Didn’t Mean To Love You
Copyright © 2014 Christina C. Jones
Cover art by Christina Jones
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
This is a work of fiction. Any similarity to real locations, people, or events is coincidental, and unintentional.
Acknowledgements
Whew.
So… this was a tough one. There were many times were I found myself unwilling to go where these characters wanted to take me, but just like with their predecessors in Crazy Love, I stopped trying be the boss, and just listened. The journey was pretty beautiful.
So many people to thank for the encouragement to simply allow Viv & Carter to tell their own story, assistance with making sure the read is smooth, and simply providing a listening ear while I vented frustrations that surrounded not only the writing of this book, but my budding career as an author in general.
As always, my heavenly Father, and my husband & girls.
Love & Joy — such appropriate names for these two women. What they’ve given would take a few pages, so I won’t even start. Just know I appreciate you. Nasi too, but her name didn’t fit the cool little thing I was trying to do with the love & joy play on words, but I appreciate the hell out of her too!
Melody & LeShonda, who were an absolute joy. Carolyn, Alexandra, Jos, Crystal, Kerry, Monika, all of these ladies were so generous with their time and attention with beta reading this project for me, and I am so, so grateful for that! Britni & Krissy, for their advice on a very particular part… THANK YOU! The ladies from my writing group… THANK YOU!
And last, but most certainly not least, my readers. It has been almost a year, and it has been a magnificent ride. I appreciate you for growing with me, and for helping facilitate that process. With each project, I am studying, researching, learning, adjusting, taking risks, and pushing away fear, whatever it takes so that each time you use your hard-earned money to support me by purchasing a book, you’re getting something that’s better than the last time.
I do this for me, but also, I do this for you.
Happy Reading!
This wasn’t anything that couldn’t be fixed with strong drinks and good company.
At least, that’s what I told myself as I took the longest, hottest shower I could stand, then dressed in jeans, a sweater, and low-heeled boots, pulling my mass of curls into a messy bun on top of my head.
Less than thirty minutes after a breakup that would have paralyzed me in my early twenties, I was bouncing down the steps of my building into the brisk autumn night. I pulled out the earbuds nearly as soon as I put them in. Destiny’s Child singing Is She the Reason in my ear wasn’t the mood I needed to be in. It’s not that I wasn’t mad — I was pissed — but the last thing I was about to do was dwell on a man who didn’t want me. At least not until the wee hours of the morning, when I was alone in my bed and had to face it. For now… loud music and loud friends.
“Yo, Viv!”
My steps faltered as a familiar voice called my name. It was a Friday night, but the dropping temperatures drove the usual crowds inside, instead of loitering on the sidewalks like they did in the warmer months. When I turned around, I got a clear view of Carter as he stepped out of the storefront I’d just passed.
His barbershop, Fresh Cuts, was a few doors down from my chocolate shop, Guilty Pleasures. I saw him around often, but it wasn’t until I moved to a new building in walking distance of my store that I got the pleasure of meeting him. One day I stepped out of my apartment and right into six feet and four inches of have-mercy, in a black tank top and grey basketball shorts, his muscles dripping with sweat. Rich brown skin the color of roasted pecans, wide shoulders, bright, cheerful eyes, lush lips, and dark, well-groomed shoulder-length locs — he was the kind of stuff naughty dreams were made of. He smiled, asked if I was okay, and a few minutes later, I discovered that he was the person who woke me up every morning with Kanye West blasting through my bedroom wall.
We didn’t become friends, not exactly. Or maybe we were, in an “I would ride you until we both passed out, regained conscious, then do it all over again if I didn’t have a man” kind of way. Out of respect for Darren, whose eyes had nearly popped out of their sockets when he emerged up the stairs to my third floor apartment and saw me standing in front of it talking to my sweaty, fresh-off-the-basketball-court neighbor, I maintained a friendly distance. In retrospect, that was completely ridiculous because Darren had a fiancé now, a woman he had to have been dating at the same time we were… doing whatever we were doing. I’m not even sure what that was anymore.
“Hello Carter,” I said, trying to pull a bit of cheerfulness into my voice as I took a few steps closer to him. He finished locking up his shop, then turned to me and smiled, sending instant warmth rushing through me. As he approached, looking delicious as always in a royal blue sweater, with his locs pulled back from his face, his eyes narrowed and he stopped, scrutinizing me from head to toe.
“What’s going on with you?”
I frowned, then shrugged, suddenly self-conscious under his careful inspection. “Nothing.”
Carter raised an eyebrow, taking the last few steps to put him barely a foot in front of me. “It’s definitely not nothing.”
“Because you know me so well?”
He grinned. “Well enough to know that your whole vibe is off. I mean, I didn’t even realize you owned solid clothes. I’ve never seen you in less than four colors and you’re standing in front of me in dark jeans, black sweater, and black boots.”
“I am a thirty-year-old woman, Carter. My wardrobe should reflect that. Not a teeny-bopper trying to renew the grandeur of her youth. Everybody has to grow up, right?” I asked, my cheeks flushed from realizing he had been paying so much attention to me.
