When Sparks Fly
By Nycole S. Bailey
Text copyright © 2015 Nycole S. Bailey
All Rights Reserved
Table of Contents
Chapter 1 – Olivia Simone
Chapter 2 – Isaac Rossi
Chapter 3 – Sparks
Chapter 4 – Ignite
Chapter 5 – Friends
Chapter 6 – Shiver
Chapter 7 – Surprises
Chapter 8 – Old vs. New
Chapter 9–Intervention
Chapter 10 – Love and Football
Chapter 11 - All-nighter
Chapter 12 – Sonoma
Chapter 13 – Thanksgiving
Chapter 14 – Christmas
Epilogue – Isaac and Olivia
Chapter 1 – Olivia Simone
Olivia - December
Family.
Don’t you just love yours?
I love my family immensely, but only in small doses.
Today is one of those days where either a small dose is needed or alcohol consumption.
But alas, I am at my parents’ home and alcohol is not allowed in the house…this is my mama’s rule; a rule that my daddy doesn’t follow because I saw him earlier soaking his beloved fruit cake with a bottle of rum.
Before I go any further, let me introduce myself. I am Olivia Grace Simone. I am 32 and the youngest child of Ruby and Leo Simone. I am home for the Christmas holiday with my family.
Where is home?
Well, I live in Richmond, Virginia, but my parents still live in the house that I grew up in which is in Atlanta, GA - well a suburb of Atlanta – Sandy Springs. No matter where I live – my parents’ house will always be home.
All of the Simone children have come home for Christmas this year. I was the last to arrive – which was earlier today – December 23rd.
My older brother, Leo Jr, who is 38, still lives in the Atlanta area with his wife Denise and their twin girls. In fact, they live just down the block from my parents’ home.
My older sister, Paris, who is 35, arrived last night from Seattle – with her latest boy toy in tow. She said she only brought him to get Mama off her back about being single and 35. What she did was open a can of wedding and baby talk…which is the topic of discussion right now at the dinner table. Mama just asked Paris if they have plans for a Summer or Fall wedding. I am pretty sure Mama is just messing with her and knows that the boy toy is not a boyfriend.
I giggle softly because Paris’ boy toy is looking a bit green and Paris is giving Mama a ‘what the fuck’ look.
As I am sitting beside Paris, she hears my giggle and gives me a hateful look…right before she slides her glass my way. As discreetly as I can, I pull my flask of Jack Daniels from my sweatshirt pocket and pour a few fingers into her glass of Coke. I do a quick scan, making sure that neither Mama nor Daddy see me doing this and they don’t, but by the matching smirks and raised eyebrows on my nieces’ faces, they see.
Those two whores-in-training better not say anything.
Oh – maybe you think calling my nieces whores-in-training is a bit much.
Meh…maybe, but I don’t think so. Don’t get me wrong, I love them to pieces. Besides, I would never tell anyone that I call them that in my head. They are smart (taking after my brother) and beautiful (taking after their mama). However, it seems that they also take after their mother with their, shall we say, ‘whorish’ tendencies?
Let me give you a history lesson so you can see how I came to my whores-in-training title.
Denise Simone (née Lever) is the same age as yours truly – 32. Her daughters (my nieces) are 16…you do the math.
I know, now-a-days it is not so scandalous if you happen to get knocked up at 16 and end up still married to the father of your babies 16 years later. That sounds more like one of those high school sweet heart love stories.
That is so not the case here.
Denise got knocked up at 16 and she didn’t know whom the daddy was. There were there possible daddies – one being my brother Leo Jr. This was quite the scandal in our little neighborhood. The blood tests conducted after my nieces’ birth confirmed that my brother – who was 22 at the time - was the daddy. He was also the youngest of the three possible daddies. The other two were 25.
Denise had been flirty since she was 13 – that is a term my mama uses.
I like whorish better.
