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

  At Marlena’s Party

  “I haven’t seen you at Marlena’s parties. Are you a new friend of hers?” I’ve never met the guy before, the one who’s made his way out to the balcony to join me for a cigarette…and from the looks of how he’s holding that stick, he’s never smoked before, either. I have to admit his feigning being a smoker to talk to me, is appreciated. I’m a fifth wheel tonight, as is so often the case lately. David and Jess and Amber and Josh. And me. Outskirts Number Five. The single girl. I don’t even mind being single, but it’s hard to stick to that belief when your best girlfriends are getting loved on by two men who’ve claimed them, right in front of you and the whole damn world. I had to come out here… to escape.

  I watch, slightly amused but for the wrong reasons, as he takes another drag. He looks like a teenager who’s trying to act cool. He’s average looking, and I’m trying to be happy he’s here…but really? There’s something needy about him that is already rubbing me the wrong way, two seconds in. Michael has held the bar very high and I’m finding few men who can jump it. Actually, I haven’t found one.

  But he’s here and I’m bored so I answer. “I’ve known Marlena about six months now. Couldn’t make it to the last one.” I bite the corner of my mouth, wondering if I have the interest to say more. Where’s my wine? Oh. In my hand. (Sip)

  He grins. “Six months, huh? That’s not long. I’ve known her for years.” He takes another painful puff, flicking it before it’s ready.

  “Give me time. I’m sure I’ll know her longer than six months, soon. Maybe I’ll catch up to you.”

  “Ha. That’s funny. What’s your name?” He holds out his hand, “I’m Mitch.”

  I think ‘Mitch’ means Oh he of the agenda.

  “Nicole.” I shake his hand, but it’s soft and limp. Oh man. Now any desire for his company – even conversation – is erased. But I like Marlena. I’m not going to be rude to her guest. I prepare myself for a torturous half-hour.

  “Nicole. That’s pretty. I had a girlfriend named Nicole once. She broke my heart. You wouldn’t do that, would you?” He laughs and looks at me like we just shared a joke. I picture him living in the 1950’s, selling door-to-door insurance.

  I raise my eyebrows simply because he won’t stop smiling. “No, I’m sure I wouldn’t do that.” Because I would never give you the chance.

  He’s about to launch into another sales pitch when Amber and Jess save me by walking onto the balcony, sans boyfriends. I’ve never been happier to see them in my life.

  “We have to talk to you,” they say at the same time, looking at poor Mitch like it’s time for him to go – so sorry.

  To his credit, he almost doesn’t leave. I give him major points for standing up against these two. He looks at them as Jess threads her arm through Amber’s to form some sort of estrogen wall, and Jess gets this stupid smile on her face that makes me almost lose my shit, laughing.

  “Uh… I’ll catch up with you later?” he asks just me, ignoring them.

  I nod to the poor bastard and tell him, “Have a good night.” As soon as he leaves, I turn to Amber, because Jess’s face was laughable… while Amber’s was a disgrace. “Amber, that was horrible. Your face screamed, get the fuck out of here, buddy.”

  They blow me off and we chat like old times, like when we were all single. I didn’t know I miss those days until right now. But I guess I do. When Jess leans over the balcony, Amber and I both yell at her, and it just feels like… home.

  That is, until I pull out a fresh cigarette and Amber practically spits at me, “Why do you hate yourself?”

  “Excuse me????”

  Amber gets that look on her face that’s like a lock-jawed pitbull who won’t let go, no matter who’s telling her to. “You can’t love yourself and smoke those things, Nicole. And I saw you before, looking all distracted. It was because you wanted a cigarette, isn’t it? Tell me you’re not addicted.”

  Damn. She saw that? And she always calls me Nico, so what’s with this ‘Nicole’ shit? I cross my arms and raise one eyebrow. “I’m not addicted. I just smoke these when I’m out. It’s a social thing.” I turn to Jess for help. “Jessica, can you believe the balls on this girl? What kind of person accuses someone of not loving herself?”

  Amber blurts, “The kind who loves you! It’s called a friend. It hurts me to see you lighting up a cancer stick like it’s no big deal. I need you to stay alive, thank you very much.”

