by Nia Arthurs
She moves forward. Surveys every one with growing reverence. “Troy…”
“These are from eight years ago.”
Her jaw drops. “Eight?”
“I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Every time I picked up my brush, you were all I could see. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t get you out of my head. Off my easel.”
She stops at the painting of her in the nude. Her lips curl up. “You painted me like one your French girls, huh?”
“Titanic.”
“I’m surprised you got that reference. You memorized the movie?”
“Not really…”
She gasps. “Did some thirsty fan use that line to flirt with you?”
“Let’s focus on the painting, shall we?” I cup her shoulders and turn her around to face the wall.
“Did you ever paint anybody else like this?”
“No.”
She assesses me for a second. Then she smiles. “You’ve got a good eye.” She points to her chest in the painting. “Although my body’s changed since then. You need to do an update.”
“Do I?”
“Oh yeah.” She faces me. The light flickers against her skin. “Your work is breathtaking.”
“Not more than the real thing.”
“True.” She tilts her head. “My turn.”
“What’s your surprise?”
She plays with the collar of her dress and backs up slowly, her hips swaying. “It’s something irresistible.”
“Hm.” I step forward, my hands already outstretched toward her.
She dances out of reach. Laughs. “You’ll have to unwrap it to find out.”
My gaze slides lazily down her tight dress and lands on the zipper at the back.
“Back then,” she licks her lips, “I didn’t know how you felt or we could have…”
I stop her with a kiss. “I know.”
She leans into my touch as I run my fingers down her neck, tracing the neckline of her dress. “In any case, it was worth the wait.”
“Really?”
“Hell yeah.”
I lean forward and press my lips to hers again.
It’s a slow kiss.
I’m teasing her and she likes it.
Venus moans into my mouth. Pulls back with a needy groan. “One more?” Before I can answer, she grabs me closer. This kiss heats me up from my toes to my head. My teeth scrape her bottom lip. Her tongue twirls with mine. Her moans tremble down my throat.
The kiss is a confession.
I want you. I love you. I’m never letting you go.
I rub her thigh. Inch her dress higher.
Higher.
Higher.
Lacy fabric hits my thumb.
My body is buzzing.
I can hardly take it.
When she looks up at me like I’m her entire world—
When she slips out of that dress—
Damn.
Best. Surprise. Ever.
Thirty-Four
Venus
The sun bursts through Troy’s bedroom window.
A gentle wind flutters the blinds. Tickles his messy hair. Raises cold seeds on my skin.
He stretches his arms over his head as he wakes up.
His eyes open. Blink once. Twice. Meet mine. “Morning.”
“Morning.” I cup my chin in my hands. “You look cute when you sleep.”
“You were watching me sleep?”
“Yeah.”
“Weirdo.”
I smirk.
He pushes himself up to a sitting position. I lick my lips as I watch his abs ripple with the movement.
Troy.
Maddox.
Is.
Freaking.
Hot.
I’m thinking of getting that phrase tattooed on my—
“You have work today.”
“I do.” I let out a sigh. One of those I wish I could stay with you all day moans.
“Want breakfast?”
“I want you.”
He arches an eyebrow. “That can be arranged.”
“But,” I pull to my feet, “I have to do my hair.”
Troy nods. He understands what that means. My hair requires patient attention and time.
Lots of time.
His eyes slide down my body—over the sheer lingerie he’d tossed last night and I’d put back on this morning. “Or,” he reaches for my hand, “you could just throw it into a bun.”
“Mm.” I let him drag me to the bed.
The mattress dips.
Gravity rolls me down and crushes me to his chest.
“Or do one of those turban things. You know? With the head wrap?”
“I see.”
He wraps a finger around a curl. “Or wear it wild like this. Own it.”
“Convincing.” I kiss Troy quickly and push up before I get lost in his intoxicating touch. “But no.”
He chuckles. Runs a hand down my stomach. “I lost.”
“Society’s expectations and the workplace dress code won.”
He grins. “I’ll make coffee.”
While I run a shower—yes, Troy’s shower because it’s bomb—he makes breakfast. I emerge in a fun, sheer top and a black mini-skirt, hair tamed.
Troy whistles when I walk out and strike a pose. “Damn. You’re playing with me, right?”
“Wrong. This is how I dress for work.”
“And the male clients—?”
“Are all business. Anyone steps out of line,” I mark an invisible line at my throat, “get cut.”
“Hm?”
“What?”
The way those brown eyes are searing me…
He steps forward.
Yanks me up.
Drops me on top of the counter.
My thighs and butt hit the marble surface with a smack.
Bacon crackles in a pan.
Coffee drips into a cup.
It’s all domestic background noise. A track playing to the rhythm of my skittering heart.
My hot, shirtless boyfriend watches me.
Leans in.
Presses both hands on either side of my thighs. “What are you wearing under that?”
My body trembles.
Heat flares in my core.
I’m gonna be late for work.