A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he shook his head. “So, in other words, you just don’t wanna talk about it. That’s cool,” he said, cocking his head to the side as he surveyed me again. “Where you headed?”
“Down to Roman’s,” I said, nodding my head toward the coffee shop on the corner. “For a much-needed drink.”
“Mind if I tag along?”
“The sidewalk is public space.”
Carter’s eyes went wide, and he chuckled as he began walking beside me. “Damn, Frenchy, you are cold today.”
I stopped, glancing around the nearly-empty sidewalk. “Frenchy is… me? You are calling me Frenchy why?”
He smiled. “You’ve got that little sexy accent, so that’s what I’m gonna call you.”
I blushed, but didn’t address the “sexy” comment. “I don’t have an accent.”
“Frenchy, you’ve got an accent.”
“I do not. I used to, but I am very Americanized now. I barely have an accent.”
Carter stared at me for a moment, the corners of his mouth twitching as he tried not to laugh.
“What is so funny?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest.
“You,” he said, finally giving in with a chuckle. “You sound like goddamned Pepe Le Pew, talking about you don’t have an accent.”
I gasped, a little bit horrified by that comparison before I burst into laughter myself, giggling until tears rolled down my face. “The skunk, Carter? You’re comparing me to a skunk?”
“Just the accent, I swear. And you’re fine as hell, so it’s sexy.”
My eyes went wide. “Oh, I’m pretty, so it is okay that I sound like a ca
rtoon skunk with a terrible accent?”
“Exactly.”
Narrowing my eyes, I tried my best to hold it together, but laughter won over again. “How did you do that?” I asked, when I finally regained my composure.
“Do what?”
I shook my head, using my thumbs to wipe stray tears from my face. “I don’t know… I sure as hell did not feel like laughing when I walked out of my apartment.”
He shrugged. “Hell, I don’t know. I’m just used to seeing a smile on your face. That’s you, always grinning or laughing about something.” He stopped, with his hand on the door to enter Urban Grind. I could already feel the beat of the music, smell the unique mixture of coffee and hookah smoke permeating the air near the entrance as Carter stepped closer. “You sure you okay?”
There was a concern in his eyes that made my heart race, and made me wonder just how “off” I looked. I tore my gaze away from his as I nodded. “I’m fine, Carter. Really.”
I felt his eyes on me for another moment longer before he pulled the door open, surrounding us with a blast of warmth from inside. “Come on,” he said, grabbing my hand to pull me in.
This was my first time ever really touching Carter, aside from literally bumping into him every once in a while at home. A little part of me hoped it wouldn’t be the last, because electric warmth was circulating from my hand to his as he led me through the crowd, straight to where my friend — and fellow neighborhood business owner— Eddie was sitting, flanked by a couple of the artists from his tattoo and piercing parlor, DistInk’d.
At first, Eddie’s eyes lit up when he saw me, but his expression shifted to barely veiled disgust as he scanned my wardrobe. “What the fuck is this boring shit you’re wearing?” he asked, standing to give me a hug.
I rolled my eyes. “What is wrong with what I am wearing? And why are you men commenting on it?” I said, glancing between him and Carter.
Carter raised his hands in front of him. “Hey, I was just mentioning it because it wasn’t how I’m used to seeing you. I wasn’t complaining.” He shot me a smile as he headed to the bar.
“I’m complaining,” Eddie said, turning my face toward his. “Why are you dressed like you’re about to perform a mime act?”
“I thought my outfit was chic…”
Eddie scoffed. “Maybe on another girl, but on you, Little Miss Technicolor… you look like you’re in mourning… so I’m gonna guess you saw that Instagram post.” He tugged me by the hand, ushering his companions to the other side of the booth so we could sit down. “You wanna talk about it?”
I took a deep breath, opened my mouth to speak, then decided against it. I was not supposed to dwelling on him, I was supposed to be getting tipsy and having fun. I looked Eddie right in the eyes as I shook my head, hoping that he would leave it alone.
“Okay… we don’t have to talk about it… yet. But you are gonna tell me what’s up with you and the barber.”
Dropping my gaze, I tried to fight the little smile that threatened to spread across my lips. “What about him?”
“So,” Eddie said, smirking as he leaned closer. “Are you really about to act like you didn’t walk in here holding hands with Fine Ass Carter?”
Fine Ass Carter.
That was the nickname that Eddie, Simone and I had given him. I actually felt a little twinge of jealousy when Carter started pursuing Simone a few months ago, which was ridiculous, because I was dating Darren. She and I had just met, so there was no way she could have known about my illicit crush. But, she was way too immersed in Roman to give Carter much steam anyway, and when I accidentally outed myself, after she and Roman were officially dating, she actually gave her “blessing” on a connection between Carter and I.
“Where is Simone?” I asked, trying to deflect the conversation to more neutral ground. I didn’t want to talk about Carter, or the fact that my hand was still tingling from his touch.
“Home. You know she’s still on the outs with Roman because Lusty Leah is still at his apartment. But… don’t change the subject. Are you and Carter—?”
“Doing anything that involves our genitals? No.” I glanced over his head at a man and woman whose eyes kept lingering at our table. “Looks like you’ve got some admirers.”