  Jess offers, “That’s so sweet…?”

  “I’m not feeling the sweetness,” I say, annoyed. Look, I beat myself up over these things enough on my own. I don’t need my girlfriend joining the line.

  Jess doesn’t help me, though. She goes into how I can save money if I quit and how much they cost. As if I don’t know this! I’m not backing down to Amber this time, no matter how much Jess is playing middleman. I take a long Bette Davis drag of my cigarette and say in my smoothest, coolest voice, “And don’t think I didn’t notice you calling me ‘Ni-cole’ back then, like when a mom says your whole name because she’s pissed.”

  Jess explodes into laughter. I nailed it. They both know I did.

  Amber gets all huffy. “Another way to get your dopamine levels up is to have sex, NICOLE,” she says, like Game On!

  I take another sexy drag and walk over the balcony and hold their attention with a nice long pause as I look over and assess the city below. Then I turn, hold her eyes. “I have plenty of sex. Sex…is not my problem.”

  “She does have plenty of sex,” Jess nods from where she stands beside me.

  I can’t believe it. You never win in war against Amber. But there she is, looking awkward! And could she give any more attention to that spot on the floor she’s staring at? I won!

  Amber opens her mouth but no words come out for almost two seconds. Jess and I are totally leaning forward in suspense until she finally says in a quiet voice, “But maybe what you need is sex with someone you…love?”

  “Did you tell Josh you love him!?” Jess yells.

  Oh my God. She won. She fucking won. How does she DO that?! As we hear a summary of the juicy details about her and Josh telling each other they love each other for the very first time – as if we all didn’t see that coming – I think to myself that if she can be brave enough to fuck him in Marlena’s closet, then I can sure as hell quit these cigarettes. For good. I toss them over the wall, which appalls her and makes it extra fun. But I’m so happy I came tonight. I don’t want to miss these big moments of us dancing out on a balcony somewhere, celebrating each other’s happiness.

  When we’re about to go inside, I pull out my lipstick to reapply it, and kick myself for not buying gum for this taste in my mouth. I look at Amber and can’t hold this question back, though I should. I see her and him and I wonder, how does she do it? He’s so good… doesn’t it get boring?

  “Is Josh man enough for you, honey?”

  Amber crinkles up her nose. “Of course he is. What do you mean?”

  “Well…” Why did I say that aloud? Shit. I put the lid back on the lipstick and slide it in my bag, biding time to figure out how to get myself around this. Truth is, it has nothing to do with him, and everything to do with me. So I pull an answer out of nowhere. “You’re tiny, but you’re all ambition and go-get-it-ness. Your man is going to have to be accomplished to get your respect.” For the record, I have no idea if Josh is accomplished or not.

  She turns to look at Josh through the glass door, where he’s standing next to David. He looks over at her, and smiles, like he knows we’re talking about him. He’s a good guy. I can see it. As she comes back with a valid defense of him, I want to apologize, tell her I’m voicing my own fears, not ones I have for her. But I don’t want them to ask me about my fears. Not tonight. So I just say, “He really does love you. You can see it when he looks at you. I do like him.” It’s the truth.

  “Yeah?” she asks, and her eyes are so open and hopeful that I feel like a jaded bitch for putting dou
bt in them.

  “Yes. I’m not just saying it. I want what you guys have. I was just playing devil’s advocate, because I know you.” God, where do I come up with this stuff?

  We talk a little more and then Jess and I – as if we are of one mind – both take her hands and stand at her side. We all remain quiet, standing together for a little while. Visions of Michael standing in there beside Josh and David play in my mind. My heart hurts just thinking it, I want it so bad. But I know that Michael would find those two guys boring beyond words; conversations about beer and movies are not his bag. Oh…what would he think of my girls? Amber saves me from that thought-train with, “Let’s go inside.”

  We all walk in, and I announce I’m going to quit smoking, which they shoot down as being a false claim. They’re probably right. But I don’t want to be Miss Fifth Wheel anymore tonight, and if I can’t smoke to make myself feel better, I’m going home. I’m tired.

