by Nia Arthurs
There’s also Red Lipstick Girl From New York.
Lingerie Model #1
Lingerie Model #2
I highlight the messages.
Start the long, arduous journey of deleting them all.
I don’t need them.
Any of them.
A quick hook-up isn’t worth resurrecting. Not now.
I can’t see Switzerland Hot Tub Girl holding my hand as I stand by my mother’s bedside. Can’t picture the models giving me the courage to say what I needed to before the last family I had slipped away. Can’t imagine the Red Lipstick Girl making me soup and gently rubbing my back while I agonized over opening my mother’s letter.
Which I still haven’t done yet.
I sigh.
Damn.
I let myself get lost in Tierra instead.
No, that’s wrong.
I found the peace I was looking for when I touched her.
So I touched her all night.
And I want her tomorrow.
And a week from now.
A year from now.
Forever.
It’s concerning.
Tierra’s got me falling even harder.
I need to back the hell up before I drop right off this cliff and drown in her.
Even as the thought crosses my mind, I don’t stop deleting.
It’s only natural that I should keep these options.
Just in case.
But it doesn’t feel right.
So I keep tapping that trash icon.
I’m only interrupted by the ringing of the doorbell.
My eyes shoot to Tierra.
I stiffen, waiting to see if that loud sound was enough to wake her up.
Nope.
Thank God.
Tossing my phone behind, I spring out of bed and tear it downstairs.
The security box in the foyer shows a live feed of Hansley at my door.
I press the button.
Let him in.
Footsteps thud.
Hansley appears three seconds later, holding a box beneath his arm.
I jut my chin at it. “What’s that?”
“You got a package.” He lifts a scrap of red cloth that’s sticking out of the flap. Dangles it in the air.
It’s a thong. Those lacy ones that are sheer and purely for the bedroom.
“I told the security guys not to let anything pass,” I grumble.
“Actually, these were sent to the office.” Hansley chucks the thong and it flutters into the arm of the chair.
“The hell is wrong with everyone?”
“They’re shooting their shot, man. Trying to make an impression on you.”
“It’s like a nightmare.”
“I’d like to think this is what Cinderella would be like in the twenty-first century. Women sending thongs instead of trying on glass slippers.”
“Do you have a thing for old Disney princess movies, Hans? You keep bringing it up,” I growl.
“My nieces have me watching Frozen all day. I’d kill for some variety. Trust me. A little Sleeping Beauty or Princess and the Frog would be great.”
I roll my eyes.
Hansley drops the box and it lands with a thud at his feet. “But that isn’t what I came to talk to you about.” The mischievous smirk fades, replaced with a concerned frown. "I heard about your mom. How are you holding up?”
I shrug.
“Did you even… go in?”
It’s annoying that Hansley knows me that well.
Or maybe it’s annoying that I’m so obviously pathetic.
“I wasn’t. I couldn’t.”
His shoulders slump.
“But Tierra showed up.”
“She gave you the courage.” Hansley’s brown eyes soften. “I’m really glad you got to see her before… I’m glad.”
“Thanks.”
Hansley looks me over. Laughs. “So Tierra’s upstairs?”
I nod.
“I guess you crossed another line for her.”
“There aren’t any more to cross.”
“Have you told her you loved her yet?”
I go silent.
Hansley smirks. “Then there’s still one more.” He gives me another scan. “Not that you seem too far off from it.”
I run my fingers through my hair.
I’m not there yet.
Love made me do this.
I squeeze my eyes shut to chase my mother’s voice from my head.
“All those ladies will have their hopes dashed.” Hansley rubs his cheek. “Unless you plan on going on those Make It Marriage dates while you’re with Tierra?”
I scoff.
No.
I wouldn’t do that to her.
Not after what her sister and her ex pulled.
She deserves better.
My eyes narrow. “The agency hasn’t backed off yet?”
“No. They’re doing more interviews. It feels like I’m seeing your face everywhere.”
That familiar unease slams into my chest again.
They should have heard I’m out by now. Tierra should have reinforced that message herself.
Tierra, what have you done?
Hansley tries to strike up conversation but, when I ignore him. He sees himself out. As soon as he’s gone, I pat myself down to look for my phone.
Realizing I left it upstairs, I grab my landline and dial the Make It Marriage agency.
Kayla Montgomery’s smooth voice slips over the line. “Mr. McQueen.”
“Mrs. Montgomery, I wanted to discuss my status at your agency.”
“Oh, yes. I’m sure you’ve been overwhelmed by the… response.” She chuckles sweetly. “I assure you that we’re doing everything we can to keep the process fair and neutral. In fact, I’ve instructed Tierra to stay at home so she can avoid being influenced.”
I freeze. "You spoke to Tierra?”
“Yes.”
