by Asia Marquis
She folded it up and put it in the envelope, then looked down at the plane ticket beside. She had to get going now if she was going to make it to the airport. The next flight to Virginia was leaving in three hours, and she still had to tender her resignation.
It was a waste to ruin one person's career so that she could keep working in L.A., because now all she could think about was what would happen if she got mixed up in something like this again. It would be a struggle just walking into the station.
She would, though. Because it was the respectful thing to do, and maybe Jamelia the bitch could give it a rest for a while. It was going to be a long plane ride, though, so she was going to keep her options open.
BLACK BRIDE
A HOT BWWM Interracial Romance
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To be brave, by definition, one has first to be afraid.
– Robert Harris
Chapter 1
Ashanti
Life was weird and unpredictable, even for the most conservative of people. It could go from simple, slow, boring and lonely to full of life and chaos, family and friendships in only a few hours. It could bring unknown loves or surprising pain. The news of death came as easily as the news of a new baby.
So many things would happen to Ashanti in such a short time, and she had no idea. All she knew was that she was dreading going back to school.
First day back at school and I'm already stressed out of my mind, Ashanti thought as she played with a lock of her black hair. She stood still behind the long front desk that hotel patrons would come to, to check in.
She had been working at the hotel for the past two years of college. The job wasn't stressful. Now and then she had to put up with rude people or someone upset that they didn't have the right number of pillows on their bed, but aside from that, it was easy.
It was the going to school part that freaked her out. Starting her practicum with the local library didn't help, either, especially since it was unpaid and she only got it because her mother had once worked there. Having to meet the expectations that Ashanti's mom created was going to be nearly impossible.
So I have to suffer through 2 jobs, plus schooling, for one year. One year and I'll have access to the money mom and dad left me, which will pay for food long enough for me to get my Masters and start getting paid for working at a library.
She sighed. No matter how she tried to settle herself down, she hated school enough that her breath would come fast and her chest would start to ache.
Looking around, it was clear that no one was going to come up to her and ask for help in the next ten seconds. She ducked below the desk and grabbed her purse, pulling out a bottle of pills and a water bottle.
She tried not to take her anti-anxiety medications often. Her doctor told her it was fine if she had to take if every day she had class, but she actually went most of last year without taking it. She only needed it for finals.
It was unlikely that quitting her job would give her much relief. True, she felt most herself at home with a book, but being at home with a book didn't expose her to new situations so that she might actually cope with anxiety better.
At least, that's what her therapist said, before she had to quit seeing her because she just didn't have the money. That was the story of her life: needing things, and never being able to pay for them. She needed a new car; couldn't buy one. She needed a textbook for school; she had to pirate one.
She gulped down the pill with a swig of water. They didn't taste great, but the pills did the job. Before she could stand back up, she heard someone clear their throat.
Peering over the top of the counter, she found a beautiful man holding a leather jacket and a small backpack in the crook of his arm in front of her. There was an inherent strength to his face, the set of his chin stubborn, but his features were strained with an uneasy smile.
Standing up, she noticed that he held a dog on a leash. It was a big one, black and brown, panting and drooling on the carpet that had been cleaned just last week. If she weren't at work, she would have probably asked him if she could pet the dog. But she was at work, and she had some bad news for the man.
“Oh, um, unfortunately we have a no pets policy at The Clinton,” Ashanti said, preparing herself to be berated. “I can give you a list of kennels nearby if –”
“The dog's staying,” the man said, keeping his ice blue eyes on her. The strained smile fell away, his face becoming deadly serious. To her, he seemed like the kind of man no one should mess with.
Ashanti sighed inwardly at her bad luck. It had been an otherwise calm day, but this situation was threatening to ruin that. “I'm afraid there's nothing I can do. We only allow service dogs.”
“Roman is a service dog,” he said, crossing his arms. “He's staying.”
It was becoming clear that Ashanti was going to need to call her manager. She picked up the phone, but the man pressed two fingers on it to keep it down, sighing. When he pulled away, he rummaged in the pocket of his leather jacket and pulled out papers. “I wasn't lying, lady. He's a therapy dog, fully trained, and he's staying or I'm going to raise hell.”
Ashanti looked over the papers, and they seemed legit enough. Plastering an apologetic smile on her face, she nodded. “Okay, then! That's perfectly fine, and I'm so sorry for the misunderstanding. I've just never seen a dog like that as a service dog. What breed is he?”
“Rottweiler and German Shepherd mix. Can I get the key to my room now?” The man had no patience. He was starting to rub her the wrong way.
God, this guy's a dick, Ashanti thought. And he's completely negating the effect of my pills. Great. “Sure thing. I just need your name.”
“Troy Whitemarsh.” He was tapping his fingers on the desk, looking around the room. No doubt trying to catch a manager as they came out, to complain about her. She typed a bit faster, just to get him upstairs and away from her just that tiny bit sooner.
“Okay, Troy, we have you here for just one night. Here are a few papers with hotel rules, and a list of phone numbers in case you need anything. Room service runs until 10 pm, night service costs more, and checkout is at noon. Do you need anything else before you head up.” She used her most professional, sweetest voice.