  “I’m going to see if Marlena will give me a tour. Of the closet,” I say to Amber, to tease her for her sexcapade.

  “Ask her why she doesn’t own any color,” Amber calls back, with a wink.

  I laugh, and leave the four of them. I never make it to Marlena, though. My bed is calling me. I could call up Zach. I haven’t seen him in forever… nor thought of him, either. . Or Jason? Maybe patch things up? No… not tonight.

  At His…Our…Studio

  The sun is trying to make its way through the clouds outside. Candles are lit all over and “Pompeii” by Bastille is playing loud on the speakers. I downloaded it recently, it and a number of other songs that had me dancing so hard with the radio, I had to Shazam them on my phone and buy them immediately. Now I’m alone painting to the best playlist ever and my head is clear and lighter than it has been in months. Getting that sleep last night after the party was such a great idea.

  A sunbeam glides in through the window and dances with the smoke that wafts from the ashtray, where I left the cigarette I forgot I was smoking. That whole quitting thing didn’t last. I’ve even forgotten I said it, truth be told. Because right now, the colors are exploding from my brush onto the canvas and the world is a magical place of possibilities and purpose. My hips are bouncing to the music…it’s just me, the music and my muse.

  Maybe I’m even breaking down that wall Michael talked with me about.

  Down below, a knock on the door cuts through the beat of the music. I straighten up and wait. Who could it be? What time is it? I walk over to my phone as the knock comes again. The time says 1:11 p.m. and my cigarette is almost out. I pick it up quickly and take the last little drag, smash it out in the ashtray and run down the stairs as the third knock comes.

  “Okay. Okay. I’m coming. Jeez.”

  I open up the heavy warehouse door and see a woman standing outside, looking at me. She’s pretty, beautiful even, the kind of beautiful that is sweet to my spicy.

  “Can I help you?”

  She looks at me oddly, “Is Michael here?” she asks, tentatively, peeking her head up and into the door to see upstairs.

  “No, he’s not here right now.”

  Her eyes fall on me again and quickly rake my body. Suddenly I feel very self-conscious. She’s dressed to the nines in classic style, the kind you’d expect from the girl who married Prince William – Kate whatever her last name is. It’s a major contrast to my paint-covered overalls, Chucks, and black tank top. My hair is wild, too – the polar opposite to her long, straight, blonde hair. The girl could not be any whiter.

  And then it dawns on me. “Oh! You must be here to buy some of his work. Did he tell you he’d be here today? I didn’t realize. Well, if he’s coming, he’s not here yet.”

  She frowns. “Can I come in?”

  “Sure, sure. Come on in.” I smile and walk up the stairs, letting her follow me. I’m not going to let her go up the stairs first. I pay for this space, so Miss Queenie can take a back seat. At the top, I go to the music and turn it down. It’s playing Swedish House Mafia’s “Don’t You Worry Child” …and I love the song, so I’ll have to replay it as soon as she’s gone.

  I point to his canvases. “His pieces are on the left. You’re welcome to look through them.”

  She’s walking very slowly. She says something, but her voice is so little I can’t hear it. And now I’m just getting annoyed, so I don’t answer. If you have something to say, you’re going to have to speak up, I think, as I plop myself on the stool to light a new cigarette. She’s wigging me out. I want her to leave. I don’t even care if he doesn’t make the sale. He’s rich. He can live without it.

  “You didn’t hear me?” she asks.

  I reach up and give my hair a shake, take a drag with my other hand, shake my head no, with a look that says and that’s fine by me.

  “I asked, are your paintings on the right?” She stands very still and both her hands are clasped together. Primly.

  “Yes. Oh…” I stand up and lay the cigarette in the ashtray. “I’m sorry. Did he tell you to come and see my work? I’m so sorry. Yes, mine are on the right… but I’m just learning.”

  Why do I always have to say that??!! Probably, because I feel very insecure around this woman. I can feel the hair going up on my body, and I am more uncomfortable the closer I get to her, pointing to where my pieces are. I don’t lay them out like I did with Danny, because, she isn’t moving. If it were nighttime, I’d swear she were a vampire, the way she holds herself like a statue; so tense. She’s freaky. And I don’t like her.