“Recently?” My fingers tighten on the phone.
Kayla’s voice turns hesitant. “Have you not heard from her? She said she would get in touch with you to arrange your first date.”
“She’s still trying to match me with someone?”
“You can count on her, Mr. McQueen. She’s a very capable—”
“Is that what she said?” I snap.
Kayla goes quiet.
Anger roars through my head.
Slides through my veins.
Winds around me like a snake.
She played you.
I hear a thump from upstairs.
From my room.
Tierra’s woken up.
Twenty-Seven
Tierra
I’m in that hazy in-between of sleep and consciousness, struggling to erase the light of the sun that’s creeping beneath my eyelids. My body rolls over a bed as soft as clouds.
I stretch.
Yank the blanket with me.
Something thumps to the ground.
I wake with a start.
Glance around.
A lavish bedroom meets my eye. All greys, blacks and silver.
Masculine.
Hard.
Cold.
Like it’s owner.
There’s a balcony to my left. Fluttering curtains in front of it.
Another woman’s touch.
Sharon’s. I hope.
Across the room, a desk stands.
Two cabinets.
One mirror.
I swing my leg over the bed. Where’s Brett?
My eyes catch on something shiny on the floor. I wince when I realize it’s his phone. When I tossed my sheets earlier, I must have tossed it off the bed.
“No, no, no.” Rushing forward, I scoop up the device.
This is the latest smartphone.
One of those limited edition ones that only the uber rich can afford.
I wipe it down, breathing out a sigh of relief when I see that there are no scratches or shattered glass. Just then, the screen bursts
to life.
A notification comes through.
It’s a picture.
A shot of a naked woman.
A blonde.
I yelp in disgust and toss the phone.
It clatters on the bed.
My shock wears off quickly, replaced with unease.
Suspicion.
My body trembles. Like someone who can’t turn their eyes away from a traffic accident and so causes another one, I reach for the phone again.
It’s password protected.
Of course.
But I can tap the notifications for a brief overview.
So I do.
I hold the tiny messages.
Scroll down.
Switzerland Hot Tub Girl: Meet at the usual?
My eyes bug.
The usual?
Where the hell is that?
How often does he meet this girl? Recently?
Brett’s voice echoes in my head. “I want you. Only you.”
I lift the cell phone and read the Hot Tub Girl’s message again.
Meet at the usual?
Did Brett set up a date with another girl while he was with me?
Ice floods my veins. I can give him the benefit of the doubt there, but why would she offer to ‘meet at the usual’ if he hadn’t suggested it first?
My mind whirs.
So many thoughts blow through my head.
I try to suck in a deep breath.
Try to stay calm.
All I can see is that naked image of that girl.
The one with the big tits.
Bigger than mine.
The one with the curvy body. A perfect ratio of tiny waist, big hips and a huge behind.
A white girl with a black woman’s body.
Nothing like my scrawny self.
And a blonde.
Did he sleep with me, leave unsatisfied and immediately call someone else?
Tears burst to my eyes.
I gave all of myself to him, but it wasn’t enough.
I’m not enough.
Why would a guy like him ever get with a girl like you?
My hands shake as I reach for my panties.
Dressing quickly in the sunlight, I head downstairs.
I need to get out of here.
Salvage my pride.
Lick my wounds in the comfort of my own home.
Maybe Brett has a good explanation for why a woman is sending him naked pictures and offering to meet ‘at the usual’. Maybe he doesn’t. But I don’t need to stick around and be embarrassed twice.
I don’t need any more clues to the truth. It’s clear that I’m just one in a long line of women willing to open their legs for him.
The only difference is, I’m black.
And an idiot.
Fury whips around my chest, mixing with the sorrow that’s lashing at my heart like a hurricane.
I tiptoe down the stairs.
No Brett.
My eyes lock on the front door.
If I can just get there… I’ll be fine.
I need distance.
Space to clear my head.
I’m halfway to the door when a deep voice rumbles, “Going somewhere?”
I skid to a stop.
Turn.
Face Brett.
My eyes dart to his chest.
Rows of abs.
Solid muscle.
Massive shoulders.
He stands like a warrior in the doorway, staring me down. Despite the fact the he’s barefoot and in nothing but his boxers, he’s still as intimidating as if he wore a suit.
His brown hair lies in messy waves over his forehead.
A product of my fingers.
He stares me down, hard.
Tension splits the air.
Snaps through the room.
I lift my chin. Why the hell is he glaring at me when he’s the one who has women sending him nudes? A ton of them by the look of those other notifications.
Suddenly, I hate myself for trying to run away in the first place.
I am not the one at fault here.
I am not the one who should be running with his tail between his legs.
Years ago, I let my sister and Anthony play me for a fool.
