by Janae Keyes
Champagne Bubbles & Lipstick Stains
An Erotic Romance
Janae Keyes
Edited by
Courtney Cannon
Contents
1. Copyright
2. Dedication
3. ONE
4. TWO
5. THREE
6. FOUR
7. FIVE
8. SIX
9. SEVEN
10. EIGHT
11. NINE
12. TEN
13. ELEVEN
14. TWELVE
15. THIRTEEN
16. FOURTEEN
17. FIFTEEN
18. SIXTEEN
19. The story continues…
20. Acknowledgements
21. About The Author
Copyright
Champagne Bubbles & Lipstick Stains
An Erotic Romance
Copyright © 2016, Janae Keyes
All Rights Reserved
This is a work of fiction. References to real people, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are products of the author’s imagination and used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely fictional and not meant to be considered real.
Cover Design: Courtney Cannon
Dedication
To those who’ve always had my back
Amber, Amanda, Aleah, & Jasmine
ONE
THEY WERE GOING at it again, having sex in the shower, that is. This is what I get for living in a two-bedroom apartment, with five roommates, and only one bathroom. Damn, I was going to be late, there was no doubt about that. I growled to myself and tapped my foot, all while struggling to keep my array of bathroom products and towel secured in my arms.
My hand went straight to the door, and I pounded on it as hard as I could while yelling at the top of my lungs, “Get out, I need to get ready!”
I juggled everything I had in my arms before pulling my cell phone from my pocket. It was already 12:34 PM, and I was to meet my mom at 12:45. The sounds coming out of the bathroom were unmistakable, my roommate, Anika, and her boyfriend were going at it. The grunts and moans that escaped the room over the trickle of our low-pressure shower head made it perfectly obvious.
I was completely flustered as I tried to be patient with them. I knew there wasn’t much room for privacy in our apartment. We all shared a room with someone and instead of doors there were mesh curtains hanging at the entrances to each bedroom.
I gave them another moment, sex couldn’t take that long, at least it never did with my ex. It was always done in a matter of minutes with us. Maybe that is why I never understood why my friends and roommates would go on and on about the mind-blowing, earth-shattering, mountain moving, toe curling, beyond amazing sex they were having. I could never describe what I was experiencing as mind-blowing or anything close to that, it was sex, I thought that was what it was supposed to be.
“Seriously, I’m going to be so late!” I growled out in frustration.
My mom was not a fan of lateness. She despised people who could not be on time. She especially hated when our people, black people, were consistently late. She said colored people time was not an excuse for anything and being on time showed respect.
Just then Anika’s voice cried out in what sounded to be elation, “Oh Trey, please don’t stop, fuck yes!”
At those sounds, I was relieved, this meant they would be finished sooner rather than later. I checked the time once more. My mom was going to be furious with me, but it would only last a little bit, I knew her too well.
Finally, the bathroom door sprung open. Anika emerged with her caramel skin beaded with water and a look of glee on her face. She held her pale blue towel around her body as she pulled the large, muscular arm of her linebacker boyfriend from the small bathroom. Her eyes met mine. I was confident that she knew I was pissed at her as she hurried away, yanking her tall boyfriend behind her as he struggled to keep his towel around his waist.
“Sorry, Tay, I love you, though,” Anika shouted out the moment she and Trey disappeared behind the curtain that led into her bedroom.
I rolled my eyes to myself as I rushed into the small, steamy room that reeked of sex. The musty smell wafted up my nostrils. I opened the old window as much as I could before turning the water of the shower on and stripping out of my pajamas.
My entire body jolted as I stepped under the stream of water, my roommate had used all the hot water, and all that remained was the freezing spray that hit my body. I had no choice, but to quickly wash my body with cold water.
Jumping out I threw my wild curls into a ponytail and dried my body. I wrapped my towel around my nakedness and rushed to my bedroom. I was happy the room was empty for the moment as I threw my towel to the side, struggled into a bra, and threw the first dress I found over my head. I stumbled into my panties before grabbing a tube of lip gloss and applying it to my plump lips, as it would be the only makeup I would manage to get on today.
I grabbed the tote bag I was using for a purse at the moment from the post of my bed and rushed out of my room, through the messy apartment, and out to the street.
I huffed and puffed as I weaved through people on the busy main avenue. I checked my phone again, it was nearing one o’clock, and I knew I’d officially pissed my mom off. Stuffing my phone back into my bag I glanced up the street, I wasn’t far from the restaurant, I could see the sign.
The moment I reached the restaurant, I was completely out of breath from my marathon. I saw my mom right away at a table. She gave me a wave, and I weaved through the tables to where she sat sipping on a mojito. I plopped right into my seat with a huff.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” I mused out quickly in apology. My mom simply shook her head and took a sip of her cocktail. “My roommate was taking forever in the bathroom.”
“If you would get a real job, you would make enough money to not worry about roommates and maybe then you could be on time,” she grumbled. I rolled my eyes in response. “I saw that,” she snapped right away.