She was one of those girls who developed early – you know the type – beautiful face, big tits, tiny waist and the ingrained know-how to use it.
Although we are the same age and went to the same high school, we never ran with the same crowds. She was one of the in-crowd, while I didn’t belong to any particular clique. I was more of a loner and awkward, mostly keeping to myself until my senior year.
My two lovely nieces – Danielle (we call her Dani) and Daisy are the spitting image of their mother – with one exception, they have my brother’s beautiful weird gray-green eye color.
So, let’s rewind - they have their mama’s looks (with the bodies to match) and my brother’s beautiful eye color – neither which makes them whores-in-training. What makes them whores-in-training is their sketchy behavior.
I was home for a visit over the summer and was visiting with my brother at his house while Dani and Daisy had a few friends over for a pool party.
No big deal except that all their guests were boys; not one single girl other than my nieces. They both had on matching bikinis that left little to the imagination.
And let’s not forget their alternate Facebook profiles – this is separate from the one that the family has access to – their alternate Facebook page is titled “Double D’s” which is a play on their names and tit size. I only know about their alternate Facebook profile because Paris caught them this morning taking ‘provocative’ pics for the profile. What do I consider provocative for 16-year-old girls – let’s see, duck face, Santa hat and topless….well, topless as in they both had an arm across their ample and barely contained bosoms.
Paris sat them down and talked to them about what they were doing and their self-worth. I don’t think they got it because they are both currently in clothing so tight that I think I can see their spleens. Before dinner, Paris’ boy toy kept a too keen eye on them and they ate up the attention.
Now can you see why I call them whores-in training?
So where was I?
Oh yeah –my nieces have just witnessed me pouring a little bit of Jack Daniels in Paris’ glass. They don’t know it’s Jack Daniels – but they are smart enough to know it is something alcoholic. I am not worried that they will tell my mama (their nana) because she will never believe them. You see, I am the baby of the family and I can do no wrong. One would think that being the baby of the family, I would be the wildest but no, I was a Miss Goodie Two Shoes – and still am to a certain degree.
Leo Jr. and Paris gave my parents plenty of sleepless night during their teenage years. Two particular incidents stand out in my mind.
When Leo Jr. was 16, he took Mama’s car (without permission) and went to see his girlfriend. On the way back from her house, he wrecked the car (he wasn’t hurt). When the police station called the house and informed my parents what had happened, my lawyer daddy told them to keep him overnight and he would pick him up in the morning.
When Paris was 16, my parents and I were coming home from dinner. Paris didn’t go because she wasn’t feeling well. Well, we walked in on her while her boyfriend was performing oral sex on her on the living room floor. At the time, I had no idea what they were doing. My parents quickly ushered me upstairs to my room, but I listened at the top of the stairs. I
still remember my daddy ranting and raving and Paris screaming back that she was still a virgin since she and her boyfriend only engaged in oral sex and not real sex.
My biggest transgression was staying out past curfew - one time – by five minutes.
So let’s see, what else I can tell you about myself – well, I have a 2-year-old French bulldog named Chewy. He is a spoiled little shit who thinks he is human, but I love the little stinker to pieces. Currently, he is asleep at my feet, his bat-like ears twitching as he sleeps.
I absolutely love my job. I’m a jewelry designer for one of the bigger jewelry store chains. Additionally, I have an on-line storefront called Simply Simone where I sell my own jewelry line.
I also have another ‘job’, which is pretty great too, although this job is one that only three people know about – the person who hired me, the person who does my taxes and me.
My jewelry design job and on-line store brings in a decent yearly income, but coupled with my other job; I am quite comfortable financially.
So, what is my other job…well, I am a sex toy tester. I bet you are wondering how one becomes a tester of sex toys.
Well let me tell you.
