by Marilyn Lee
"Oh, Thomas, why can't you admit how you feel?"
I had to admit I'd seen much better days than the ones I'd struggled through since Sherlyn had kicked my ass to the curb without any warning or explanation. Of course if I'd been thinking with my brain instead of my cock and an even more treacherous part of my body, I'd have seen it coming and been prepared. But hell would freeze the fuck over before I allowed her or any other woman to break my heart. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine," I assured her in a voice so confident sounding that I almost believed it myself. "I am fine."
Okay. So I'd blown it with Sherlyn by not realizing in time that I wanted her to love me or that some deeply hidden part of me even needed it. I couldn't change the past or make her love me again. All I could do was move forward. Granted my immediate emotional future looked grim, but I was a survivor and a realist. Sherlyn sending Am to deliver her Dear Thomas message made it crystal clear that she had no desire or interest in trying to rekindle our sweet but all too brief relationship.
After Amber left, I went to a florist and ordered a bouquet of flowers. It took several minutes of indecision before I decided what to write on the card.
I'm sorry if I hurt you but I know you'll find the happiness you deserve. And when you do I'll be happy for you. Thomas.
You'll be happy for her? Really? Were you happy for her the last time she fell out of love with you? I inhaled slowly. Okay. Maybe I wouldn't be happy but I wouldn't do anything to interfere with her new relationship.
I paid for the flowers and walked out. Then feeling the need to justify myself with her I wrote her a letter. I tossed several in the trash before I finally settled on the one I sent her. Once the letter was on its way, I knew it was officially over for us. Still, not quite able to let go, I called my brother Michael.
"I need a favor," I said when he answered.
"What do you need?" he asked.
I told him Sherlyn and I were no longer seeing each other.
"Damn, Darkwater. I'm sorry. Do you want to talk about it?"
"It was a fling. It's over. What's there to talk about?"
"You're just going to let her walk away without making an effort to win her back?"
I inhaled slowly. "Why do you assume she ended it? How do you know it wasn't a mutual decision or that I didn't end it?"
"The few times I saw you two together, I saw how you looked at her. And just now when you said it was over the tone in your voice…Besides…"
I waited for him to point out that I'd never asked him to make sure any other woman was okay after a breakup. He didn't, but I knew him well enough to know he wanted to mention that fact.
"You know what Dad used to say, Darkwater. A burden or pain shared is one easier to bear."
"Who said anything about pain?"
"You sound as if the breakup might be painful for you. Are you sure you don't want to talk?"
"Since when do we discuss flings, Michael?"
"If all you were interested in was a fling, why start one with Am's best friend when we all agreed dating the girls' friends was a bad idea."
"It seemed like a good idea at the time," I said.
"You really sound like you need to talk."
"I don't. I've already told you what I need from you."
"Okay. I'll go see her."
"Thanks," I said and hung up before he could ask any more questions I didn't want to answer. Three hours later, I was drowning my remaining sorrows and regrets in the arms of a pretty, passionate woman with smooth dark skin not unlike Sherlyn's. Despite what Am and Michael clearly thought, I didn't need or want to talk. I might need a little time, but yeah. I was going to be more than all right. I was going to be fine. Really.
* * *
Sherlyn
My bell rang just after I'd given up trying to force myself to eat. I really didn't want to see anyone, but I answered anyway, thinking it was Am or Janine. Instead, I saw a tall, dark haired male who bore a striking resemblance to Darkwater standing in my apartment lobby.
I frowned. Was this Michael or Jeffrey? I'd never been able to tell either of the two sets of Darkwater twins apart. "Yes?"
He smiled into the lobby camera. "Hi, Sherlyn. Sorry to drop by unannounced but I wondered if I can see you for a few minutes."
I had a moment of fear when I wondered why Darkwater's brother was in my lobby. Then I calmed my nerves. If anything had happened to him, it would be Amber bringing me bad news.
"Sure," I said and buzzed him in.
Ten minutes later, I opened my apartment door to him.
He smiled. "In case you're wondering, I'm Michael."
I smiled. "It's nice to see you again, Michael. Can I get you anything? A drink or a cup of coffee?"
"No. I'm fine. I won't take much of your time."
"This is a surprise," I said. Like Darkwater, Michael and his brothers had visited once after Don's death to offer their condolences. Unlike Thomas, the other four Darkwater brothers called several times after the funeral to see if I needed anything. Once I assured them I would be all right, I hadn't seen them again except at an occasional Darkwater family function.
He leaned against the closed door. "I won't take up much of your time. I'm here because Thomas asked me to come and make sure you were all right."
I wasn't quite yet, but I would be. I nodded. "I am. Thanks."
"If there's anything you need, please feel free to call me or Jeffery."
"Thanks."
He hesitated and sighed. "I know it probably doesn't mean much, but he regrets hurting you."
Actually, fool that I was, I was touched that he'd asked his brother to visit me. "Tell him I accept his apology and I'm okay."
"That will mean a lot to him."
Like Am, he was vastly overstating my importance to Darkwater.
