I Love My Chance (Nicole's Erotic Romance 3) (3 page)

“You look
amazing.”

Choking from the
giggles, I say, “I bet!”

He’s in between
messy bites of hot dog. “No really. You do.” Then, without missing a beat, he
lights a match to the fuse of a bomb I don’t see coming. “So, it turns out…
they don’t just hand you a wad of money the first day you meet ‘em.”

Mouth stuffed, I
shake my head wordlessly asking,
no
?

“No. Turns out
they need more time. Get to know you a bit, see everything in the package
presented, etcetera.” He takes a big swig from a water bottle and opens the
other one to hand it to me, cap off.

“Thank you,” I
mumble, swallowing. “So what do they do? Check references? Things like that?”

“Mmmhmm.” He nods…
fuse disappearing fast as sparks creep treacherously close to my emotional
gunpowder.

I adjust my
position so my legs don’t fall asleep. “And what do they need to see? What’s
the package
?”

He takes another
gulp of water.
 
5…4…3…2…1. “Your
paintings. They’re coming to see your show.”

KABOOM.

I choke on the hot
dog; spitting, coughing, having a nervous breakdown. He reaches over and pats
my back. As soon as I’m able to talk, I yelp, “What??!! They’re WHAT??!”

He leans forward.
“They’re coming to see your show. Surprise.”

I gulp and blink a
million times. My stomach fills with a swarm of hula-dancing bees. His dream
depends on my show???!! He puts his hands on my knees, saying my name several
times, but I can’t hear him because my mind, the bees, and my mouth repeat over
and over,
I can’t
I can’t I can’t
you can’t you can’t I can’t
I
can’t you can’t no way
I can’t I
can’t I can’t.
He pulls me onto his lap, rocking me until I eventually fall
into silence. My thumping heart slows and the bees quiet to a low, deep hum…
from shock.

He whispers into
my hair, “How’re you doin’? All good now?”

I shake my head
no.

“You ready to hear
what I have to say?”

I shake my head
no
.

“Is your name
Nicole?”

I shake my head
no
.

He chuckles and
kisses the top of my head. “Get ready for a truth-bomb. Here goes. Your
paintings are beautiful, moving and edgy. They’re exactly what I’ve been
looking for. If these guys come to your show and don’t see it, then they aren’t
aligned with what I’m developing. There is no pressure on you. The pressure is
on them to rise up and see what
I
see.
If they don’t, I’ll find someone who does.”

I mumble against
his chest, “I thought you were scared they’d reject your idea. Remember what
you said last night?”

He kisses my head
again and tightens his hold around me. I can feel his lungs expand as he takes
a deep breath in. “That was before I saw the painting. We’re supposed to be
doing this. I can feel it now.”

I don’t feel so
sure. “I know you’re trying to make me feel good about this.”

“I’m not just
saying this to make you feel better. I’m being honest.”

I pull away slowly
and sit opposite him, smoothing down my hair, and moving away napkins and
hotdog wrappers so I can gather myself, take the time to think. “You know, this
is going to sound stupid, but it’s the only thing going through my head.”

“Shoot.”

“Well…I used to
say I was psychic…” I stop. I’m wondering if he believes in things like this.
Or if I sound like a hippy-dippy nutcase.

His eyebrows rise
and his forehead crinkles up in the handsome way it does on some men. “Used
to?”

I nod, staring at
him. “Yes. Awhile back.”

“When?”

“Last week.”

He grins at me and
I start to laugh. I lean back on my hands, shaking my head as I look at him.
“You
are
like my friend. She’s the
only other person who can make me laugh when I’m freaked.”

He smiles, quietly
pleased at the compliment. “I look forward to meeting her.”

I pick up a
dandelion and run my fingers over its feathery cap. “Anyway, I’m not psychic
because my show, you dreaming of my painting, this day…
you
… your encouragement. All of this. It’s such a surprise, Mark.”
I look up and my breath catches with the way he looks at me. We stay quietly
staring at each other.

