Love Notes (Equilibrium Book 1)

by Christina C Jones

  “Well Juliet, when he looks like that, I mean…”

  “Nooo,” I half whined, half laughed. “I don’t want you to encourage me, I want you to tell me to pump my brakes, and slow down, all men are dogs, just buy a dildo and call it a day.”

  “A dildo can’t compete with a warm dick and a strong back, first of all,” Darcy scolded. “As long as the man attached to it is worth a damn, that is. And this one seems to be. If he’s not setting off any of the red flags I taught you and Anika, and being with him is what you want to do, I don’t see not one reason not to, so I’m not going to encourage otherwise. If he makes you happy, honey you ride that wave off into the sunset until he doesn’t. And then your Uncle Will will take care of him for hurting our baby.”

  I took a deep breath, and sat back. “Okay. You’ve given me something to think about.”

  “Then mission accomplished,” she said as she stood. “And I can go ahead about my business.”

  “Yeah – what are you doing in the city anyway?”

  “I was talking to Simone about my landscaping idea, remember? Anika set up the meeting for me.”

  “Oh I didn’t realize it was this week, yay!” I said, pulling her into a hug.

  “Thank you baby. My next stop is the web designer you told me about, for a quote. I don’t want to keep her waiting.”

  “Of course.” I submitted to being kissed on the cheeks like a baby, then waved my aunt out of the door. While I was standing there, my gaze was drawn across the street, wondering what Troy was doing now. But I quickly dismissed it.

  After spending however long talking to my aunt about Troy, I felt like I was being Troy-crazy.

  I needed a break.

  But I wasn’t destined to get it, not knowing that Troy was right there across the street. I had work to do on my laptop anyway, so instead of hanging around my studio, I decided to just head home.

  I was stepping through the door of the bike shop when something different caught my eye. Instead of continuing on to the stairs, I went ahead into the shop, stopping to admire the gorgeous yellow cruiser-style bike that now took up the main display space in the shop window.

  “Beautiful, isn’t it?”

  I looked up to see Brittany, the owner, headed my way with a huge smile on her face.

  “If I thought I still remembered how to ride a bike, I might have to take this off your hands,” I told her, but she shook her head.

  “Not this one, neighbor,” her hands – a mosaic of rich, dark skin contrasted by lines and patches with no pigment – went to the smooth, lacquered finish. “It was a gift.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Why do I get the impression this gift was from a good-looking man?”

  Brittany laughed. “Well, it was, just probably not in the way you think. My friend Raf sent it to me, from Italy,” she explained, leading me over to a wall of pictures. She pointed at one near the center that made my eyes go wide.

  “Uh, you’re friends with fine ass Rafael De Luca, the professional cyclist?” I asked, even though I was very clearly looking at a picture of him with his arm wrapped around Brittany’s neck, pulling her into him to kiss her forehead as he held up one of the crazy amounts of trophies and medals he’d won.

  I wasn’t really into professional cycling, but Black America knew who Rafael was. He was ours – his mother had been a professional cyclist as well, one of very few Black American women in the sport in her time, and his father was an Italian cyclist with notoriety of his own, before they joined the military. Raf was tall and fine, and looked good in those bike shorts.

  “We kinda grew up together on the Air Force base in Italy. Same school, neighbors, all that. That’s my boo. Platonically, of course.”

  I sucked my teeth. “Girl that man is… a national treasure,” I laughed. “With friends that look like that…”

  “He aiight,” Brittany admitted, but with her nose wrinkled like it was gross to think about. “Last time I saw him in person – the day of this picture actually – was about five years ago. He licked his finger and put it in my ear.”

  I cringed. “Oh so he’s on that annoying brother shit.”

  “Exactly,” she laughed. “I need to go check on this customer though, you good?”

  “Yeah, I’m heading up to get some work done. I just stopped in because the bike caught my eye. Yellow is my favorite color.”