"Is there anything I can do for you, Sherlyn?"
"No, but I appreciate the offer."
He took two cards from his breast pocket and handed them to me. "Here's my and Jeffery's numbers. Call either of us if there's something you need that we can do."
I took the cards but didn't foresee calling either one of them. In a pinch, I knew I could count on John. "Thank you for coming."
"I won't keep you any longer," he said and left.
Alone again, I leaned against the door and sighed. If Darkwater had come himself…But no. I couldn't afford to second-guess my decision to end our fling before he did. "Get a grip, Sher. It's over and it's going to stay over." Later that night I refused to allow myself to think about Darkwater or to wallow in regrets before enjoying a full night's sleep for the first time in weeks.
I woke the next morning feeling refreshed and free of longing for him. I knew I'd done the right thing by asking Am to let him know I had no desire to rekindle anything with him when his bouquet and message arrived before I left for work.
His letter arrived two days later. I spent an hour trying to convince myself that I should tear it up and put it in the garbage unopened. But I couldn't. I took a calming bubble bath, had a glass of wine, and finally opened his letter.
Sherlyn,
I know you don't want to see me again and probably don't want any communication with me. I'll respect your wishes and don't expect you to answer this letter. However, I needed another opportunity to tell you how sorry I am for my treatment of you at the restaurant.
You didn't deserve that and I have no excuse for my behavior. I know you're angry with me, but I also know how generous and forgiving you can be. Please forgive me and try not to think too badly of me.
I was never worthy of your time or romantic attention. But there are men who are and when you meet the right one I know the two of you will be very happy together.
Please accept my best wishes for the happiness you deserve and I know you'll find with some lucky man.
Thomas.
At first the letter almost made me tear up because in it he removed any lingering hope I might have had that I could recapture his passion if
not his heart. But that way lay certain heartbreak so I shook off the urge to cry. He was right. He'd never been worthy of my love and adoration and he'd never get it again. Clearly, he understood that.
I nodded. We were on the same page. It was time to move on with my life with no regrets.
I turned the lights down in the living room, played some of my favorite old party songs, and danced until I was exhausted. Then I went to bed and slept through the night. In the morning, I showered, dressed, and left for work feeling confident that I had finally broken free of my desire for a relationship with him.
The future spread before me filled with what I hoped would be wonderful possibilities and an opportunity or two to find love again, hopefully with a man capable of and willing to love me as much as I loved him.
Almost as if fate had finally decided it was my turn to be happy, three weeks later I met Shane. One look at the tall, dark and sexy Shane and I fell into instant and deep lust. When he flirted with me, I told myself I was more than ready to be swept off my feet and into his arms and bed for a new, sexy moment.
Of course, there was the small matter of Shane having already swept Janine off her feet first. But that was a story for another, saner day. Although the situation with Janine would prove to be messy, I was happy to be in deep lust with a man who showed every sign of sharing my interest. And, of course, I was delighted to finally be over Darkwater. No. Really.
Women of Substance: Just One Look Excerpt
©2012 Marilyn Lee
All Rights reserved
Narena
When I was a teenager, all my friends were supermodel thin while I was what my father called “healthy.” But because I grew up in a home filled with love and shielded by a father and two older brothers who constantly told me how pretty I was, I was never self-conscious about outweighing my friends. Dad was fond of saying that the Devon women were healthy, beautiful women of substance.
Even though most of my friends dated more often than I did, I honestly believed my mother’s admonition that quality was more important than quantity. So, although a little envious, I was generally content to date occasionally, confident that when I met my Mr. Right, my weight would not be an issue.
I think my confidence started to fray a little around the edges when I found myself unmarried with no serious love interest while most of my friends were married. Two were mothers.
By that time I was thick but still managed to turn a few male heads. Nevertheless, I hadn’t protested when my friend Candi gave me an expensive exercise bike for my thirtieth birthday. I planned to use it and go on a diet with the goal of losing at least twenty pounds. Such a loss would allow me to retain the curves I personally liked without leaving me feeling overly thin or skinny.
I had a great, well-paying job as an online blogger that afforded me the freedom to spend most of the workweek at home instead of in an office. I drove a late model SUV and had my dream apartment in an upscale apartment complex with a river view and all the amenities a young, upwardly mobile single woman could want. My assets included a bank balance that allowed me to take two vacations a year without excessive scrimping and saving.
I had everything an ambitious woman could want—except a special man to light up my life and heat up my increasingly lonely nights. Of course, I had one or two male friends I could enjoy the occasional benefit with, but I was so over that. I wanted what nearly all my friends had—a special man to share my goals, love me as I was, and always have my back.
That’s the frame of mind I was in when I met Anderson Prescott in an unexpected meeting that would shake my confidence and leave me unsure of how I felt about my lack of a model-thin body for the first time in my life.
After a restless night, I woke that morning to find my stomach muscles knotted with tension. Not because I knew I would meet him but because I had foolishly agreed to do an interview with a minor league baseball player with big ambitions at the sports complex that day.