His eyes narrow
slightly. “I understand.”

“Yeah? Good.
Because I don’t,” I blow the seeds off the dandelion and watch as they fly
gently through the air.
 

He watches them
too. Then he looks back at me, thinking. In a matter-of-fact tone, he tells me,
“I’m psychic.”

“Yeah?” I toss the
stem aside. “You did have that dream.”

“Yep. And I know
what you’re thinking
right now
.”

My eyes widen.
“Oh?”

He looks at my
forehead, concentrating. He nods. “Yeah.”

I rest on my
hands, my head tilted. “What am I thinking?” If he says that I’m thinking
you’re too good to be true and don’t leave
me
, I will poop in my own pants.

He takes a moment.
“You’re thinking,
I sure could use a
great cup of coffee
.”

I laugh, relieved.
“Wow! How do you do that?”

“Pretty amazing,
right?” He smirks and we stand up, gathering our trash and bringing it to a
trashcan. “You ready to go?”

I shake my head
and nuzzle into his chest, enjoying the feel of his arms as they move around
me. He lifts my chin up with his hand, leans down and kisses me in a slow,
sensual kiss. Goose bumps spreads over my body. I make a little sound of
happiness against his soft lips. He pulls me tighter to him.

When we pull away,
I sigh. “Okay, let’s go get you some coffee. And I want to shower and get
changed before dinner. Come with me?”

He puts both index
fingers to either side of his head. “Oh wait… You’re thinking -– wait,
let me get this right.” I laugh. “Quit it.”

He closes crinkles
his eyes, cute little lines framing them as he pretends to read my mind through
the ether. “You’re thinking…it’s clearer now… oh, wow! Really?” He pretends to
be me. “
I want to shower with Mark. I
want him to wash me all over
.” His eyes pop open. “Good, huh?”

I purse my lips.
“Impressive. We need to get you a run-down house and a neon sign that says
Palm Reading $15.00
. You could make a
killing.”

“With enough
readings, I could have the backing for my app.” He looks at me with purpose.

I throw up both
hands. “Okay! Okay! They can come see the show.”

“Ha!! Yes!” He
does a funny fist pump that makes me laugh.

We walk back out
to 59
^th
Street to catch a cab. Mark steps away to the edge of the
curb to call a taxi. He calls over to our hotdog vendor, “Those were
delicious.” The man glares at him. When one of five taxis riding by pulls up, I
bend down, hoping for my cabbie friend. It’s not him, but a large man from the
Dominican Republic who smiles at me. I’ll take what I can get. It’s better than
oh-too-common apathy. Plus, it’d be weird if it was my friendly cabbie. Not
that any of this isn’t weird.

Mark holds the
door open for me. “You okay?”

I scoot in. “What?
Oh…yeah. I’m fine. Was just looking for someone.”

As I lean forward
to give the driver Third Rail Coffee’s cross streets, Mark slides his warm hand
under my jacket and holds it to my lower back with gentle pressure. When I sit
back, he moves it around me and I snuggle into the nook of his arm. We ride
toward Greenwich Village looking out the window with my head leaned on him as
he points to things that catch his interest.

“Look at that. Is
that a church?”

I nod. “Mmmhmm.”

“It looks like
it’s been there for centuries, right in the middle of all this modern
architecture.”

“Cool, huh?”

“Very. Evidence of
the first colonies,” he says, watching the sights speed by.

I close my eyes
and rest into the sweet softness of his tall, lean frame. Even though I’m
5’8" or 5’9" (it seems to vary depending on my mood), his height
makes me feel tiny; a little more feminine… protected. I really
want
to feel protected, but I didn’t
know it until I met him.

Growing up in a
volatile home, I never felt protected as a child, never felt safe. I didn’t
know what mood my father was going to be in from one day to the next. Sometimes
when he didn’t come home, my mother wouldn’t leave her bedroom. She’d lie in
bed for days, comatose from depression. I’d have to feed myself because she
wouldn’t even open her door when I knocked, when I begged her to come out,
cried for her to leave him. It was so odd because we lived in a beautiful home
and appeared to the outside world to be put-together and fabulous, but on the
inside, I was growing into a fighter who too often made herself cereal for
breakfast, lunch, and dinner, for days on end.