  Brittany smiled. “Well, drop by to admire it anytime. And maybe we can get you on some wheels so you can remember how to ride,” she laughed.

  “Girl, I’ll need every piece of padding you’ve got,” I giggled as I headed out of the shop, and up to my apartment.

  Once there, I grabbed a yogurt from the fridge and took it with me to my desk. I finalized the order for the extra prints I wanted to display at the launch party, and then moved on to the rest of my to-do list.

  My website was scheduled to go live the same day as the party, and it would happen automatically, so there was nothing left for me to do there. I continued down my list to checking my email, most of which were inquiries submitted through the website. I took my time going through and responding, until I landed on one that stopped me cold.

  Hello, my name is Marshall Holmes, and I’m reaching out as kind of a long shot. You recently posted pictures from a photoshoot you did at a barbershop that was local to you. Those pictures went viral, and I had a lot of people reaching out to me saying “hey man, this guy in this picture looks just like you, could be your twin. I didn’t think too much of it, because everybody swears you look just like someone on the internet, but in light of a recent discovery about my family… well, frankly, I’m wondering if this man is my twin. I don’t want to put you in the uncomfortable position of asking for this man’s name or contact information, which you may not even have. But I’d be grateful if you could tell me the name of the shop, or what city it’s in. Please, let me know. I’m going to include my social media information at the bottom of this message, in case maybe seeing that I’m a real person (and that I really do look just like the man in your pictures) would help put you at ease enough to share what information you may have.

  Thank you in advance.

  “Holy shit,” I said out loud, as my eyes skimmed over the email again. My hands were shaking a bit as I clicked on the link to go to his Instagram page, looking for pictures. And sure enough… that was Troy’s face.

  No doubt.

  Troy wasn’t the “ugly” twin, like I’d teased him about. They were equally beautiful, with a subtle difference in style, judging just from the pictures I saw. More than once, I ran across something here or there that made my heart race, and built my excitement for the time when Troy finally decided to reach out.

  Obviously, Marshall was looking for him.

  That was still heavy on my mind when my phone chimed, and I picked it up to see that I’d gotten a text from Troy, asking me if I wanted to have dinner with him. Not just grabbing something, but like… a real dinner.

  A date.

  Of course I wanted to go on a date.

  Any plans I had to do actual work were immediately canceled, in favor of getting ready. I showered and shaved and moisturized with my good stuff, and then took down the post-wash French braid I’d wrestled my hair into two days ago, coating my hands in coconut oil to fluff it all out. I took a little more care than usual with my makeup, then dressed in the short-sleeved, abstract print wrap dress I’d been dying for a reason to wear since I bought it two years ago. The short length showed off plenty of thigh, and the dip in the front wasn’t exactly modest, but the way the fabric floated away from my body, instead of clinging, kept it firmly in the camp of sexy, without being overt.

  I put on heels for a change of pace, and with a final glance in the mirror decided I looked damn good. Anika must have agreed, because she did a double-take as she walked past the open door of my room and then stepped in, offering a playful wolf-whistle.

  “When you said you were going on a daaaate with Troy, I didn
’t realize you were gonna do the man like this,” she teased. “He might not let your ass outta here.”

  My head tipped to the side as I raised an eyebrow, considering it. “Hmm… I’m actually not sure I’d mind that.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t – oh shit though, I’m home. Can’t do it. Wouldn’t want to be forced to ask a bunch of questions, remember?” she asked dryly, a not-so-subtle reminder that last week’s “sneak Troy out so Anika doesn’t know he was here” thing hadn’t exactly put me on her good side.

  Especially since I’d only told her so I’d have somebody to fuss to about him coming at me sideways over that friggin’ pill.

  “Nik you know that wasn’t personal,” I assured her. “It’s not that I didn’t want to answer to you – I didn’t want to answer to anybody, self included, because I didn’t have any answers.”

  “And now you have some?”

