The Beautiful Ones (Arabesque)

by Byrd, Adrianne

  “This isn’t easy for me.”

  “You could’ve fooled me.”

  “Sol—”

  “You’ve known this jerk for four months, and me for more than half your life.”

  “Sol—”

  “Who has always been there for you—been through boyfriends, and bailed you out of jail after one silly college protest after another?”

  “This isn’t about any of that. I love Jonas.”

  Solomon’s rage only multiplied at hearing those words. “Yeah, well, I love you, too, and look where the hell that’s gotten me.”

  She was crying harder now, and he waited, desperately wanting her to respond to what he’d just confessed.

  “I’m marrying Jonas,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry, Sol.”

  “Ophelia.”

  She disconnected the call.

  “Ophelia,” he shouted and waited. After a few seconds, a recording came on the line, instructing him how to make a call. He hung up and tried to call Ophelia back. She didn’t answer her cell phone. Instead of leaving a message, he hurled the cordless phone across the room.

  A mirror exploded. He stood immobile while he listened to shattered glass crash against the wooden floor. It was the perfect metaphor for what was happening to his heart.

  Chapter 13

  Ophelia tucked her feet beneath her on the window seat and clutched her cell phone against her heart. The call was supposed to solve her problems. Now it felt as if she’d just made everything worse.

  Well, I love you, too, and look where the hell that’s gotten me.

  She shook her head and tried to erase his voice. There was no point in trying to read anything more into his words. Solomon had undoubtedly meant that he loved her as a friend—just as she did him. But…

  Ophelia drew another deep breath and winced at the pain suddenly throbbing around her heart. She set the phone down beside her and rubbed her chest while she wondered what life would be like without Solomon.

  Her hand stilled while she wrapped her brain around that notion. Hell, she could barely remember a time when she didn’t know Solomon. Whether he was the catcher signaling for a fastball or the teammate guarding her while she tried her best to do a slam dunk.

  He was always there.

  Memories, too many to count, clamored to the surface: ten minutes in heaven, skinny-dipping in old man Homer’s private lake, Cancun, and…

  Undeniable warmth rushed across her body, and a maddening flutter of butterflies swarmed her insides. Solomon had been more than the first boy to kiss her, or the first boy to knock Billy Cohn’s block off for calling her chicken legs. Solomon was the man she chose—and it was a choice—to give her most precious gift…

  Just Between Us

  Chapter 14

  It was a dark and rainy night on October 12, 1991, and Ophelia had never been more nervous in her life. After all, it was a big and important night. It was her twenty-first birthday, and she was going to seduce her best friend—or try, anyway.

  Being a junior at Spelman College, Ophelia was more than a little disappointed that she was still a big “V.” Although there wasn’t a shortage of willing and able men to do the honors, Ophelia had trouble finding the right man for the job.

  The last thing she wanted to do was to give some dumb Atlanta U. jock bragging rights or become just another notch on some wannabe playa’s bedpost.

  Ophelia wanted her first time to be special. She wanted it to be with a man who was gentle and who would take his time. Unfortunately, in the three years she’d been in college, she had yet to meet the guy that fit the bill.

  And her patience had come to an end.

  Now, she’d had a few close calls—caught-up-in-the-moment kind of things—but the guy would inevitably say something rude, crass, or downright stupid to bring things to a screeching halt.

  All of that would end tonight.

  In retrospect, she didn’t know why she hadn’t thought of Solomon before. He was the ultimate kind and patient man whom she was more than a little comfortable around. She knew he’d dated around, but Solomon wasn’t the kiss-and-tell type.

  Once the thought of Solomon being the solution to her problems popped into her head, she couldn’t easily let go of it. She made a list of props and cons, called Dionne Warwick’s Psychic Friends Network, and even visited a palm reader during her trip to New Orleans during Mardi Gras: Solomon was perfect.

  The last decision to make was to pin down an actual date. What better night than on her birthday?

  She glanced around the tiny apartment at the multitudes of scented candles. There were so many, in fact, it sort of resembled a holy shrine. On the coffee table sat a chilled bottle of champagne, a bowl of strawberries, and a canister of whipped cream.

  As for her attire, she had decided on a lacy fuchsia teddy and matching silk robe. However, after she had spent the last two hours primping, she finally wondered what she was going to do if Solomon said no.

  Ophelia’s stomach twisted into a huge knot. In that instant, she realized what an incredible risk she was taking and what was at stake. Sex changed people. She wasn’t so naive to think otherwise.

  What if, afterward, she fell for Solomon? It wasn’t totally out of the question. She had seen some oddly paired couples around campus. She thought about it. Solomon wouldn’t be a bad boyfriend—but what if it didn’t work out? Could they go back to being best friends?

