I Love My Secret (Nicole's Erotic Romance) Read online

  “You came to see Nic’s work?” I stare at him, because he sounds like he doesn’t believe it.

  “Yes,” Danny answers, frowning.

  Michael smiles one of his rare mesmerizing smiles, and crosses to me. He takes my chin in hand and plants a sensual kiss on my lips, one I can’t help but return. As his lips leave mine, I look at Danny, unsure of what to do. Danny has clearly registered that Michael just marked his territory.

  I shoot a look to Michael and step away toward my guest. “Um… Are you ready to go, then?”

  Danny’s jaw tightens, the smile gone from it. He nods and starts for the stairs. My stomach twists and I shoot another look to Michael over my shoulder, but his face remains firm and unapologetic. He says nothing as we leave down the stairs. Grabbing our coats, and locking the door behind me, I wait until we’re on the street to look Danny in the eye and apologize for my studio-mate’s unprofessionalism. I’m hoping against hope that this doesn’t sour him to buying one of my paintings.

  He speaks first. “I’m sorry. I thought when I asked Grant how things were going – and he said they aren’t – well, I thought you were single. Stupid assumption, considering how drop-dead beautiful you are.” He shakes his head and I can see him mentally kicking himself, his expression that of a high-school boy who realizes he can’t get the prom queen to go out with him.

  My head spins. This is new information. I thought he wanted to see me because he was interested in my work. I’m stunned, waiting for him to go on and add that he loves my work and meant every word. He says instead, “Yeah, so, dumb me, I guess.”

  I blink. He’s waiting for me to say something but all I want to say is, what you said up there about my paintings being incredible, was bullshit. You were trying to get in my pants. You didn’t mean a damn word of it. I feel the softness I’d begun to feel for him, turn hard and break apart until only ashes float away. My eyes turn cold as ice and only two words come out: “Goodnight Danny.”

  “Right. Goodnight, Nicole.” He frowns, shoves both hands in his trench-coat pockets and walks away. I watch him, silently urging him to turn around. Say you meant what you said about my work! But he doesn’t turn. He never turns.

  When he’s gone, I look up at the tops of the buildings around me, my Grandma’s warning sounding in my ears: “Nicole, women like you and me. We gotta be careful.”

  “Why Mema?”

  “Because we too pretty and too black for people to treat us with any kind of respect unless we make them respect us. No one’s gonna love you for you unless you show them you stronger. And believe me. You are stronger than all of them. You got that?”

  My mother had laughed and said, “She said that same thing to me when I was your age. Momma, you’re too funny. The girl’s only ten years old.”

  “Is it true Momma?” I’d asked, wide-eyed.

  Her eyes had steeled then and she shared a long glance with Mema before she looked at me and said, “It sure is, baby. It sure is.”

  I open the door and, walking back up the stairs, I drop my jacket on them.

  “Glad you’re back.” Michael says from above. When I get to the top, he turns and sizes me up. “He’s not man enough for you, Nic.”

  I walk to the cigarettes and light one as I shoot back, tired, “Not like you, you mean.”

  He says nothing. I sit on the couch and watch him work. Michael may be waiting to make love to me, but at least he doesn’t lie to me. I believe he has a reason for making me wait, and that the reason is for my own good. How many men can I say that of? None. Most would fuck me and then try to hold me as a possession. I am no man’s trophy. I’m a whole person with a heart that can be hurt.

  I spend hours watching Michael paint, losing myself in learning from him one minute, day dreaming the next. When it gets to be around 1:00 a.m. after we’ve devoured Chinese take-out and talked for hours about nothing in particular, I call it a night and take a cab home. I don’t even mind that he didn’t kiss me tonight. The one kiss was all I needed to show me he truly cares about me. I know now that he did that to protect me from Danny, not to show his status. He saw motives my blinded ego couldn’t see, and he didn’t mark his territory so much as say, you will not harm this one.

  When I get home, opening the door to my apartment, a small New York style one-bedroom with exposed brick and white walls, I think, I don’t have it half bad. Who says making love to someone is the way to show you love them? There are other ways, too.