  She looks at the paintings, but doesn’t walk to them.

  “Is he teaching you, then… my Michael?” she asks.

  The words are a slap across my face. My Michael. I stare at her, both of us silent as my mind rushes to figure out what is happening. Apparently I’m not psychic at all, because I didn’t see this coming. So… this is his lover… his girlfriend? Standing here in front of me is the reason he won’t make love to me? I steady myself against the nausea and answer slowly. “He is. In a way. I’m learning a lot from him.”

  “I’m sure.” She looks like she’s about to get sick, too.

  “Are you okay?” My hand goes out to her, instinctively, but she walks away from me.

  “Don’t,” she moans.

  She looks so fragile that I feel badly for her. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to console you. Are you his girlfriend? Is that what’s going on? Because, he and I haven’t done anything, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

  She turns quickly and looks very surprised. “You haven’t?”

  She’s so relieved that I decide to leave out the kissing and sometimes fondling each other part. He hasn’t fucked me, the bastard, and that’s all she needs to know. “No. I swear to God.”

  Her hand goes to her throat and she nods, deep in thought. She nods. Looks to me again.

  “I swear. Clothes have never come off. I promise you.”

  Her relief is so great that I don’t know how to behave. It’s the truth, what I said. It’s the truth, even though I hate her for it. But it’s not her fault. It’s his.

  She walks toward the stairs and her long eyelashes flutter as she meets my eyes one last time. “Thank you. I’m not his girlfriend though. I’m Laura Benitez, his wife.”

  My heart jumps into my throat and I can’t breathe. His wife? My face did not change as she said it - wife. It did not change as my heart exploded and broke into bloodied pieces. And it did not change when she thanked me and walked down the stairs, and out the door.

  Days Later

  I should probably eat something. I’m not hungry. I really should get a cleaning lady to clean up those dust bunnies. Turning over the pillow to find the cool side, I look away from my mess of an apartment. I haven’t left, seen anyone, spoken to anyone… since I walked out of the studio; my canvas unfinished, the cigarette still lit, the candles too… and my heart? Undone.

  This headache won’t go away and I think it’s from – of all things – too much sleep. My body can’t ge
t comfortable because I’ve been lying down for so long. It wants to get up and move around, but… I don’t. My phone has rung a few times, but no calls have come through that needed to be answered. I’m tired. So tired.

  As if on cue, a buzz from my nightstand tells me my phone has vibrated. Just once. A text? An email? Do I even care? I turn my head and look at it, but it seems too far away to reach. But when it vibrates again, something inside me moves and I lean over and grab it.

  Jason: What’re you up to?

  This is our signal, has been since we first started hooking up, the signal that says I want you. Can you come over – or I’ll go over there. Whatever. However. Let’s find a way to fuck. I close my eyes and rest on my back, the phone on my chest. What time is it? Shit, what day is it? I look at the phone again and see that it’s 10:00 p.m. and I don’t look to see what day, because I’m scared to know how long I’ve been lying here. I stare at Jason’s text. Maybe he can help me. I’d have to shower. Do my hair. I don’t have that kind of energy. As I stare at it, another text comes through.

  Jason: I can make whatever ails you... disappear.

  I smile. He knows my moods. Or maybe he’s just being funny. I get thoughtful for a second and think, maybe this is my guardian angel trying to help. “You trying to help?” I ask aloud. Silence. “Could you just talk to me once – just once?”

  Another text from Jason: Baby, I’m sorry I got mad at you. If you’re not busy, I wanna come by. I’m around the corner. Could be there in ten.

  To my angel, I say, “You’re good. Oh, you’re very, very good.”

  To Jason I text: “Give me twenty.”

  He replies within one second with a happy face.

  Swinging my long sore legs off the bed, drugged from depression, I stand up and wobble to the kitchen where I suck down a boatload of orange juice and throw some gluten-free bread into the toaster. I’ll get it when I get out of the shower. Making my way to the bathroom, I see myself in a mirror and almost scare myself to death. I look like a demon possessed me and then took off for greener pastures.