Smiling, Eddie shot a subtle grin over his shoulder, then turned back to me. “I think you’re right.” He picked up his drink from the table, finishing it in one gulp. “I’ll talk to you later, Viv.”
I watched, amused, as Eddie — who was an equal opportunity lover — shoved his hands into his pockets and sauntered over to the couple with a casual pace. Eddie was a handsome guy, with shoulder-length locs as well groomed as Carter’s, deep ebony skin, and even blacker ink lines covering both of his sinewy arms. I could pinpoint the exact moment he charmed his way into their bed. A head thrown back in laughter, a lingering touch, eyes that said “Let’s get out of here”... at least one of us wouldn’t be going to bed lonely.
Across the room, Carter was getting similar body language from a Poetic-Justice type with waist length braids and a big smile. I ignored the stitch of jealousy that tugged at my chest and headed to the bar for the drink I’d left my apartment for, and still hadn’t gotten.
“Roman!” I shouted across the counter, getting his attention. He perked up a little when he saw me, and headed my way, but I could practically feel the melancholy oozing off him. “You look terrible.” I smiled after I said it, hoping to get one back in return for my teasing, but the one he gave me was forced.
“Thanks for the compliment,” he said dryly, crossing his arms over his chest. “What can I get you?”
“Black Russian. Double.”
He lifted an eyebrow, but nodded, then turned to fix the drink for me. “So…,” he said, pulling a bottle of Stolichnaya vodka, then the Urban Grind house coffee liqueur from the cabinet on the wall. “You talked to Simone lately?”
“She is fine, Roman. She just needs a little time. Chill,” I said as he poured the two ingredients for my drink into an ice-filled shaker. I smiled again as he turned to me, poured the finished drink into a glass, then slid it to me on a napkin. “Simone is crazy about you. She is not going anywhere… as long as you get Leah out of your apartment.”
That time, he smiled back — a real one — before he turned to tend to another customer, leaving me to nurse my drink alone.
So much for good company.
But at least the drink was good. Strong, but good.
I was just about finished with it, and starting to retreat into my emotions when Carter approached. This time, he didn’t say anything, just took a seat beside me as my eyes clouded with tears.
“I think I am going to head home,” I said carefully, not wanting the hitch in my voice to give away my feelings. He nodded, eyes slightly narrowed as he tried to get me to make eye contact. I avoided his gaze, but shook my head when he asked if I minded if he walked with me. I wasn’t ready to be alone… not just yet.
Outside, the crisp autumn air cooled the warm flush that the Russian vodka had brought to my skin. It was sobering, a little, and I couldn’t decide if that was good or not as Carter caught me by the hand again. It took a lot more than a single — well, double — drink to get me intoxicated, but my lips definitely felt loose as we walked along, hand in hand. The last thing I wanted to do was spill my heart out to a guy that, as far as I knew, could very well think he was going to end up in my bed tonight. That thought made me give a half-hearted attempt to tug my hand away from his. He released it, but gave me a slightly confused smile that made me wonder if I was just being silly.
“So… chocolate,” he said, pushing his hands into his pockets as he broke the silence between us. “How in the world did you end up in that business?”
I sighed, glad for a seemingly neutral topic, even though the story— if I told it all— was melodramatic in its own right. I decided on the non-theatrical version. “My family,” I said, clasping my hands behind me as we walked. “The Lambert
s… we… or they, I should say, are one of the largest providers of fair-trade chocolate in the world. Largest, period, in France.”
“Fair-trade?”
I nodded. “Yes. Meaning that there is no slave labor involved. Fairly paid employees, humane working conditions, conflict-free source ingredients, and so forth.”
“Sounds pretty cool.”
“It is.” I smiled. “My parents… um, my mother is African-American, an expat. She went to Paris to expand her education, and somehow fell in love with my father. He is multi-racial— Afro-French and white French, and they are truly a case of “opposites attract”. They both joke that my mother got all of the liberal, while my father has all of the logical. Individually, they both came from “good” families — from money, to put it plainly. But, they are very big on philanthropy, humanitarianism… that sort of thing.”
“They sound cool. Are you pretty close with them?”
I paused to let him open the door to our building, a little caught off guard by how seemingly fast the walk had gone. “Yes,” I replied when we were inside, beginning the three-flight trek up the stairs to our floor. “Well… my mother, yes. Father, not so much. I do not see them as often as I would like anymore, but… things happen.” Focusing on the handrail, I hoped that avoiding his gaze would send the message that I’d said as much as I wanted, but he persisted.
“Why don’t you see them? They don’t live close?”
“No,” I shook my head. “They are in France still.”
“Oh. So… you came by yourself?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
Carter chuckled as we finally reached our floor. “What does that even mean?”
Sighing, I fished my keys from my back pocket, then leaned against my door. “Um… when I was 24… just about ready to buckle down and start a life of my own… I got in trouble.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Trouble. As in… baby trouble?”
“No,” I laughed. “And nothing illegal, just… trouble. Embarrassed my parents pretty bad, so instead of a position in France, they shipped me off to the United States, and put me to work in one of the shops.”
Didn't Mean To Love You (Serendipitous Love Book 2) Page 1