“Definitely not from you, lady.” He waved dismissively as he turned around, his long legs taking him towards the elevator. She rolled her eyes, but checked out his ass as he left. I can't believe I ever thought that jackass was good looking. Then again, I always had such great taste in men.
Clucking her tongue at herself, she resolved not to think about the bad mistakes she made before. She was stressed enough as it was. She didn't need to remind herself why she was such a friendless loser in high school.
Eventually, her pills did start to calm her down, and it was nearly time for her to clock out when one of her coworkers ran out from the kitchen with something red on her.
“Ashanti! Brandy just cut herself really bad in the kitchen. The guy in room 801 needs to have his lunch taken up to him. I know you're about to leave, but can you run it up before you clock out?” He looked about ready to pass out, and she knew he hated the sight of blood.
The tray and table she had brought out didn't have a speck of blood on it, thank God. Ashanti nodded and grabbed it, heading towards the elevator.
Troy
Troy entered his hotel room and immediately sat on the couch, not even looking at his surroundings. He would only be spending a night there, at most. He just needed to see his grandmother and then get back up to Michigan.
Roman's leash was still held in his shaking fist. He took deep breaths, placing his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. Breathe in, one, two, three. Breath out, one, two, three.
Roman nuzzled against his thigh, looking up at his master with knowing, kind eyes. Troy continued his breathing until his chest had stopped aching and his eye stopped twitching. The shaking hands were going to last a while. He s
hould have refilled his prescription.
There was no money for pills, but he should have done… something. Sold something. Sold himself, if he needed to. It was impossible to function without the medication.
As soon as he felt under control of his emotions, he placed a hand on Roman's head. Threading his fingers through the dog's coarse fur, he focused on the repetition of petting him. The dog's tail slapped against the floor. “I'm a mess, huh, boy?” He asked the dog, but the dog offered no condemnation. Only loving eyes.
They remained in that position, that repetitive motion, for a good long time until the world made sense to Troy again. No more flashbacks.
When that woman at the front popped up from behind the desk, Troy's mind took him back to 6 months ago, when he nearly got blown to smithereens by a female suicide bomber. His best friend wasn't as lucky as Troy had been. He died as Troy was trying to drag him away, bleeding out into the craggy, sand-covered stone road.
With a whine, Roman reminds Troy to keep petting him. Smiling, genuinely that time, Dean leaned back and invited the pup onto the couch with him. He was sure that it was against the rules, even for therapy dogs, but he didn't give a fuck. Let them come and yell at him.
Anyway, he wasn't going to stay in the room much. He was here to see his grandmother, ask to borrow some money and find out why she called him out to Arizona, and then make it back to Michigan in time to yell at his VA about refusing to pay his medical bills.
So many medical bills. PTSD was a bitch, and he was drowning in the hardships the flashbacks caused. He couldn't hold down a job, though his psychiatrist swore up and down he would be able to in only a few months. He couldn't get the VA to listen to him, even though that was their damn job. His landlady? Yeah, she wasn't going to listen to his excuses either. He'd punched a hole or two into her walls, she was looking for a reason to kick him out.
Not that he didn't deserve it. He was as frustrated as any of them over his lack of self control. It was turning into self hatred, never a good thing. Considering he wasn't a drinker or a smoker, and he certainly did not do drugs, there were few things he could devote himself to.
So he devoted himself to his dog, and to running. Some video games here and there helped, too. Even though he played shooters, they helped to soothe him, gave him a sense of control over the memories that seemed to be conspiring against him.
“The lady was nice on the eyes, though, wasn't she?” Troy asked Roman, who sniffed his hand and gave it a lick. “Wouldn't mind bending her over this couch and fucking her brains out.”
His cock was pressing uncomfortably against his jeans. He tried to adjust it a few times, but there was only one way to deal with the problem. Shooing the pup off the bed and closing him in the bedroom, Troy leaned back against the couch and undid his jeans.
He tugged his cock free from his boxer briefs and gripped it lazily. Keeping the vision of the woman at the front desk at the front of his mind, he mentally undressed her. As he imagined her big breasts bouncing free from her bra, he moved his hand slowly up and down his shaft.
Were her huge tits natural, or paid for by some rich man? He imagined her with smaller tits, and then changed them to much bigger in his mind's eye. Neither looked right. He changed back to how she was, with a naturally large rack. That looked much more natural on his vision of her. His mouth was hanging open as he jacked himself off, his breathing coming faster.
“Oh my god, I'm so sorry!”
He opened his eyes just as he came, his spunk spilling onto his stomach. The very woman he had been visualizing as he masturbated stood in front of him, covering her eyes and her face burning red.
“You didn't answer the door so I assumed you were in the shower! I just… I brought up your lunch I'm sorry!” She pushed the cart to the center of the room and turned to exit, her black hair bouncing in her ponytail.
Troy chuckled and put his cock away. If he was caught with his dick in his hands, he might as well have some fun with it. “It's no problem. What's your name?”