  The smell of Eucalyptus from my bath earlier meets me, infused with the air I breathe. Its soothing aroma whisks me away to dreamland as soon as my head lands on the pillow, my clothes still on, even my jacket. A voice from my past whispers for me to wash my face, brush my teeth, take off my socks – feet need to breathe when you’re sleeping, child – but I pretend like I don’t hear. I just don’t have the energy, Momma. Sorry…

  The Night Amber Meets Josh

  “I can’t believe how busy this place is…” I say, looking around The Crosby Bar in Soho. You can barely see the stripes of the long booth for all the asses that fill it. Every chair opposite is filled and I can see through the window next to the bar, that the patio is packed, too. And not only at the tables, it’s standing-room-only out there with people milling about, enjoying drinks and conversation.

  “Nico. You’re dodging the question,” Amber says, unconsciously flicking her hair over her shoulder, smiling. “Don’t think you can pull a ‘Jess.’”

  Jessica looks offended. “Hey! Why do you call it a ‘Jess’?”

  Amber tells her, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world, “Because you love to tease.”

  I jump in, too. “Oh please, Jessica. You love and I mean looooooove to lay out bait for us to eat, without giving us the promised meal. It’s part of who you are.”

  “She speaks the truth.” Amber shoots her a look that says that arguing would be a stupid move.

  Jess looks from Amber to me and says, “Meh. You guys have me all wrong.”

  I roll my eyes. “You keep telling yourself that.”

  Amber waves a hand of impatience. “Back to you Nico. News at ten; are you sleeping with your loft-mate?”

  Jess may be good at teasing, but I’m better at evading. “Why do you ask?”

  Amber opens her mouth. “Because…” is the only world she gets out. Something over my shoulder takes her breath away. I heard it – a little gasp escaping from her lips. Jess, because she’s standing next to Amber, follows her gaze with raised eyebrows, but I have to turn to look. When I do, I see a handsome guy with dark brown hair that falls over his forehead, and green eyes intently locked on my girl Amber. All three of us stare at him as he stops and asks only her, “Who are you?” …as if Jess and I do not exist.

  “I’m Amber,” she says, breathlessly. The way these two are looking at each other, sparks flying, chemistry palpable, I feel like I’m intruding… but I can’t help but watch whatever the hell this is.

  He says, “No, you’re the color of the ocean. Blue and gold and breathtaking.” I shoot a look to Jessica but her eyes have gone misty. The dude holds his hand out, introduces himself to Amber as Josh and asks if he can talk to her a second.

  “Umm… sure,” she answers, shoots us both a look that says, remember when I said my guy would say that??!! Jess smacks me, and I realize now that my mouth has fallen open. I shut it fast. The Josh guy nods to us, then leads her away to a corner of the room as we watch, shocked as hell.

  I grab onto Jess’s arm. “What just happened?” Jess asks.

  “I think Amber just met her soul mate,” I answer.

  “Shut the front door. Did that really just happen?” Jessica asks, turning to look at me. I’ve still got her arm like we’re about to do a square dance or something.

  I suck on my teeth for a thoughtful moment. “I think so, honey. You know me… I have a sixth sense about these things.”

  “You do… that’s true.” Jess says, looking off in the direction they w
ent.

  “Plus he said that thing.”

  “He did! I want that.”

  I turn to the bar and say, “I’m empty. You want another?”

  Jessica looks to her Chopin vodka, rocks, and lime – still half full – and raises it to her lips to finish it off. She makes an ahh noise, and raises her eyebrows. “Yeah.”

  I laugh and motion to the male bartender – mid-thirties, hip tattoos, no smile, his black sleeves rolled up for work – and he throws me a busy nod.

  “David’s not it then, huh?”

  Jess frowns and focuses on an invisible something on the tile floor. “Maybe? I don’t know. We’re really happy. I’m just not sure. I think I’ll know when I know, right?”