  She doubted it.

  Most likely if it didn’t work out, she could kiss their friendship goodbye. Ophelia walked over to the couch and eased down into its plush cushions. Suddenly the list of cons grew by leaps and bounds.

  “What the hell was I thinking?” she mumbled under her breath. She jumped to her feet and rushed to the phone near the coat closet.

  The doorbell rang.

  The phone receiver seemed glued to her hand. Even after the second ring, she couldn’t move. Maybe if she didn’t answer, he would just go away.

  Another ring blended with a quick rap against the door.

  A loud insistent tone blared from the phone. She quickly hung it up and prayed that it hadn’t been loud enough for Solomon to hear.

  Everything was silent for a moment, and then she heard a key slide into the lock. She had forgotten he had a key.

  Fleeing popped into her mind, but before she could take a step, the door opened.

  “Who in the hell died?” Solomon’s gruff baritone filled the apartment. “This place looks like a mortuary.” He stepped inside and slowly closed the door. In his hand, he carried a small gold box.

  Before she could say anything, his curious gaze found her standing by the closet.

  Neither spoke while his gaze slid down her body. Over the years, Solomon had seen her in less—but he had never looked at her like this before. His eyes warmed and then darkened slightly.

  “Did I come at bad time?” he asked.

  Suddenly English was a foreign language, and Ophelia couldn’t manage to utter a sound, let alone a full sentence.

  “I thought we were hanging out tonight, but, uh…” He glanced around again. “I take it you had a change of plans?”

  Still nothing.

  Solomon’s gaze traveled over her again before he seemed to force himself out of his trance. “I better come back another time.” He turned toward the door and nearly tripped over air.

  When she laughed, Solomon flashed her an embarrassed smile. “I guess I better go.” His hand landed on the doorknob.

  This was it, she realized: now or never.

  Solomon opened the door and stepped forward. He was going to leave.

  She was going to let him.

  He was leaving.

  She remained silent.

  He was going…going…

  “Wait.” Ophelia’s heart instantly leaped into her throat.

  The silence seemed to go on forever before Solomon’s head poked around the door.

  “Uh.” She cleared her throat. “Don’t go. I haven’t made a
ny other plans.”

  His face scrunched in confusion, but he made no move to reenter the apartment.

  “Really,” she said and added a shaky smile, and then dropped it when she felt like a cheap car dealer pushing a Yugo on a Mercedes man.

  When he’d at last ascertained that she was being serious, Solomon slowly crept back inside and closed the door. “Were you in the middle of changing or something?”

  Forcing an air of confidence she didn’t feel, Ophelia took her first steps toward him. “Is that for me?” she asked, purposely ignoring his question.

  He glanced down at the box and then lifted it toward her. “Happy twenty-first.”

  Smiling, she reached for the neatly wrapped package and made sure she stood close enough for Solomon to catch the soft fragrance of her perfume. She took her time opening the gift, but her confidence waned when Solomon stepped back.

  What if she made a fool of herself? Her hands trembled while they fumbled with the box.

  “If you don’t like it, I can take it back,” Solomon said before she opened the jeweler’s velvet box.

  “Don’t be silly, I’m sure whatever it is, I’m going to—” She gasped. Her eyes roamed, and then misted at the sight of a beautiful diamond tennis bracelet, the same bracelet she had been ogling at Opulence jewelry store for the past year. “Oh, Sol. It’s beautiful.” She moved past him to lean against the arm of the couch.

  “May I?”

  Solomon’s warm breath rushed against the shell of her ear and caused a quick shiver to course through her body. She glanced up at him while he removed the bracelet from its box. She found herself mesmerized by every curve and line of his face. Though he wasn’t what most women called a pretty boy, he was indeed handsome.

  When Ophelia felt Solomon loop the bracelet around her wrist, she lowered her gaze to marvel at the spectacular gift. It was simply beautiful, but… “Sol, I can’t accept this.”

  “Why not?”

  “For one thing, you can’t afford something like this. This had to cost a fortune.” She hiked her brows in suspicion. “It is real?”

  Solomon rolled his eyes. “Now what kind of question is that?”

  “A good question.”

  “Hey, it’s not the price that matters, but the thought behind it.”

  Ophelia relaxed. Of course it wasn’t real. Where on earth would Solomon get ten grand to buy the tennis bracelet at Opulence? She glanced at her wrist again and had to admit that she was impressed with this knockoff. “You’re right. It’s the thought that counts.”

  A broad smile hugged his lips, a nice pair of juicy—

  “Shouldn’t you finish getting dressed?” he asked, moving to take a seat on the couch.

  “What?” She blinked, out of her trance.

