia.
For the next two years, I don’t see or hear from Teale Landry again.
Chapter 2
Zania
“This isn’t working out.”
I jump.
Move my eyes from the steak in front of me.
Watch my boyfriend of almost two years.
Damion can barely hold my gaze. Instead, he studies the scarred table between us. Rams his slender, musician’s fingers into the grooves of the tiled top. Scrapes it lightly.
This restaurant is known for it’s ‘retro’ feel and the tiled tables are just one of many quirky stylistic choices. There’s also a medieval candle flickering near my head. Elvis posters frame red walls. A giant stuffed bear leans against the hostess podium.
I hate the décor, but the affordable menu and the incredible dishes keep me coming back.
Me and half the city.
It’s Friday night.
We waited two hours in line just to get in.
Half-an-hour for the steak.
That’s two-and-a-half hours wasted just for Damion to tell me this isn’t working out.
Something he could have started with when he picked me up from home. Or when we were inching along in the line. Or when we sat down at the booth.
I blink steadily. Run my fingers through my braids. I got a new style done for tonight. Siamese twists. Cobie recommended a bomb hairdresser. The stylist did a great job. I was thinking of going back to her for my wedding. I even booked her in advance for it.
Not ‘it’.
My marriage to Damion.
I thought tonight was the night.
Damion called me at work. Insisted that we meet. He refused to tell me what it was about. Just said it was important.
Important?
What’s more important than a marriage?
I convinced myself he’d propose.
I even borrowed a dress from Chandra. It’s yellow—my favorite color—and worth more than I’d ever spend on a piece of cloth that covered this little of my body.
Chandra assured me that Damion would propose tonight after seeing me, even if he originally had no intentions to.
Chandra was wrong.
This dress has no power.
My mind is spinning.
I try to get my voice to work.
It doesn’t.
I try to get Damion to look at me.
He doesn’t.
The candle near our heads flickers against his face. The sharp chin, thin nose, brown eyes. He’s not traditionally handsome. His eyes are a little too droopy, his lips a little too small. But there’s a beautiful, artistic, almost dream-like quality to Damion’s looks.
At first glance, he struck me as someone with depth, substance.
It was the look in his eyes.
Eyes I got to know like the back of my hand.
Eyes that are trained away from mine right now.
My heart sinks.
This isn’t a joke.
I wish it were.
If this were some stupid segue into Damion dropping to his knees and begging me to spend the rest of my life with him, I’d forgive him and say yes anyway.
But it’s not.
The way he’s slumped in the booth says I’ve decided. You’re not The One. I’ve known for a long time, but I couldn’t tell you.
He opens his mouth.
I know what he’s going to say before the words taint the air.
“I want to break up.” He lifts his head. Peers at me with guilt-riddled eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.”
Can’t do what? What exactly is he referring to?
I’ve been a heck of a perfect girlfriend.
Early on in our relationship, I learned Damion’s love language. It’s affection. Guess what I’ve been giving him for the past eighteen months?
And don’t even get me started on gifts. I’ve blown so much money on his birthday, Christmas and Valentine’s Day presents.
I listen to him whenever he needs to talk. Even if that’s right in the middle of a cake I’m sculpting for a custom order.
I let him hang out with his friends whenever he wants. I don’t go snooping in his phone and I don’t get jealous when he has to work with female composers.
Just what about that is so annoying to him?
Damion’s fingers fidget with his blazer. It’s the one I bought for him two months ago so he could impress the judges at his musical theatre auditions.
Funny story.
The musician who was butchering the piano at the ice sculpture gala where I lost my…
My brain throws up a Teale block.
Let me start again.
The guy who was butchering the piano at the ice sculpture gala I attended two years ago was Damion. He sought me out after getting my information from one of the organizers.
I should have known better than to go out with a pianist who can’t play piano, but I was in a vulnerable place.
It felt good to be pursued.
I went on a date. And another.
Somehow I found a year and six months had flown by.
I’d fallen in love.
I was content.
Damion and I are a lot alike. We’re both black—although he’s on the lighter spectrum while I’m on the darker side. We’re both short. Quiet. More prone to spend a date indoors watching movies than braving a crowd.
We just… fit.
Or
we used to.
I stare at my hands pulled into my lap. Words disappear from my mind. Dissolve on my tongue.
I should throw my wine at him.
I should make a scene.
But I can’t move.
I’m too shocked.
“Why?” I croak out.
“Does it matter?”
“Yes.”
“Relationships end. Sometimes people just drift apart—”
“Don’t give me that patronizing bull, Damion. Tell me.”
“Fine.” He sighs. “I love you, Zania. I do, but you’re just…”
“I’m what?”
“Too boring.”
Two words.
They fall on me like a tub of gasoline.
Barrel into my chest. Straight into me.
A cymbal crash.
Boring.
“See.” Damion gathers a bunch of napkins from the dispenser. Hands them over. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”
For a second, I wonder why he’s offering tissues to me.
And then I feel something course down my cheek.
I’m crying.
Damn it. No way.
I’m not bawling over this guy.
Not right in front of him.
The thought courses through my mind, just as another tear falls.
“Zania…” He calls my name, but it’s not the way he usually does. This ‘Zania’ is devoid of affection. It’s a croak of guilt, of embarrassment.
His eyes skitter to the left.
He doesn’t want anyone looking at us.
That’s what he’s worried about.
“Are you serious?” I thrust his hand away. Sniff. Try to get a handle on my rickety emotions.
“I know you’ve been dropping hints about wanting to get married.”
My jaw falls. “I—”
“Don’t try to deny it.”
“I wasn’t going to.” It’s true. I want to get married. I’ve always had a clear vision of where I wanted my life to end up.
A husband. Kids.
That’s my dream.
Baking is a passion I stumbled upon along the way, but I don’t see why I can’t have my cake and eat it too.
Damion rubs his temple. “At first, I was into it, but then I took a long, hard look at the future you and I would have. It wasn’t exciting. We’d spend the rest of our lives stuck in a rut, living the same routine over and over again.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes. I do.”
“We’d be stable. Comfortable.” I don’t know why I’m trying to sell myself to a man who doesn’t want me. But I can’t stop my mouth from running. Can’t stop my heart from hurting. “We’d be happy.”