Sadly, I haven’t had sex in almost four years and two years ago in my quest to find the perfect vibrator; I came across a sex blog that reviewed sex toys. I purchased a few toys on the blog’s recommendation and by chance, I noticed an ad for a sex toy tester. Apparently, the blogger was a sex toy tester for a few sex toy companies and she needed help, so she was looking to hire two toy testers. Oh a whim (mostly due to the Jack Daniels and Coke I was sipping on at the time), I applied. Two months later after going through two phone interviews, submitting a writing sample and a Skype interview, I became an official sex toy tester.
So what does my job as a sex toy tester entail? Once a month, I get a box full of toys and my job is to try them out then write up a review - which is posted on the blog under my pseudonym Playful One.
Getting paid to masturbate is definitely a way to get rid of my Miss Goodie Two Shoes title.
__________________________
The next couple of days are a whirlwind of family and friends coming in and out of my parents’ house as we celebrate Christmas. Although I have enjoyed the time with my family, I am very ready to head back to Virginia. It is December 29th and I am in my childhood bedroom when my daddy comes in to take my suitcase to my car. I round up Chewy and make sure I am not leaving anything behind. After saying my goodbyes, where my mama gets a little teary-eyed (and I do too), I make the almost nine hour drive to Richmond – making a few pit stops along the way for restroom and food breaks – for me and Chewy.
I pull into the driveway of my home at a quarter till seven. I quickly text my parents letting them know I have made it home safely. After feeding Chewy and myself, I take him for a quick walk and then crawl into my bed – surrendering to sleep rather quickly.
__________________________
Two days later – New Year’s Eve
I stand in front of the full-length mirror in my bedroom; looking at myself from every possible angle. My golden brown micro braids are pulled back with a sparkly rhinestone clip with the ends spilling down my back in loose curls. I have on more make-up than usual. I have played up my big brown eyes with black eyeliner and charcoal-colored eye shadow. I have managed to cover up the sprinkling of freckles that cover my nose and cheekbones with a light application of foundation. My full lips are a deep glossy maroon, slicked with my favorite lip-gloss. The butterscotch-colored skin of my shoulders and décolletage are lightly sparkling with the shimmery body powder I applied before getting dressed.
I have on a strapless black sparkly sheath that lands a few inches above my knees. The sales lady told me it would be perfect for my event. My black pumps add four inches to my 5’5” frame. I don’t wear heels often because I don’t always walk well in them, but these make my legs look a mile long and the heel is chunky so I can walk in them fairly well.
So where I am going all dressed up?
I am on my way to a New Year’s Eve dinner party that my friend Jacqueline is hosting. I would rather ring in the new year at home with Chewy, but I promised her weeks ago that I would attend.
Jacqueline Allen (née Rogers) is one of my oldest friends. I have known her since we were Brownies together. Even though I have known her most of my life, she hasn’t always been in my ‘real’ friend column. When we were Brownies together, we were best friends, but at as we got older, our friendship changed. We were still friends, but only away from school. At school, she acted as if she didn’t know me. At first, I was hurt, but after my mama sat me down and talked to me about what a real friend was, I just ignored her at school too.
When we reached our senior year in high school, she began to speak to me at school again. This time confused, I talked to my sister Paris, who was in her junior year at the University of Washington. She told me some nonsense about Jacqueline realizing that I could be a potential threat since I was a hottie and it would benefit her to befriend me publically. I scoffed at the idea since I was certainly not a hottie; I was still the same person I had been all through high school - shy and awkward Olivia Grace Simone.
Nevertheless, I started to hang out with Jacqueline and her friend Taylor along with the other kids in their clique. We were friends during senior year of high school and kept in touch when we went off to college; me to Savannah College of Art and Design and both of them to the University of Georgia.
I was fortunate enough to land a job right out of college. It was also the time when Grammy (my daddy’s mother) passed away and left me her house in Richmond. I moved to Richmond when I was 23. Jacqueline and Taylor came for a visit shortly after, fell in love with the city and they both moved to Richmond less than a year later. I wasn’t exactly thrilled about it, but I could never tell them that, so they never knew how I felt.
