by Arthurs, Nia
“I don’t remember calling you last night…”
Another glare. “Screw you.”
“Is that an invitation?”
Her nostrils flare. “Believe it or not, I’m a lot wiser now. I’ve got standards.”
“And I don’t?”
“I believe your only qualifications are ‘must be female’.”
I shrug. “Women just happen to be my preference.”
“There’s more to a relationship than sex. But I’m sure you’re incapable of grasping such a concept.”
“I grasp it just fine. I’m not an animal.”
She scoffs. “Debatable.”
My chest warms.
This really shouldn’t turn me on so much.
“I offered to be friends. You’re the one assuming it’s an invitation to my bed.”
“Isn’t it?”
Yeah. “Maybe you’re the one who wants it to go there.”
Her eyes widen.
Darken.
Again with that conflict. I can tell she wants me.
I can tell she hates me.
So damn enticing.
“Relax, Zania. I really just offered to be friends. No strings. No benefits.”
“Impossible.”
That’s a challenge.
I shift forward. Stare into her eyes. “You don’t know what you’re giving up.”
“You’re not my type.”
“Who is? Damion?”
She jerks forward. “Mention him one more time…”
I throw up a hand in surrender. “Fine. Tell me this. Why don’t I meet your standards?”
“Too many reasons to count.”
I tap my chin and try to hard to hide my grin. “List one.”
“You’re cocky, arrogant, egotistical—”
“They’re all synonyms. That only counts as one.”
“You only asked for one.”
The early morning sunshine gets brighter.
I only see Zania.
The black pupils.
The brown irises.
They get lighter when the sun hits them.
Melting honey.
Golden combs.
Beautiful.
She huffs. Slams her eyelashes down, hiding her eyes from me. “Are you ordering or not?”
The kitchen door opens.
Chandra steps out.
Her smile lights up her face. “Teale!”
“Hey.”
Her gaze tracks to Zania. What’s going on?
Zania shakes her head.
Chandra glances at me, a question mark in her eyes. “You’re early.”
“I woke up this morning with a sudden urge...”
Zania looks up at me.
I finish with a grin. “For coffee.”
“Okay…” Chandra draws out the word. Her confused expression gets stronger.
“He was just leaving,” Zania says.
“Not without getting what I came for.”
“You never made your order.”
“Coffee. Black.”
Zania sweetens her voice as she says, “We’re out.”
I arch an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“Yes.” She folds her arms over her chest. A dare. A challenge.
Damn. She’s beautiful when she’s giving me flack.
I tear my eyes away from her. “Chandra, how about I tell you a secret in exchange for a cup?”
“A secret.”
“About Zania. And why she loves ice galas…”
Zania lunges forward and wraps her palm over my lips.
The way she’s leaning over the counter has her chest spilling out of that tight orange tank-top.
No, not orange.
Mustard, maybe.
A mix between the yellow she wore last night and tangerine.
Whatever it is, I’m enjoying the sight of it.
I catch a hint of her bra.
White.
Like snow.
Like innocence.
She was wearing white the night I slept with her. White bra. White panties. Plain. Cotton.
She’d been embarrassed.
Thought they weren’t sexy.
I assured her they were.
Very much so.
Besides, they didn’t stay on for long so it didn’t matter.
Zania catches me staring at her tits. Slants me a heated, I’m going to impale you with a dull baker’s knife stare.
I bring my eyes up.
To her lips.
My stomach coils.
That doesn’t help.
Chandra steps closer, an amused slant to her expression. “What were you going to say?”
“Nothing.” Thick braids skitter over Zania’s back. “We were just messing around.” To me. “I’ll get your coffee.”
The texture of her palm on my lips is slowly winding me up.
It smells like heaven. Like sugar and spice and everything nice.
I want to lick her palm. Nice and slow.
Inside, my veins are tightening.
My body’s pulsing.
Zania has no idea how gorgeous she looks to me right now.
But I keep my tongue inside my mouth.
I’m balancing a fine line and pushing her too hard, too fast won’t help my case.
The bell jangles.
“We’ve got customers.” Zania excitedly points to the door.
Chandra looks away too.
While her boss’s attention is elsewhere, Zania flings her hand off my face and wipes it feverishly against her side. She spits me a dark glare as if I’m the one who forced her hand to my mouth.
I can’t help but chuckle.
She’s adorable.
Zania moves quickly. Pours my coffee in a cup. Slides it over.
I hand her the money and tilt the coffee in salute. “Thanks, sweetheart.”
Chandra glances over.
I nod at her.
When I turn back, Zania’s already skittered into the kitchen. The big door flaps back and forth, the only evidence that she was there in the first place.
My lips quirk.
Being despised shouldn’t feel this good.
Maybe I should see a therapist.
I catch myself smiling and wipe the smirk from my face. I shoot Chandra a cool wave over my shoulder. She’s already curious. I don’t want to add to her suspicions by grinning like a fool.