  “Aren’t you going to get dressed, or do you plan on going out in that? Not that I mind, I’ve always thought you looked good in that color.”

  She glanced down at herself and then tugged at her robe when she realized how close she was to spilling out of the top of her teddy. She joined him on the couch, and her gaze quickly slithered over to him.

  He gave a sly smile. “I didn’t see anything.”

  She smiled back and then forced the next sentence out of her mouth. “I was hoping that we could stay in.”

  “But I thought you had Prince tickets?”

  She sucked in a breath, totally prepared to deliver the lie she’d practiced earlier. But at the last minute, she decided to go with the truth. “I lied.”

  The two words seemed to hang in the air between them for an eternity before Solomon spoke.

  “Why?”

  She hesitated.

  “I mean if you just wanted to hang out and have a Blockbuster night, we could’ve invited Marcel. He was sort of pissed you didn’t at least get three tickets tonight.” He glanced at his watch. “We can probably page him and see if he wants to come over. I’m sure he wants to spend time with you on you birthday.” He started to get up.

  Ophelia placed a restraining hand against his leg.

  Solomon’s frown returned. “What’s the matter? Don’t you—”

  She placed her finger against his lips to silence him. After drawing a shaky breath, she boldly met her best friend’s curious stare. “I don’t want Marcel to come over. I don’t want to go out. And I’m not changing clothes.”

  Ophelia waited while her words and her meaning sank in. When she was sure it had, she slowly removed her finger from his lips. “Sol, I have a big favor to ask you.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “And please, whatever you do, don’t laugh at this. Okay?”

  Still silent, he nodded.

  Ophelia drew another deep breath. “Sol, for my twenty-first birthday, I want you to be my first. Will you make love to me?”

  Chapter 15

  Solomon stared at Ophelia, afraid to ask her to repeat the question. It wasn’t until after the silence had stretched to its capacity that he realized she was waiting for an answer.

  He coughed, cleared his throat, and then coughed some more. Was this some kind of a joke? Were Marcel and their frat brothers going to jump out at any moment with a camcorder? “Uh, what—?”

  “Look, you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Ophelia said. Her pretty cheeks darkened. “I just thought that… .” She released a long sigh. “Hell, I don’t know what I thought.”

  Solomon’s gaze darted, yet again, to the candles, champagne, and strawberries. “Seems you went to an awful lot of trouble,” was all he could think to say.

  She tied the belt on her robe. “Well, I sort of wanted the night to be…special.”

  It would have been hard to ignore the note of disappointment in her voice. She was serious.

  “Thanks for not laughing at me,” Ophelia added, avoiding his gaze.

  He drew a deep breath in an attempt to calm his building excitement. “May I ask you something?”

  She shrugged, while still having trouble landing her gaze. “Sure.”

  “Why me?”

  “There’re lots of reasons,” she said simply.

  “Name one.”

  She looked at him. Her eyes glossed with unshed tears. “Because you’re my best friend. You know me better than anyone. I trust you to be kind, gentle, and patient with me. I want to do this with you.”

  A long silence stretched between them before Solomon leaned forward. Every muscle in his body was tight with anticipation. Sure, they’d kissed each other often, but those were mere pecks on the cheek or light brushes against her forehead. This was different.

  The moment their lips connected, Solomon melted at the sound of her sigh and the blaze of an inferno roaring within him. This was no awkward adolescent kiss. This was a strange and intoxicating combination of hunger, passion, and undeniable longing.

  His longing.

  Solomon pressed closer, already addicted to the faint taste of strawberries on her lips. Gently, Ophelia’s soft hands cupped the sides of his face and pulled him even closer to her scantily clad body. He followed her lead and then stopped when she gasped. His solid erection brushed against her leg, and her gaze lowered to view its visible outline against his pants.

  He knew what was racing through her mind. The last time they’d seen each other naked was years ago when they had gone skinny-dipping, and frankly, he’d grown considerably over the years.

  Waiting for her gaze to return to his face, Solomon was suddenly aware that this intimate moment could come to a screeching halt. What would he do if it did?

  Time stood still while his erection only hardened and his heart nearly hammered its way out of his chest. At long last, her beautiful golden eyes traveled upward to lock gazes.

  “I just remembered another reason why I chose you,” she said huskily.

  Solomon came to her with a groan, crashing their lips in another meaningful and needy kiss. However, it was the strangest thing—the more he drank from her sweet mouth, the thirstier he became. That didn
’t make sense.

  A once-nervous Ophelia floated languidly on heaven’s lofty clouds. She remembered having this same experience years before, but after so much time had passed, she’d convinced herself she’d imagined the whole thing. Everything tingled, tickled, or fluttered wonderfully, and he had yet to remove a single article of clothing.