“Hey.”

I snuggle closer,
eyes still closed. “Mmm?”

“I’m glad I met
you.”

I tilt up my chin,
eyelashes fluttering open. “Yeah?”

He nods and kisses
my nose. “Yeah.”

“I’m glad you met
me, too.” I give him a sexy wink.

He laughs and
looks back out the window. I close my eyes again, shutting off my mind,
relaxing and enjoying this easy-going moment, not thinking about anything but
how good it feels to be here… with him.

An Hour Later

Coffees in hand,
we opt for the stairs up to my place as we chat easily about our lives, our
footsteps echoing off the walls. I grab the handrail and look back. “No, I
always thought I’d live in New York. I spent a lot of time in Los Angeles with
my dad, and the weather’s a huge improvement… but this city is more
me
. Plus I’ve got my sisters here.”

 
“Your girlfriends?”

I nod. “They’re my
family. Especially with my momma gone. And my mema passed before her, when I
was only fourteen. Heart attack.” Off his expression, I say, “I know. Broke our
hearts. Not my dad’s though. Mema had no patience for him and had no problem
telling him so, every time she saw him.” I shake my head and laugh at the
memory. “She was a strong lady. Anyway, he’s my only family now. But we barely
talk. So my girlfriends are my family. My chosen one.”

 
“I can see why you’d stay here. New York
is more alive than LA. From what I’ve observed
this
trip, you can feel it – the electricity.”

Pangs of jealousy
at the reminder of his last visit throb instantly through my veins. Now, why’d
he have to go and say it like that? Irked, I take a beat. “Right. You didn’t
get out much your last trip, huh?”

He hesitates. “I
was only here a day…”

Damn. Is it
obvious I was fishing?

“Only a day?” I
pull keys out of my pocket, looking back to see his face. There’s a weird light
in my eyes, though I’m unaware of it.

He’s towering over
me, hands in his pants pockets, his jacket pushed up to make room. He chews his
lips, weighing his words carefully. “Well… I ended up staying an extra day.” A
verbal knife rips through me as he adds, “But I didn’t go out much.”

Instantly I regret
asking. My stomach is using my heart as a punching bag. But that doesn’t stop
me from digging deeper. A voice way inside my soul tells me to shut up, but I
can’t. I just can’t. “No? So, you were too tied up with that girl then. That
must have been nice.” I slide the key in the lock.

His eyes darken.
“Nicole.”

I throw a casual
glance over my shoulder. “Hmm?” I drop my keys back in my jacket pocket before
I pull it off and throw it onto the floor. It hits the ground a little too
hard.

“I see what you’re
doing.”

“What am I doing?”

He closes the
door, his eyelashes lowered as he thinks of what to say. I stand still,
heartbeat thudding in my chest, stomach wailing on it. His head comes up
slowly. He walks to me. When he gets a foot away, he slowly says, “My eyes.
Looking at you. See?”

I nod, silent.

“Good. You want
the truth of what happened?”

I hesitate, and
slowly bring my head up and down, just once. My heart twists and I hold my
breath. Why am I asking? How can this help anything? But I need to know the
answer. I
have
to know, so I can
protect myself, so I’m safe. I didn’t know Michael was married, and look where
that got me: months of begging him to have sex with me and not understanding
why he wouldn’t, feeling rejected and unloved and unworthy. This might hurt
– but…

“I have to know,”
I whisper.

His jaw sets and
his eyes hold mine prisoner. He wants me to see that he’s telling me the truth.
He takes a deep breath. “I extended my trip another night because I wanted to
see if anything was possible with her, yes. But she shot me down early on. I
was pretty hung up about it, couldn’t understand it and thought she was just
scared. But I think it’s more than that. I think I know
why,
now.”