  I shrugged. “Not really. Now I just… have no interest in fighting whatever this is. I’m in uncharted territory, no idea what the hell I’m doing. But… I have a good feeling about Troy’s navigation skills.”

  “And if either of you crashes this thing on the rocks,” Anika said, arms out as she closed the little distance between us to pull me into a hug. “Your life jacket is right here.”

  “That is so goddamn corny, and I love it,” I laughed, hugging her back. We were stepping apart when a knock sounded at the door, putting instant butterflies in my stomach, as if I hadn’t already shared a meal with Troy today.

  Anika walked out with me, pretending she had a reason to be in the kitchen, but I knew she just wanted to see Troy’s reaction to me.

  What I should have been prepared for, was reacting to him.

  Troy just looked good, period, but Troy in slacks instead of jeans, and a lightweight oxford that he filled out with perfection, looking all extra-moisturized was a sight to behold. Hell, I was getting a little extra-moisturized myself just looking at him, and he hadn’t even said anything yet, because he was too busy drinking me in. And when he did say something, it was one word – “Damn!” – before his hands were at my waist, and he was backing me into the apartment with a clear agenda in mind.

  “Ahem,” Anika interrupted, clearing her throat all extra-loud.

  “You and your mama just love interrupting my flow, huh?” I asked, turning to look at her as Troy planted a kiss on my neck that sent a shiver down my spine.

  She laughed. “Just reminding you that I was here. This is mean by the way, y’all being all lovey dovey and shit while I’m working on three months without being touched by man. So inconsiderate. Hi Troy.”

  “Hi Anika,” he chuckled. “And, my bad. I’d ask if you wanted me to introduce you to somebody, but all my friends are trash.”

  “Oh we know,” Anika and I said, nearly in unison.

  Anika shook her head as she put the finishing touches on the crackers and cheese she’d fixed for herself, then picked up her plate. “I’m not looking for anyone anyway, but thanks. Y’all are cute or whatever though. I approve.”

  “We appreciate that cousin, we were just burning for your approval,” I teased, and she wrinkled her nose at me.

  “Lock the door behind you, and have fun,” she called over her shoulder as she headed to her room, leaving Troy and me alone in the entryway.

  Once she was gone, he tightened his grasp on my waist, getting that lusty look in his eyes again. “You’re looking good enough to eat in this dress… you know that, right?”

  “I wouldn’t have a single issue with it if you wanted to eat me in this dress, you know that, right?”

  Troy groaned a little, moving his hands down to my ass to grip and squeeze. “Consider it a done deal… after dinner, since I got us Honeybee reservations.”

  “Sounds like a plan then. Let’s go,” I told him, moving in front of him to open the door. He let out a low whistle in appreciation of the view from the back, then followed me out, waiting for me to lock the door.

  Downstairs, I was surprised to find a car waiting for us, and eagerly climbed in with Troy beside me. As the car pulled away from the curb, merging into traffic, Troy reached over, dropping a possessive hand on my knee. I looked over to meet his gaze, only to find him already staring at me like I was lost treasure. Blushing, I glanced away, but covered his hand with mine, and squeezed.

  This was already a really good night.

  It had been a really long time since someone took me on a date like this. In fact, I couldn’t even remember the last time. Usually, if I had the misfortune of making enough of an impression on someone that they wanted to take me out, I considered it a sign that things were getting too deep, and I killed those dreams with a metaphorical sawed-off shotgun. I didn’t want a quiet, romantic dinner with anybody I wasn’t feeling quiet and romantic about.

  I never felt that way about anybody.

  Until Troy.

  “You know what I have been meaning to ask you for like two weeks or something, and then I always forget,” I spoke, pulling his attention from the Cajun-seasoned chicken on his plate. His eyes came up to me as he chewed, fully alert and interested in what I had to say. “When you cut my hair that day, you rubbed that shaved area down with some kinda butter that smelled really good. But the smell isn’t the thing – I didn’t have to touch that area with another product for like two days, and even then, it was just because it was time to wash it. What brand was that?”