As I head out of the bakery, I grab my cell phone and call Brendon—my old friend from college and the director of the biggest acquisition company in town.
“Hello?” His voice is husky with sleep.
“I’m ready to buy that building on Fourth Street.”
“The hell? Teale? What time is it?”
“Send the papers over by noon. I’ll sign. Thanks.”
“Teale? Wait. Let me get my glasses. I can’t even see a damn—”
I hang up.
Inhale a deep breath of the morning air.
The city’s been stirring for a while. The streets are filled with traffic. Commuters heading to work and school. The hustle and bustle of a new day.
It feels good.
Feels right.
I think it’s time to put down some roots. I’ll shoot them deep in the ground. Tangle them all up in a woman named Zania.
I grin.
Can’t wait to see what blooms from that.
8 Zania
I can’t do this.
My heart’s beating like crazy. Like someone jacked it up with narcotics and now it’s high and hallucinating.
Every part of my body is throbbing.
Aching.
Pulsing.
I lift my hand. Black on the outside. Shimmery black on the knuckles. Turn it over. Stare at my palm. It’s brown, much darker than most people with my complexion.
It was yet another imperfection I got teased about in middle school.
Children can be cruel.
Blackie.
Monkey.
Ugly.<
br />
I learned I was different when the bullies pointed it out.
Palms are supposed to be pale. Not dark. It’s an insecurity that’s followed me into adulthood.
Right now, it’s the last thing on my mind.
I run my fingernail over my open palm. Around the center. Trace the outline where Teale’s lips had been pressed over the prominent ‘M’ sketched into my flesh.
I didn’t know thrusting my hand on his mouth would be that dangerous.
I had no idea.
I…
The moment my hand connected with his mouth, I saw how deeply our skin contrasted. Mine, dark brown. His, creamy white.
Then his lips brushed my palm.
My pleasure sensors went crazy. Electricity rocketed from my hand, down my arm, straight to my core.
A split second.
That’s all it took for me to realize that I’d made a severe miscalculation.
And his eyes…
The way the blue had darkened.
It was like magic. One minute, they were the color of the sky. The next, they were a turbulent navy. Dark. Hazy.
Full of desire.
For me.
And all the things he wanted to do to me.
The one thing he wanted to do.
With his tongue.
With my hand.
But he didn’t.
I saw that restraint. Saw him pulling himself back from the brink of crossing the line even as his lips had moistened.
I almost wish he’d gone for it.
If he’d licked me, I could have slapped him. I could have made a big deal and a lot of noise about it, throwing attention off me. Shining the spotlight on him.
Jerk that he is, Teale left me on the brink.
And now I’m stuck imagining what it would have felt like to have his tongue running over my skin. Flicking against it.
The ache intensifies.
I hate myself.
I smack my head into the wall.
Women like me are the reason men think they can play around with us. Women like me take the jerks right back no matter what.
No standards, that’s what Gran would say.
You’re better than this, Zania.
But am I?
Right now, I don’t feel empowered. Or righteous. Or proud of myself.
I just feel frustrated.
Man, I hate Teale even more now.
The kitchen door bursts open.
I yelp. Scramble back.
Chandra looks down at me, her eyes wide. “Zania, what are you doing on the floor?”
I jump up. My knees are still weak so I stumble to the side and catch myself with a hand to the wall. The same hand Teale inadvertently kissed.
Chandra blinks. Brown eyes swirl with concern. “Seriously, girl. What’s going on?”
“Nothing.”
“You and Teale—”
“Don’t say that name,” I snap.
“Zania, talk to me.”
“I am talking to you.” I turn away. Waddle to the stove as subtly as I can so Chandra won’t be able to tell how sensitive I am. “Go ahead.”
Her heels click against the tile as she follows me. “What was he about to say that I couldn’t hear?”
“Miss Chandra…”
“I’m Miss Chandra now?” An eyebrow pops high.
“It was nothing you needed to hear. You know that man’s always mouthing off.”
“That’s true.”
“He likes talking nonsense.”
“Also true.” Her lips twist. “But then why go to so much trouble to shut him up?”
Dang.
She’s got me there.
Chandra folds her arms over her chest. “I’m worried about you. You know how Teale is. Don’t get the signals mixed up because you’re hurt about Damion.”
I almost laugh.
Chandra’s got it all wrong. Teale’s not the rebound.
Damion was.
I got with my ex because I was so depressed about the way Teale left things.
Which is another reason I shouldn’t be feeling this way about him.
Teale and I will never happen.
Ever.
So I’ve got to get him out of my head and start moving forward.
I grab a mixing bowl. Pretend to inspect it. “I’ve just decided something.”
“What?”
I turn. Stare at her. “I’m going to get married.”
Chandra looks at me like I’m a wild dog she’s trying to corner. “When did you come to that decision?”
Just now. “A while.” Ish.