Tina Walker was as tough as they came and one hell of a mom. I loved her to pieces, and I knew she loved me, but she could be a real hardass. I watched her from across the table. She was always put together no matter the occasion. She sat with perfectly manicured nails while the paint on mine was half chipped away. Her navy blue pants suit was pressed to perfection, and her hair pressed like she walked out of the 1950s.
“Mom, my art has actually been doing pretty good. I sold a few pieces this week already,” I noted to her as I waved the waitress over. I was glad my mom picked this restaurant for lunch, mostly because it wasn’t just Taco Tuesday, but unlimited margarita day.
“What can I get for you?” the bubbly waitress asked me the moment she reached our table.
“Strawberry margarita, please,” I informed her with a smile. After my trek to get here, I deserved my margarita.
“Coming right up,” the waitress told me before she hurried away to put in my drink order.
I glanced up from my menu to see my mom staring me down. I knew what she was thinking already. To her, my chosen career of an artist was a waste of time, and I should get a real job. To my mom, a real job was working 9 to 5 in some stuffy office and becoming a corporate robot. I had other ideas about how I wanted to earn my keep in the world.
Painting was my life. It was always a hobby, a hobby I was very good at. Starting college, I was a business major. I hated every second of my first semester, and I knew the only way I would be happy was to follow my passion. I dropped out
and enrolled in an art school. I’d found my vibe and where I belonged. As happy as I was, my parents, on the other hand, weren’t pleased, but at least I was getting a degree.
My mom and I kept our silence until my margarita arrived. I thanked the waitress and took a long slip of the frozen and fruity tequila filled drink. My mom made her order, and I gave mine. Once the waitress took the menus, my mother was looking at me once more, she was in deep thought.
“Taylor, I don’t see why you don’t at least apply for some decent jobs. Some great opportunities have passed you by. Dad and I have always told you to never let an opportunity pass you by. You can still paint on the side. I think it is time you start making a decent living. You are in that cramped apartment with all those people and still you barely scrape by. I’ve lost count of how many times you’ve needed your dad and I to pick up your credit card bill or cell phone bill. You need to make a living like a reasonable adult because you are one.” That was one thing about my mom, once she got going, there was no stopping her. “You are a talented young woman, and I know there are people who buy your paintings, but you aren’t making a living wage.”
It was very possible to call me stubborn, I wanted this to work out. I thought I could live my dreams, and I was, to some degree. My mom made complete sense, but I wasn’t ready to give up just yet, something big was coming, I could feel it. I was 23 and had years ahead of me, I’d already lost some years to the sham of a relationship I had had with my ex. At the moment, I wanted to relish in my youthful years and follow my dreams for as long as I could.
I knew, nothing I said was going to sway her opinion. I looked down at the table for a moment before I stole a glance at my mom. I got my tenacity from her, my strong will, and my looks. She was gorgeous, and it was nearly impossible to tell she was in her fifties, by looking at her glowing deep brown skin with barely a wrinkle in sight. Her thick, long ebony hair and mystifying russet brown eyes were show-stoppers. She worked hard, played hard, and was as stubborn as they came. I knew all of those reasons were why everyone called me her mini-me.
“Just give me time, I’m finding my way,” I asserted to her. She gave me a sigh and waved her hand as to dismiss me. I knew she loved me and wanted the best for me, but for now, I needed to walk my own path.
“I don’t see how you can live in that place with all of those people. You can always live with your dad and I,” she offered. I chuckled to myself.
“So you guys can breathe down my neck constantly for not having that real job you so desperately want me to have?” I questioned making air quotes when I got to the real job part. To me what I did was real, and it was most definitely a job.
“We just want to help you succeed.”
“I’m succeeding just fine. Please, can we drop it?”
“Fine,” she huffed out in defeat. I smirked. It could be rare for me to win a battle with her. I think in a strange way, she saw a bit of herself in me, and as much as she wanted me to pick the straight path, she also didn’t want me giving up on my dreams, I appreciated that more than she could ever know.
“Is Dad at work?” I inquired of her, thinking of my father. He was a hard worker. Growing up, he had to miss out on a lot of things with our family, but one thing was for sure, we never ever went without.
“You know he is. He has this big project to finish soon, he has been working on it nearly 24/7 for the past few weeks,” she explained to me. That was Dad, when he was working on something, it was the only thing on his mind. “Once he is done, we want to take a vacation, maybe go visit Katie.”
Katie was my big sister. She went down the path my parents wanted. Right into college, she was a computer science major, even managed to finish her degree a year earlier, and jumped right into grad school. When she got her master’s degree, she landed a sweet job and was off Tokyo, where she’d been living for the past three years. The first time my parents went, they paid for me to go with them. We had a blast, but I was spammed with the ‘Why can’t you be more like your sister?’ talk the entire time.