  For some reason, that question brought the cockiest, most downright smug grin to his face as he put his fork down and sat back in his chair. “You liked that, huh?”

  “Yes, that’s… what I’m saying,” I told him, confused. I picked up my wine glass for a sip as he nodded.

  “Good, good. That’s good to hear.”

  I frowned. “Okay… so, are you gonna tell me the brand or not?”

  “Or not,” he answered, looking super pleased with himself. “Because it’s not… a brand. Not yet. It’s a little custom blend I made, just for my own shit at first. Now, it’s at every station in the shop.”

  My eyes bugged out. “Are you… you’re serious? You made that? How? What’s in it?”

  “Nobody gets my secret formula mama, not even your pretty ass,” he chuckled. “I can pass you a couple of jars though. There’s a cleanser, conditioner, and liquid moisturizer too.”

  “No wonder you’re always looking so… lush,” I said, making him grin harder. “So you like, have formulations for everything? Mix it up in your kitchen, put a label on it? What’s your brand name?”

  He held up his hands. “Whoa, pump your brakes. I haven’t made it there yet. I had to do ingredient labels, since we use it in the shop, for allergy reasons. I don’t have a name yet though. But I’m thinking about it.”

  “Good, because I think it is incredibly cool. I never would’ve even imagined that. How did I not already know that?”

  Troy’s eyebrows went up. “I’m sure there’s plenty I don’t know about you, just like there’s plenty you don’t know about me. Not like we’ve known each other for years.”

  “Well sure, but I could’ve been testing products for you or something.”

  He scoffed, letting the sound build into a laugh. “Ask a black woman to try some experimental shit on her hair? You must think I’m crazy!”

  “No,” I giggled. “I try new products on my hair all the time, especially when I’m trying to find something that consistently just works. If you’re using it in the shop, that means most of your current base is men, which is fine, but I’m telling you – we will spend money when it comes to our hair, if a product is good. And that butter is good.”

  “I appreciate that feedback, a lot. You volunteering to try some stuff out though?”

  I shrugged. “Why not? I’m excited about the prospect, actually. You get yourself a name and a logo together and I can shoot some product shots for you, you can get Astrid to build out your website and sell online. You can probably get Bundles&Coils to carry your product
s in their natural section, and – wait, am I doing too much right now?” I asked, noticing that his jaw had dropped a little, and he was staring at me with this expression I couldn’t read.

  “No,” he shook his head, as his lips curved into a smile. “Not at all.”

  I cringed. “You sure? Cause you’re looking at me like you’re…”

  “Pleasantly surprised that you’re this interested in something I’ve been dragging my feet about? Like your excitement makes me want to get my shit together? Like my mind is blown over how you, in two minutes, thought about this more broadly than I ever had? Like I’m feeling pretty damn inspired right now?”

  “Oh,” I said, taking a hearty sip of my wine. “I was gonna say “like I’m overstepping and acting like a crazy person”, but your stuff works too. Let's go with yours.”

  He laughed. “Seriously though, your interest means a lot. Usually when I talk about this with people, you can kinda see their eyes glaze over cause they’re not really trying to hear it.”

  “People get like that with me and my photography too. You have no idea how happy it makes me when you indulge my rants about composition and field of view. And you at least pretend to pay attention during our little “lessons”.”

  “It’s not a front though,” he shook his head. “I think you’re dope at what you do, and I want to learn more. I want to be able to take my own product shots, shit like that, you know?”

  I nodded. “I do, and that is definitely something we can do. Something I’d love to do with you. You have a vision in mind?”

  “Yes and no. I really like the vibe of the shots from the barbershop.”

  Ah!

  That reminded me…

  “Speaking of the shots from the barbershop,” I started, feeling nervous as hell even though I was consciously changing the subject. I could have easily just not said anything about the email from his brother – maybe shouldn’t be saying anything at all, knowing just how personal that particular subject was.