“You’re going to get married?” she says again, as if each word is foreign.
“That’s right.”
“To who? Teale?”
I snort. “You think Teale’s ever getting married?”
He’s never said it out loud, but I know Teale’s proud of his bachelor status. He’s a commitment-phobic playboy, but I’m not the same starry-eyed girl with the massive crush.
I make my own decisions.
“No, not Teale.”
“Then who?”
“Someone who wants marriage.”
“Are you drunk?”
I shake my head. “It’s time I allow myself to go after my dreams. I wasted almost two years on Damion. And for what? Still no ring.”
“Because he wasn’t the right guy.”
“He’s not my first boyfriend, you know. I’ve been dating with the intention of marriage since I turned twenty-one. No one’s interested. The guys my age are looking for their next hookup and hustling to build an empire they’re going to share with a light-skinned woman.”
“Zania, you know that’s not true.” Chandra looks genuinely horrified.
“What part?”
“All of it.”
I want to argue with her, but I don’t. She wouldn’t understand. Chandra might be dark like me, but that’s where the similarities between us end. She’s got a slim, pert nose, wears long, expensive weaves and dresses like a celebrity.
I don’t have the same fashion sense.
My nose is big.
My hair is tightly coiled, sheds all the time and takes hours to maintain, which is why I wear it in braids.
She’s the beauty that men think about when they envision getting with a black woman.
I’m the cute friend who gets overlooked by everyone but the opportunists and the men with fetishes.
“It’s time.” I flash her a smile. “But don’t worry. I’m not going to clash with your wedding date.”
“The hell? I don’t care about a damn wedding date. Zania, there’s no need to rush. You’re only twenty-four for crying out loud.”
“So? Is there a right age to get married?”
Brown eyes skitter to the side. “No.”
I pace the room. Get more excited with every step I make.
Arranged marriage.
Blind dates.
Eastern cultures do it all the time. People have been building long-lasting marriages with strangers for centuries.
Not that I plan on marrying a stranger.
I’m not an idiot. Of course I won’t be going in blind. I’ll hire someone to set me up. Trust them to match me with a guy who shares the same dreams and goals.
This has to be the right answer.
It’s perfect from every angle.
There’s even a verse that says it’s better to marry than burn.
I’m burning.
All the way up.
For the wrong guy.
What better way to fix that and live my dream than to get married now?
Chandra pleads with her hands folded together. “Please just stop for a minute and listen to yourself.”
“I’m hearing just fine.”
“Okay. Okay.” She presses a finger to her lips. Stares at the ceiling. “Okay, how about this? I’m down for online dating. I’ll even set you up with some guys I know. Meet them a few times. Get to know them. See where it go
es.”
“I don’t want to date casually anymore. I’m not moving around from one guy to the next, wasting more time.”
“You need time. You need to get to know someone before you commit your entire life to them. As perfect as Ollie is, I wanted a long engagement. I need to make perfectly sure that this is right. You can’t just jump into marriage. You wouldn’t just pick anyone to do a heart surgery, would you? Do you know how dangerous that is?”
“I don’t care.” I throw my hands up. “I don’t care anymore. I’m tired of sitting and letting things happen. I’m taking control back. I’m taking my life back.”
“Taking it back from who?” Chandra’s eyes are wild.
“From guys who play around with my heart.” I think of Teale. “From men who waste my time and my efforts.” I think of Damion. “I’m getting what I want no matter what.”
“Girl, you know I’m all for that, but—”
“But what?” I move forward. “But I should spend another five to ten years dating multiple guys, giving them my heart until one of them decides that they want to spend their lives with me?”
“If you have patience, it’ll happen.”
“No.” Determination surges my voice to a booming tenor. “I want a family. I want a husband. I want it all. And I’m not going to wait another second.”
Chandra looks at me with big eyes full of worry. “Okay, maybe you find a nice guy in a few weeks and by next year—”
“Three months.”
Her jaw drops. “What?”
“I’ll be engaged in three months.” I turn to the flour bag and start measuring. “Watch me and wait.”
9 Teale
I watch the building sitting on the corner of a busy avenue. It’s not ridiculously tall—only five stories—but it’s the embodiment of modern architecture. Lots of glass. Sloping lines. Daring shapes. Solar panels.
“It’s perfect.”
“Of course it is,” Brendon says.
I turn. Look at him. His ivory-white skin is reddening. It’s blistering hot, but we just climbed out of the car two seconds ago.
A memory pops into mind. Makes me snicker.
Back in college, we used to tease Brendon about being a vampire.
Which holds more truth than he’ll admit.
This guy doesn’t get out much.
He grabs a handkerchief from his shirt pocket and dabs at his forehead.
Brendon’s the type of nerd that girls go wild for—thick glasses. Shaggy hair. Square jaw. Clear grey eyes. He’s smart as a whip with a dry wit that—for some mysterious reason—has yet to run the ladies off.