She didn't turn back to face him. “Ashanti.” Her voice was meek, quiet.
“Well, Ashanti, next time you want to walk in on me, come a little bit earlier so you can help me out.” He grinned at her, hoping that he pissed her off. He got his wish.
She turned with wide eyes and a scandalized look on her face. The way her mouth formed a ring made his cock stir again. Giving her a cheeky wink, he grinned at her.
“Ugh!” She stormed out, her hands thrown up in exasperation as the door slammed behind her.
Troy shrugged and checked out the steak and burger he ordered. Taking one of the small plates from the wheeled table, he cut up the hamburger on it and opened the bedroom door to let Roman out. He set the plate on the floor and the dog went to town on it.
Troy couldn't keep his mind off of Ashanti while he ate, which he didn't particularly mind. He hoped he would get to tease her a little bit more before he left town.
“Come on, Roman,” he said as he ate his last bite of the subpar steak. It was good enough, he supposed. “Let's go for a run and then meet up with Grandma.”
Chapter 2
Ashanti
As Ashanti got out of her beat up old Jetta, her face was still bright red. Yeah, that embarrassment was gonna stay with her for a good long time. She rubbed her hand on the old silver car, a habit she picked up since the last time it was threatening to break down for good.
Okay, Ashanti, you've got an hour and a half before classes. I can take a nap before driving to the community college. Or maybe shower and then a nap. Let's see, I only need like fifteen minutes to drive there…
She stopped dead in her tracks when she opened the front door to her mom's house. Her parents had saved up enough to buy the house outright, so it was passed to her when they died. It was hard to keep it up, since it was so big, but if she stayed in only a few of the rooms and didn't go in any of the others, all she had to do was dust from time to time.
She had unexpected guests.
“Grandma?” She said, stepping into the living room. Her grandmother was sitting on her old couch, smiling up at Ashanti. A woman she didn't recognize was sitting next to her, and standing next to the window was a man that Ashanti recognized as her grandma's lawyer.
“Hello, dear! Sorry for popping by unannounced, but I know how you get with plans. Always avoiding!” She chirped, raising her eyebrows. Her hair was dyed black and kept very short, and her eyes were done perfectly thanks to the tattooed eye makeup she paid for last year. Every time she called, she chattered on about how that was one of the best purchases she ever made. Even though her eyes were so dark that you could barely see it.
Ashanti laughed with growing unease. Okay, so a lawyer. Another old lady. Is she about to come out as a late-stage lesbian? Maybe it's a friend and she thinks she's dying soon. That would be bad, don't think that.
“Is everything okay, Grandma? Why are you here?” She hoped, to herself, that there wasn't going to be any bad news. She could take a lesbian grandmother much better than a dying one. Grandma Rosa was all she had left in the world. Ashanti wasn't exactly ready to give her up.
“Oh! By the way, this is an old friend of mine, Ina. We actually went to high school together!”
“That was ages ago,” chuckled Ina, her long silver hair done up in a bun. Her smile was friendly and her blue eyes were kind. She sat straight up as if she were royalty.
“True!” Cackled Ashanti's grandmother. “You should sit before we talk, Ashanti. This is going to be a bit of a surprise for you. Don't want you to faint like when we told you about your trust fund!”
Ashanti did as she was told. Yeah, she didn't want to crack her head open against the coffee table again, either. Sitting diagonally from them in the old chair her dad used to spend his nights in, she crossed her legs under her and steadied her shaking hands against the cool leather arms.
“Okay. I'm sitting,” she said, taking deep breaths. She hated change. She hated surprise
s. She hated, especially, surprises from her grandmother, who was quite a prankster and never quite knew how to deal with Ashanti's timid nature.
“So, this is actually about that trust fund. You only turned twenty a few weeks ago, so you've only got a year to go! Unfortunately, since you haven't yet married, there is one little hoop you have to jump through first.”
Her heart sank right into her stomach. “A hoop?”
“Yes, dear. You see, when you were quite young –”
“Barely even out of your momma's tummy,” Ina cut in.
“The two of us met and decided that we would love our families to join. And so, we put it in the paperwork for your trust fund that you will marry Ina's grandson.”
Ina nodded, her smile growing. “He's quite handsome! He was born a year before you. I bet you'll like him.”
Ashanti's mouth fell open. “This has to be a joke, right?” She waited. “Right, Grandma?”
“I want it to be clear that I advised both of them against this, and they didn't listen,” the lawyer cut in with a cough.
“No, it isn't a joke. I have to remind you, if you refuse to do this, you lose access to your trust fund, as well as this house.”
“You can't do that! Mom and Dad paid for this!”
“I'm afraid they didn't. I did.”
Ashanti felt as if she might throw up. Or cry. Probably both, now that she thought about it.
“You can refuse, of course. We're not savages, forcing you to marry.”
“Goodness, no!” Ina said, touching her hand to the pearls around her neck.
“And you only need to stay married for a year. If it doesn't work out after that, then I suppose you can divorce and keep your trust.”
Ina shook her head sadly. “What a shame that would be, though. My grandson truly is quite a catch.”