“You’re late,” Kayla admonishes when I walk in to her office that morning. Well, her new office. It’s huge with giant windows and it’s own private coffee machine.
Hell yeah. This’ll be my new favorite hang-out spot.
I jump into the couch. “Blame Troy. The man can’t stop touching me.”
“Before you start, I don’t need to know the details.” She holds up a hand.
“Crap. I was so looking forward to telling you all about last night and that new toy we…”
Kayla cringes.
I snort. Drop it. "So why did you summon me here, Boss?”
“Geez, don’t—nothing’s changed.”
“You’re signing my checks now, Boss.”
“And if you want that solo office, you’ll call me Kayla.” She smirks.
I grin.
Nepotism all day long, baby.
“So I am getting my own office.”
“You’ve worked harder than everyone else here. You should have gotten one a long time ago.” She arches an eyebrow. “But… lock the door. I don’t want to walk in on anything.”
I grin wickedly. “No promises.”
She rolls her eyes.
There’s a knock on the door.
Kayla brightens. “Come in.”
A stunning, dark-skinned woman with slender, graceful features and a beaming smile, enters the room. She’s wearing a ‘Black Girls Rule’ T-shirt and shredded skinny jeans.
“Ms. Kayla?” Her voice is heavier than I expected. Raspy. A sexy Tina Turner type. Wonder if she sings?
“Amina, welcome.” Kayla stands and greets the newcomer with a handshake. “This is Venus Miller, our expert matchmaker. V, this is Amina. W
e scouted her from Black Love Matters.com. It took a lot to convince her to make the shift.”
“You’re a hard woman to say no to, ma’am.”
“Just ask her boyfriend,” I tease.
Kayla slants me the side-eye. “We look forward to working with you.”
“Same here.” I shake her hand next. “I’m guessing you’ve got the secret sauce on recruiting the city’s top black singles?”
“It’s my superpower.” She winks.
I poke a finger in her direction. “I like her already.”
“Here at Make It Marriage, we don’t discriminate. We match all races. It’s about love, not skin color.”
I arch an eyebrow at Kayla.
She ignores me, totally in ‘Boss-mode’. “But we are excited about your skill set and experience, Amina.”
“Of course.”
“I’ll show you your office.” I hook my hand in hers and steer her out of the room.
Amina whispers in my ear. “She doesn’t really mean that, does she?”
“What?”
“I won’t have to match like,” she makes a face, “interracial couples or anything?”
I frown. “You have a problem with mixed-race couples?”
If she does, I don’t see how she’ll last long here.
More and more clients are opening up to dating outside of their race.
And personally both Kayla and I are with white men. We’ve gotten our share of stares and looks, even in this culturally diverse city so we’re both sensitive to comments about interracial romance.
If Amina has issues with that…
“No, it’s,” she ducks her head, clearly flustered, “I’m just not used to it. There’s nothing wrong—I’m not… I believe people should love whoever they want.”
“Then you’ll be fine.” I pat her shoulder. “And don’t worry. Men are men, no matter what they look like. Here at Make It Marriage, we focus on character and values rather than appearances. I think that’s something every woman from every race can relate to.”
“Oh.” She seems unsure.
I stop at her office—which is actually my old office. “This is you.”
“Thanks.”
I shake her hand. “Look forward to working with you, Amina.”
“Sure.” Her expression is tight. I recognize that look. It’s a did I make the right decision look.
I shrug and return to my office, wondering the same thing.
Time will tell.
Thirty-Five
Venus
Grunts echo in the cool night air. Rubber hitting concrete. The swoosh of a net. A fist pump. A loud cheer.
Coming from me, of course.
“Go, baby!” I put two fingers to my mouth and whistle.
Mom smacks me so hard I lurch forward. “Stop that noise, Venus.”
“Mom,” I groan, “he just shot a three-pointer.”
“So? This isn’t the NBA.”
I catch Troy’s eye as he runs back on the court. The sleeveless jersey shirt bellows in the wind. His shorts flap against his strong, hairy thighs.
Lord… those thighs.
I love seeing him in athletic wear almost as much as I love seeing him in that paint-speckled jumper he uses when he’s painting.
Though… nothing beats how much I love seeing him naked.
And how much I love being naked with him.
Doing things that naked people do…
Troy grins. Blows me a kiss.
I catch it. Press it to my heart.
Ina groans. “You two are obnoxiously cute.”
“Thanks.” I flutter my eyelashes. “We try.”
Ina’s been at Mom’s house for a little over three months now. She’s starting her first day of university tomorrow and Mom demanded we all come over for a celebratory dinner.
Rice and beans. Fried fish. Fried plantain.
A Belizean feast.
Yum.
The guys decided to work off their dinner with a basketball game, but I plan on working my food off tonight.
Just me and Troy.
I grin as I watch his strong arms ripple in the moonlight.
Oh yeah. He’ll be getting sweaty all over again.
Ina glances at me, a question mark in her eyes.
I shrug.
She shakes her head. Faces the game. Lets out a quiet, ‘go, Evan and Troy’.