I swallowed my pride.
Took the flogging.
Because she was family.
Because I love her.
But Brett?
He used me.
He played me.
What we had wasn’t love.
It was just physical.
I was the only one who forgot that.
And I’m not slinking out as if I’m the victim this time.
I’m letting my anger show.
To hell with the walk of shame.
“What do you want?” I snap.
His eyes widen. Thick lashes bat up and down.
He didn’t expect me to be strong.
Of course not.
He probably thought I’d be the simpering, clingy type.
Oh Brett, I’ll gladly be your one a.m. call. Oh, you have another set of thighs to part in an hour? No problem. I can make this quick.
I scoff bitterly.
When he heard about Anthony, he probably thought he could play the same game with me. Treat me like his own personal ego-scratcher and then sleep around with whoever he wanted to.
“The hell is your problem?”
“I have crap to do today, Brett. So just tell me what you want.”
He charges over to me. A storm roars in his eyes. In the tightness of his lips. In the heat blazing from his fierce expression. “Why didn’t you tell your boss that I was out of the program.”
I laugh.
He stares at me like I’m crazy.
I run a hand down my face. “That was your game plan all along, wasn’t it?”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
I don’t dignify his words with a response, but the pieces all click into place in my head. Brett always wanted to wiggle out of his sister’s last will and testament. He never wanted to be matched with a wife. Never wanted the commitment.
All along, he was just looking for a way out.
And I almost gave him exactly what he wanted.
Along with a couple extras.
Like a fool.
Kenny was right.
But Brett doesn’t need to know that. I can still salvage my pride even if I can’t save my heart.
I lift my chin. “You’re right. I lied to you.”
“Don’t.” He snarls. “Don’t you dare say it.”
“Come on, Brett. Did you really think any of it mattered?”
His nostrils flare. “Stop.”
“You were a client to me. You were always a client to me.” The words are bitter on my tongue. They burn like hell.
What are you doing, Tierra?
But I can’t stop.
All I can see is that naked picture.
All I can imagine is Brett heading out to some hotel room.
Touching that girl the way he touched me.
Kissing her the way he kissed me.
Stroking her so tenderly.
Whispering in her ear.
It’s all just a routine.
A game.
But I’m done being played.
His voice whips through me like a chain. “Are you saying that none of this was real?”
My heart jumps to my throat.
I can see a vein popping out on his forehead.
The tightening of his fist.
The clenching in his strong jaw.
I’m tearing us apart.
What little of ‘us’ that existed.
It’s going down in flames.
I pour gasoline all over the inferno. “Matching you would get me what I wanted. A promotion. The status of Cupid. I needed the attention your name could bring.”
Stop lying. You know that’s not true.
Brett shakes his head. Chuckles darkly.
I fo
rce a grin. “Don’t worry. Since our relationship got… complicated, I’ll make sure to transfer you to another matchmaker. Since I did all the work anyway, I’ll still get part of the credit.”
Our stare holds.
Lingers.
Brett’s chest is heaving.
His eyes snap with electricity.
So much anger.
So much heightened emotions.
There’s genuine hurt in his expression.
Genuine shock.
A guy like him will never get with a girl like you.
So why is he looking at me like I just pulled the rug out from under him?
I chew on my bottom lip. Open my mouth to take it back. To admit the truth.
My eyes fall on something lacy in the arm of the chair.
Darkness crowds over my shoulder.
My heart drops to my toes.
I walk forward. Grab the thong. Hike it in the air. “You never have girls at the house, huh?”
“I guess we both lied,” he snaps.
My fury unleashing, I grab the thong and toss it at him. “Bastard.”
He glares at me.
So cold.
So furious.
I stalk away from Brett and run into the street.
Twenty-Eight
Brett
I slam my fist against the punching bag.
It goes flying forward before sweeping violently back in my direction.
I slap both hands against the bag to steady it.
Wield my arm.
Unleash another punch.
The bag goes flying.
I step back and let it swing like a pendulum.
My chest heaves.
Sweat dampens my cheeks.
Soaks my hair.
My shirt.
I suck in a deep breath. Try to make sense of the chaos taking place in my heart.
And there, in the silence, is a vision of Tierra.
It’s playing like a movie reel in my head.
Over and over.
Her hair pulled back into a tight bun.
A vein pinching in her right temple.
Sharp brown eyes narrowed. Furious.
She’s a slender woman, but I honestly thought she’d try to take a swing at me.
Still, more than her expression haunts me tonight.
Did you really think any of it mattered?
Wham! I slam the punching bag again.
It shudders.
Again.
Again.
You’re just a client to me.
Hell.
I steady the bag and rest my forehead against it.
My mind scrapes through all the data.
Goes back to those moments I spent with Tierra that felt so warm and right.