I look at myself one more time in the mirror, satisfied at my reflection. If I don’t leave now, I will be late and if I am late, Jacqueline will more-than-likely have a little hissy fit.
__________________________
I pull up to the circular driveway of the Allen’s McMansion and I am surprised when a valet opens my door – but then again, I’m not. It is no secret how wealthy Jacqueline and her husband, Alton are. While Jacqueline is a stay-at-home-mom (they have a 4-year-old daughter), Alton is a bigwig executive at a tobacco company headquartered in Richmond.
Before I can ring the doorbell, the massive door is opened by - a butler? I barely keep from scoffing; only Jacqueline would hire a valet and a butler for her New Year’s Eve dinner party. He takes my black dress coat and clutch. I follow him to the large formal living room where a dozen or so people are milling about with drinks in hand. I instantly scan the room for Jacqueline or Taylor because I don’t recognize anyone else in the room. Someone comes up behind me, placing a hand on my lower back.
“Happy Holidays Olivia.” A deep voice says – too close to my ear. I take a small step away from the person and look to see who is in my personal space. It is Alton. Alton is twenty years older than Jacqueline. He is attractive for an older guy, but he has always creeped me out.
“Happy Holidays to you too Alton,” I reply politely with a smile. He just smiles at me, which looks so much like a leer.
“Let me get you a drink.” He snaps his fingers and a guy in server attire seems to appear out of nowhere. “A Jack and Coke, right – heavy on the Jack?” He winks at me. His leer - I mean smile - is getting bigger and he’s already starting to creep me out.
Yeah, that is my go to drink, but not tonight. Something tells me that I need to have my wits about me, so I tell the server my drink order.
“Actually, I’ll have a ginger ale.”
The server has my drink back to me in no time.
“So, I will take you to Jacqueline,” Alton says as he takes my hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm. I instinctively want to pull my hand back, but that would b
e rude, so I let him lead me to his wife. She is in the room adjacent to the formal living room.
Jacqueline is talking with an older couple when she looks my way and sees me. As usual, she is beautiful in a long white gown that shimmers in the light and shows off her perfect curves. She smiles but the smile doesn’t reach her eyes. She excuses herself and walks my way. She gives her husband a kiss on the cheek as he releases me and I swear I feel his hand brush against my ass. Jacqueline then gives me her signature air kiss.
“You look nice Olivia,” she says with a fake smile.
When Jacqueline says you look nice, it is code for, ‘what the hell are you wearing?’ I roll my eyes, instantly irritated.
“What is wrong with what I have on Jacqueline?”
“Oh nothing is wrong with what you have on Sweetie.” She rubs her hand up and down my arm in which should be a soothing manner, but it feels patronizing. “I just thought I told you the dress was formal. Your dress looks to be a little – after five-ish.”
“Stop it!” I say in a tight whisper.
She holds her hands up in a surrendering manner, trying to look innocent.
“I’m not doing anything, I just don’t want you to feel bad because the rest of the ladies are wearing long gowns and you chose a short little frock,” she tilts her head at me and gives me that fake smile again. “You look pretty though.”
I honestly don’t know why I am still friends with her. I loathe and love her at the same time. She can take me back to my days of being that awkward teenager with just a few simple words.
Maybe I should have had my Jack and Coke after all.
After Jacqueline has made sure to plant doubt in my head about my dress, we spend a few moments catching up. Taylor joins us at some point and she – like me – has on a ‘short little frock’. I wonder if Jacqueline gave her a hard time too.
Doubtful…Jacqueline can be so full of shit sometimes.
When dinner is finally served, I am quite hungry. The servers bring out small plates of green salads with a medley of colorful vegetables and shrimp – shrimp that I cannot eat because I am allergic to shrimp and all other shellfish.
When Sparks Fly (Sexy Secrets Book 2) Page 1