It barely squeaks in the wind.
She’s still shy around the guys, but she’s warming up to them more and more.
Being with our family, she’s blossoming.
Just like Troy did so many years ago.
Ina keeps thanking Mom as if she saved her life but, if I’m honest, we owe a lot to her. She’s a sweet girl with a sharp wit hidden under all the goth-slash-grunge clothes and that painfully shy exterior.
We’re friends.
More like sisters.
I’ve been stopping by Mom’s more often just to hang out with her.
Ina’s also calmed Mom down quite a bit. She’s given her purpose and I don’t think Mom will admit how much she was missing having someone to take care of in the house.
Footsteps pound the concrete.
More grunts.
Stars twinkle overhead.
Tree leaves cheer in their special way.
The guys head to the opposite end of the court.
Troy bends his knees. Lets the ball fly.
Nothing but net.
I go wild, screaming my head off.
Corrine sucks her teeth. She’s sitting at Mom’s feet getting her hair braided into corn-rows. It looks… um… interesting on her sweetly freckled face, but home girl is working it.
I cover my mouth and holler at Evan, “Don’t quit your day job, bro!”
“Evan’s just tired from working an eight-hour shift at the hospital,” Corrine says, flicking her eyes up to Mom for approval.
“That’s true.” Mom nods.
“Hey, if your man is crap on the court, he’s crap on the court. Just accept it.”
“Excuse me?” She feigns offence with a dramatic hand to her chest.
“Troy’s tired from setting up his new art exhibit and running his thriving graphic design business, but you don’t see him complaining.”
“Flex, girl.” Ina bumps my fist.
Mom rolls her eyes, but a pleased smile teases her lips.
She considers Troy her own son and his accomplishments are hers too.
Sometimes, I think the woman loves him more than she loves me.
Not that I care.
Troy is inching up to number one on my list too.
“It’s a good thing we didn’t bet,” Ina mumbles, flashing Corrine a look.
“It’s been years, but Evan hasn’t been able to beat Troy yet.”
“Poor guy.”
Corrine glares at us.
I laugh and wrap my arms around Ina.
She pats my hand, smiling contentedly.
The game continues.
Troy kicks Evan’s butt until he cries for mercy. Evan comes running with his tail between his legs and collapses beside Corrine.
“Babe, he cheated.”
“Sore loser,” Troy teases. He walks up to me. Bends over for a kiss.
I give him a peck.
Mom is watching.
And also… Ina’s uncomfortable around PDA so we all try to be accommodating.
He pulls back and tugs a lock of my hair. “No bets this time?”
“I’m tired of taking Corrine’s money.”
His chest heaves as he inhales a breath. Brown hair flops against his forehead. “You’re being sweet.”
“You’re a good influence.” I wink.
“There. Done. How does she look?” Mom points to Corrine’s head.
Ina blinks rapidly.
I force a grin. “It’s… something.”
“My baby is hot,” Evan growls.
I pretend to gag.
Mom gets up and stretches. “
Oh, these old bones aren’t what they used to be. How about we head inside and pop open that bottle of wine Troy brought?”
“Sounds good to me.” Corrine takes my brother’s hand. As they head inside, I hear her mumble, “You really like it?”
“Babe, you’re stunning. A freaking work of art. I want to take you to my old room right now and…” The rest of his words are lost as they disappear inside, but I catch the drift.
Ina sticks her thumbs up at Troy. “Good job out there.”
“Thanks. And good luck this semester.”
She dimples. Heads inside.
Troy offers his hand to help me up. I take it, but I don’t stand. I kiss his knuckles instead, letting my tongue swirl against his sweaty skin.
“Mm, salty.”
“You freak.” He hauls me up and kisses me soundly.
“I’ll take that as a compliment,” I hum against his lips.
His hips pin me to the post.
Wood digs into the base of my spine.
I rasp my fingers against the back of his head.
My thighs clamor closer to him.
Troy…
He tastes so good.
Even when he smells like cologne and sweat.
“New painting concept. Instead of just me, you paint us together.”
“Naked?”
“Duh.”
Troy links our fingers together. “You’re something else.”
“Yeah, but you love it.”
“I do.”
I beam.
We walk up the stairs together.
The wind gently tugs on my hair.
The scent of Mom’s hibiscus bushes carry me back to the past. Where Troy Maddox was my secret crush. My heart’s burning desire. My everything.
Now…
Well, now Troy is that and so much more.
We head inside, joining the family that taught us both how to love.
I hold his hand tightly, promising once again, that my love for him—our love for each other, is never going to change.
Epilogue
Ina
Dear diary,
I can’t believe I still have to write in this stupid book.
I’m fine.
Okay, I’m not fine, but I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need a diary to deal with my emotions.
Not that Mrs. G cares.
She’s even worse than my therapist back in Belize. And she’s forcing me to see a therapist over here. Sheena is just as pushy. No wonder she and Mrs. G are old friends. They’re both always trying to ‘get me to open up’.