Our waitress returned with our delicious lunches. I kept it simple with chicken tacos while my mom went all out with enchiladas. I took a couple more sips of my margarita before digging into my food, it was just what I needed.
“You need to set up your appointment to get measured for your bridesmaid gown,” my mom reminded me. Katie was getting married in a few months. She and her fiancé would be coming out for their dream wedding that would be at the Palace Hotel in San Francisco. I was maid of honor, and I’d been slacking on going to the shop for my dress. I just didn’t have the money to put down on the overly expensive and incredibly ugly dress my sister had picked out.
“I will, I promise, I will go in the next couple weeks and get it done,” I assured her. I thought about what I would have to sacrifice to make a payment on the dress.
“Good, Katie is already stressed with work and planning this wedding from all the way in Japan, we need to make this as painless as possible for her and Jordan,” my mom pointed out. Katie always had it easy with my parents, but I think most of that was because she always went along with what they said and wanted from her. While I, on the other hand, I found my own path and followed it with as much flare as I possibly could.
My mom took a long sip from her mojito before her eyes were back on me. I knew that look. She had more concerns about my life. “Have you been on any dates lately?”
“No, I’ve been busy painting, and I had that gallery exhibit a couple of weeks ago. I’m trying to set up another one,” I explained to her.
“You need to get back out there. You were going strong with Ross and then—”
“Then things fell apart. I don’t want to talk about him.”
“We don’t have to. I just think having a man in your life would be good. Someone older, who can care for you and love you the way you need.”
“Mom, you make it sound like I need a Sugar Daddy or something,” I stressed as I rolled my eyes. I don’t think she realized that she was pushing me in the wrong direction.
“No, nothing like that. Just someone to keep you happy and satisfied. I know Ross wasn’t too good at that. Plus, if you are going to keep up with this painting thing, you need somebody that can pay the bills since your art isn’t doing that,” she expressed once more bringing up my ex.
“Yeah, we are dropping this conversation also. I will be with someone when it happens. For now, I’m good, I promise,” I insisted. It would feel good to have someone again. Just that warm body to cuddle up with on a chilly evening and someone who cared for me enough to not hurt me. One thing I didn’t need was someone taking care of me. I could make it my own way, I might have to scrape by, but I was making it on my own.
“You know I’m right,” my mom interjected to get the last word in. I let out a chuckle in response as I picked up my margarita and took a long sip of the cold alcoholic drink.
I heard my cell phone going off from my purse. My mom rolled her eyes at my obnoxious ringtone that I liked very much. Searching through my cluttered tote bag, I found my beat up phone. I didn’t know the number calling me, and it seemed international. I slid my finger across the cracked screen, curious to see who would be calling me.
“Hello, this is Tay!” I answered cheerfully as I always did. I knew that I could be a little more professional with my approach, but I was fun, my art was fun, I was going to keep it fun.
“Yes, is this Taylor Walker?” questioned a woman’s voice with a very distinct British accent.
“Umm, yeah, this is she,” I replied to the woman.
“Good, my name is Vivian Goodwin, I am an art dealer out of London. I have a client that came across some of your work and would like to commission some original pieces. He is willing to pay you decently. I see you are in the San Francisco area and just your luck, I am in San Francisco this week. Could we meet soon, maybe today at the Fairmont Hotel?” I didn’t know how to react. Someone didn’t just want to buy my art, but they wanted
original pieces from me. I spotted my mom’s eyes on me, she was confused. I was sure my face was all over the place as I tried to make heads and tails of what I was hearing.
“Umm ... wow … yeah, I can meet you. Maybe in an hour?”
“An hour would be delightful. I will wait in the hotel bar. I’m in an ivory dress, and you cannot miss my red hair,” she noted sweetly. The line went dead. I was trying to find the right reaction, but I knew I needed to act quickly to make it to the city on time.
TWO
IT TOOK ME a few minutes to convince my mom that my phone conversation was a real one. I promptly needed to borrow money from her as I knew the fastest way to make it to the hotel would be to catch a BART train into the city from where I was in Berkeley before getting a cab once I was in San Francisco.
The entire time on the train I replayed the conversation in my head over and over again. I wondered what she meant by he was willing to pay me decently. How much money was decently? There were so many questions I had that I was trying to keep track of. I’d only been asked to do an original piece once; it was a mural at a school.
Arriving at the Powell Street Station, I jumped off the train and rushed up from the underground station to find the nearest cab to get me to the hotel. I looked down at my cell phone to check the time, I could risk walking it, but I wanted to get there as soon as possible and be as fresh as possible when I got there.
Flagging down a cab, I hopped in the back seat and gave the driver the information on where I was going. He was quick to get going and in no time the car had pulled in front of the five-star hotel. I looked down at the dress I was wearing, it wasn’t exactly worthy of going to a meeting in the bar of a five-star hotel, but it would do for now.
“Here we are,” the cab driver told me. I paid him quickly, and the door was promptly opened for me by a bellhop.