My portion of the blog was woman centric. I covered everything from women in politics to encouraging women of all shapes and sizes to love themselves first whether they had a special partner in their lives or not.
I had wide latitude in my blog subject matter. I occasionally wrote fantasy blogs. My last one was baseball centric. It was so well received that when a co-worker ended up in the hospital with pneumonia, my editor challenged me to do the interview with the minor leaguer scheduled for a few days later. Rashly, I agreed.
I’d spent a few hours of the night before with my older brother who was a sportswriter for one of our local papers. He gave me several interviewing tips along with a pep talk.
After showering, I couldn’t decide what to wear. I ended up changing three times before I finally settled on a comfortable, two-piece pantsuit that I knew complimented my figure without emphasizing any particular body part.
I combed my thick dark hair away from my face and applied my make-up. The reflection in the mirror showed clear, brown skin and dark eyes. Most men seemed to find me attractive.
When doing in–person interviews, I generally carried a shoulder bag with a leather tote large enough to hold a digital tape recorder, my Internet tablet, and a small notebook to take backup notes.
By the time I was finally satisfied that I looked professional and confident, there was only time for a cup of coffee and a fattening donut before leaving for the office.
Harry Jones, the editor of the sports section of our online daily, stood outside the small, two-person cubicle I shared with Mark Thompson, the paper’s sports writer, when I arrived half an hour late.
He took one look at me and frowned. “If you’re not up for this, I’ll do the interview myself, Narena.”
Despite the pep talk from my brother and my own desire to do the interview, I suddenly wanted to blow it off. I suspected Harry expected me to falter at the idea of walking into a locker room filled with scantily clad baseball players. But with two older overachieving brothers, I’d always rose to a challenge when people dared to think or imply I was in over my head.
“Not only am I up to it, I’m looking forward to it,” I said, sitting at my desk and pulling several files toward me. “I just need to review his stats and bio before heading out to the ballpark this afternoon.”
“Ok—if you’re sure.”
“I am,” I said with far more confidence than I felt.
“Great. I’ll look forward to reading the interview,” he said.
The moment he walked away, I pushed the files away and sat taking deep breaths.
I looked up as Candi, who was Harry’s secretary, sat in the chair next to my desk. We’d become good friends over the five years we’d worked together. She was one of my few remaining single friends. “Hey girl. You look locked and loaded and ready to interview.”
I shook my head. “Well, I’m glad I look ready because I don’t feel ready.” I shook my head. “Mark picked a lousy time to get sick.”
“It’s too bad he’s sick, but let’s face it Rena, this is a great opportunity for you to show what a well-rounded, skillful writer you are. After this, Harry will be hard-pressed to not acknowledge that you’re one of the top writers on staff.”
I smiled. “Thanks Candi. I needed that pep talk.”
“Why? You know you’re one of the paper’s most popular writers.”
“I’m not a sportswriter.”
“But you can rattle off stats with the best of them and Harry probably wants to see how you function under pressure and out of your comfort zone.” She grinned at me. “So show him. You are ready. Aren’t you?”
I shrugged. “This is as good as it’s going to get.”
“Had a good breakfast?”
“I had a donut and coffee,” I said, making a face.
I’d only known Candi as tall and voluptuous with what I thought was the perfect body type. But I knew that after struggling with her weight for years, she’d lost over sixty pounds and kept them off for over six years. She had natural
breasts, an almost flat belly, and legs and hips that often elicited wolf whistles from men.
“So you can see I haven’t started my diet yet.”
“Well, it’s never too late to start.” She sighed. “But keeping the weight off, take it from me, is an ongoing and never ending process.”
I frowned. Candi was nearly always upbeat and perky so the uncertainty I heard in her voice was unusual. “Candi? Are you okay?”
She smiled. “I’m okay. Tell you what. Why don’t you come over for dinner tomorrow night and I’ll make a killer, low-cal but to die for meal.”
“You need a low-cal meal like I needed the donut I had for breakfast,” I told her.
She shook her head. “Actually, I’ve been putting on weight lately and need to double up at the gym.”
“You don’t look it.”
“I feel it and I’ve been there and done that before. I need to get a grip on things before they spiral out of control.”
I frowned. Candi was the office cheerleader—always ready to boost our coworkers’ moral. “You’re a gorgeous woman. A few pounds either way won’t change that,” I reminded her.
“Sometimes men feel differently.”
“Are things okay with you and Rob?” I asked of the man she’d been in an exclusive relationship with for the last year.
“Not really. He’s one of those men who have a problem with a few pounds.” She smiled suddenly. “But let’s not get maudlin. Are we on for dinner?”
“It’s a date,” I said.
“Great. Break a leg and I’ll see you tomorrow night,” she said.
My conversation with Candi unnerved me. If a man who said he loved her had a problem with her gaining such a small amount of weight that it wasn’t apparent, then I would probably need to lose more weight than I’d planned to increase my chances of landing my Mr. Right.
But you do not have time to worry about that now. Stay on track and focus on this interview. I spent the next two hours at the office before I left for my interview. At the ballpark, I felt better when I saw that two other women were among the reporters.