  “That’s what they say. I wouldn’t know.” I adjust my weight to accommodate the ache these heels are giving me. I shouldn’t have worn new shoes tonight. But I needed a pick-me-up, and they went the best with the 70’s style black jumpsuit I’m working. Lot of good they did me, these heels. Now I just feel tired and overdressed. Which is crazy, because overdressed in Manhattan? Please. But tired, I understand. It’s the way I feel most days, lately. What’s wrong with me?

  “Well, if they’re right, then I don’t know.”

  “I don’t know Jess, I think when you meet him, it’s pretty clear. Maybe not at first, but after awhile, it should be.”

  “Yeah,” she says, thinking about something. The bartender gives me our drinks. As I hand her hers, she gets really serious. Uh oh. “Nicole?”

  I brace myself. “Yeah?”

  She pauses, reticent, then looks me directly in the eyes to where I cannot escape. “Do you think Michael is the one? Is that why you never talk about him… why we haven’t met him?”

  I laugh and frown at her, like she just said the craziest thing in the world. “What? No! Now why would I hide a guy from you? I told you guys already. He’s just a guy I share a loft with. He’s giving me a rate I can’t refuse and I’m never there when he is.” Even I can hear how fast I said all that. I never talk fast.

  Jess notices, but doesn’t pry. If she were Amber, she’d ask more questions, but Jess looks at me like she knows more than I’m telling and she’ll let me tell it when I’m ready. We break eye contact and look around the place, not sure where to take the conversation. Ah hell, I have to talk to someone about it. Why haven’t I confided in my girlfriends, yet? I should talk to her about him, tell her he makes my soul hot – that there’s something about us that feels like I’ve known him in a past life or something and we’re working out problems for that one, too, and not just this one. That it’s bigger than I can handle.

  I touch her arm and she looks at me. But then I see Josh and Amber returning and my chance is gone. I motion for Jessica to turn around and look.

  Josh does some really cute stuff that lets us know that while he is absconding with our girl, she’s in safe hands. He wins both Jess and I over instantly, and when they leave together, we stare after them. Jess catches my face.

  “You okay?” her eyes search mine, worried. I must be wearing my feelings on my sleeve. That’s not like me at all. Is it?

  “Yeah. Totally. I’m just really happy for her.”

  “Hey. Look at me,” Jess says, and I can see she didn’t buy my casual brushoff for an instant. “You’re going to find him, Nicole. You will. You’re too amazing a girl not to be snatched up.”

  The second I hear her say that, a thought slithers from the recesses of my mind… she doesn’t know you’re broken. I order it to shut the fuck up. But it’s too late. You can’t un-hear what you hear.

  I reach out and squeeze her hand. “Thank you. You, too. David or no David. Your man is coming.”

  “Now, let’s get wasted. What do you say?”

  I whoop, “I’m all aboard that boat!” We clink glasses and I take a sip to wash away whatever it is I’m freaked out about, and happy for the distraction. How she can turn sadness into laughter is beyond me. I love her for it. It’s a gift. Maybe she’s right. I’ll find him. Maybe I already have.

  And if I haven’t…what’s the rush? I’m young… ish.

  3:33 A.M.

  After we ate and had more drinks, talking about everything but love – to save our sanity – I said goodbye to Jess. Now I’m on the wrong train to my house. Not because I’m a little inebriated, which I am. I took the wrong train, because I’m not going to my house. When I walk off it, and turn the familiar right onto Little West 12th I tell myself I’m just taking a walk. I might stop in. I mean, I forgot my scarf there the other day, didn’t I? Yes. It is cold out, yes? Yes.

  Few people are on the street, and they travel in packs, intoxicated more often than not, at this hour. I’m keeping my eyes focused ahead, but I see I’ve got unwanted company coming. Walking toward me are three guys in their early twenties; Italian, stocky… trouble.

  The shortest one with the most muscles and the most to prove, locks his eyes on me and calls out from twenty steps up, “Where you going, long legs? Can we come?”

  I don’t answer.

  “Hey, I asked you a question. Cat got your tongue?” he snickers, more loudly, closer now. The other two stare, slowing their pace.

  I keep my eyes forward, never meeting theirs, my pace steady and deliberate. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.

  They stop.

  The leader watches me walk by and says, “Why don’t you come party with us?” He reaches for my arm. His fingers begin to wrap around my skin. I snatch my arm away, throwing him off balance, and flip around to face them all.

  “HEY! Don’t fucking touch me!”

  The rage I feel for all the women before me who’ve been bullied by men over the centuries, flares up and boils. My harassers back a step away, surprised at the look on my face. Pure unadulterated rage.

  I stare down the little one, the leader. “What the fuck is wrong with you that you would touch a woman who’s walking by herself alone at night? Do you not know what we women have to go through? How when we walk down a street, we’re aware how we might be in danger just by being there? That when we go into a parking lot, we practically run to our cars in case someone is there to attack us. And here I am, walking home and you think you’re being funny ganging up on me, because there’s three of you? Hear me good and hear me now, don’t you ever treat a woman the way you just treated me, again. I guarantee that if you were just you,” I point to the instigator, the three of them silent. “There is no way – NO WAY – you would have pulled that shit you just pulled with me. So, why don’t you try a new way of impressing your friends by being a gentleman, respecting what we women have gone through, what your mother has given you, and next time, do what you can to protect us, for God’s sake.”

  “Shit. I was just asking you to…” he says nervously, chuckling and looking at his buddies in a way that’s supposed to make me feel like I’m crazy. But it isn’t working.

  “Hush. I know what you were doing. Now leave me alone and keep walking. Hear?”

  “Yeah,” the little one says, and walks off first, in a huff of macho bravado. It seems he’s the only one with a voice. But the taller one, still a bit shorter than me in heels, looks at me like he’s sorry. The third is the shyest, and he just looks mortified by the whole thing. At least they heard me. Maybe they’ll handle things differently next time.

  I wait until they’re on their way, to start walking. A girl across the street stopped to watch. She meets my eyes as I turn. She nods at me; a nod of understanding and sisterhood. We don’t smile. This is no smiling matter. My heart rate is pounding and my adrenaline is still engaged. She and I walk our separate ways, but we just bonded in the way that all women are bonded… it’s just something we often forget. I look forward to a time when we lift each other up more than we bring each other down.

  As I make my way up the pavement another block and a half, I hold my arms around myself. Looking up, flickering candlelight lets me know he’s in there, painting. I pull out my keys a
nd bring them to the lock, but I hesitate. My hand is shaking a little from the run-in. I think it’s from the run-in. I look up again, see the glow drifting out above me from the paned glass. Dropping my hand, I step away from the door, walk to the other side of the street; see if I can see him from there. For awhile, I see only the ceiling, the walls, nothing more. I lean against a lamppost and relax. Michael, why do you have this pull on me? I’ve never met another man who makes me feel as alive as you do.

  I see him come into view now. Walk closer to the window. Like he hears me, he walks to it, a coffee mug in his hand, his loosely hung t-shirt resting on his broad shoulders, a long smear of paint on it from where he wiped his hand. He looks out the window at his eye level, at nothing in particular, thinking about something. I should get out of the street, move out of view, but I can’t tear myself away. What are you thinking about, Michael, as you take that slow sip of coffee and frown like the world’s problems are only yours to solve? He runs one hand through his hair and shakes it out, then walks away from the window and out of my sight.

  I let out a breath and realize... I was holding it.

  “He’s very handsome,” a voice says, next to me, her sound aged and thick with a Romanian accent.

  I shoot the old gypsy woman a look and focus back on the window.

  “Have a dollar?” she rasps.

  I sigh. “Sure. Yeah.” I have a few for her. That’s what my mother would do, and it is her money after all.

  She takes them with glee and asks, “You want I read your fortune?” Then she smiles, surprisingly still in possession of all of her yellowed teeth.

  I smile back and push myself off the light pole. “No, thank you.”

  She smiles wider, her eyebrows high enough to look silly. “I can tell you what will happen between you and the man?”

  I freeze. Oooo those gypsies are good. I look back at her and consider it but. But I know in my heart that she can’t help me. “Thanks, but I think I already know. You have a good night.” I walk back to the subway, casting one furtive glance up to the window before I leave.