American Love Story (Dreamers)

by Adriana Herrera

  “That’s not fair play.” I groaned, helplessly turned on.

  He smiled against my neck and lifted those moss-colored eyes at me. “Sorry.” He didn’t sound sorry, but there was a vulnerability there. He didn’t want to say this next part. “That first time you came back to Ithaca when Nesto opened the restaurant and you totally ignored me.” My stomach dipped at how sad he sounded. God I could be such an asshole.

  “It was hard seeing you with them, but I still loved how you got along. It’s so amazing how you open up with the people you love, how you look so serious all the time, but for them, for me, you’re soft and sweet.”

  I almost grimaced at that description. Soft and sweet were not words I associated with myself, but I leaned into how it felt to hear them from Easton. It felt good to be that to him.

  “I think I was so distant from you because you scared the shit out of me.” I laughed humorlessly as he pressed soft kisses to my neck. “The things you made me want, I was terrified of letting myself have them. I didn’t know what would happen if I got you and then you realized I wasn’t enough. From that first night, I knew you could be everything I ever needed and the thought of getting so much and losing it...” I shuddered out a gusty breath. “It terrified me.”

  I shut my eyes hard after saying that, and without speaking Easton pushed up and pressed his mouth to mine. Soft, perfect lips, tongue hot as it stole into my mouth.

  Like breathing.

  Kissing him was as natural as breathing and it still scared the shit out of me to think about not having that anymore.

  “I was gone from the moment Nesto introduced us,” Easton continued, making me flush with all the praise. “Gone. But you know what it is that will keep me here forever? The man that you are. Your love for your community, wherever you are. Your courage. You, just you.”

  Fuck, this man was going to wreck me before I got to talk. “Okay, my turn.” I had shit to say too, dammit. “I love that you’re my soft landing. I can say things to you I’m scared to even tell myself.”

  He groaned. “Patrice.”

  A flush crept up his neck, but I kept going, he was going to hear all of it. “Your willingness to learn. That you’re not perfect, and you know it means more work, but you’re ready to do it. How you want to know about my history and my people, not like it’s a novelty, but because you care and you want to learn how to love what I love. And because you stayed unafraid to love me, even when I let you down.” That last part, I had to choke out, as my throat convulsed from emotion. That was another development of life with Easton, I cried now.

  “I guess we’re really into each other and super sappy.” I could only laugh at Easton’s bullshit.

  “I think Ms. B’s evil plan to get us all into our feelings has been a success,” I conceded, not annoyed in the slightest.

  “She’s good,” Easton said with genuine admiration. “I really thought I could get you naked while doing this, instead I made us both cry. And we’re not even done,” he grumbled, as he looked around for the forgotten notepad and paper. He lifted the discarded sheet with one hand while he hooked the other one around my neck.

  “Okay, last one,” he said with a big-ass grin. “Three goals for the future.”

  My heart skidded up against my chest at that. It felt so fucking huge, but when I really let myself tune into what I was feeling, it wasn’t dread or fear. It was anticipation, excitement...certainty. I couldn’t wait to figure out what was next for us.

  “Immediate future like in five minutes,” I said with a grin to match the one on Easton’s lips. “Me fucking you within an inch of your life, because my dick has had about enough of you rubbing your ass on it. I’m not made of stone, Easton Archer,” I whined.

  The little bastard turned his head and put the tip of his index finger on his cheek, as he wiggled said ass on my achingly hard cock. “Are you sure you’re not a least part stone, because from where I’m sitting...”

  That was it.

  I lunged for him as he laughed his ass off, and within seconds we were both horizontal, with me looming over him. Pressed close, so he could feel me. “Is that what you were talking about?”

  “Yup.” I gasped as he ran a hand over my cock.

  “Easton, we got two more goals for the future to talk about, we’re finishing this homework dammit.” I groaned as he stroked me over my briefs and nipped my ear.

  “I got another one.” He sounded as turned on as I was, and how we’d gone from heartfelt declarations to being on the verge of fucking would be surprising if this wasn’t just another weeknight with Easton Archer. “I want to take a long trip together. Take that trip to South Africa we’ve talked about, explore a new place for both of us, together. Cape Town and the beach, safari.”

  I sucked in a breath, my lungs full of air and the intoxicating thing that was to be in love and be loved back and fearlessly planning for the future. When I spoke there was no hesitation. “I’d love that. Let’s do it.”

  Without missing a beat on that maddening, tight stroke on my dick, he turned his head to kiss me. We tangled our tongues as we rocked against each other and my head was fuzzy with want. I couldn’t put thoughts together when Easton got like this. I pushed my briefs off, frantic as he did unspeakable things to my ear. When I went for his boxers though, he stilled my hand.

  “No wait, we have to say one more. A long-term goal.”

  I pressed my forehead to his, because I knew I was the one who had to say this one. I knew what he wanted. He’d told me. He wanted forever, and I’d always been too scared to say it. Before it seemed foolish to ask for so much. To ask for the kind of life I couldn’t have even dreamed for myself. But right now, right here I literally had my future in my hands and I needed to claim it. He deserved to hear it, and fuck, I did too.

  “Us. Living together, because goddammit, Easton Archer, you make me greedy, and I want all of it. Even a fucking dog. How is it you got me acting a fool at all times now?”

  “I want it all too.” Easton’s voice was small, but steady.

  A long breath escaped his lungs and we lay there, turned on, in love and ready to plunge into our future. I took stock of everything happening in my body and my head. I fucking throbbed from happiness. All of this was mine, and I would fight forever to keep it.

  “So are you going to be able to recap all of this to Ms. B?” I asked with a flustered laugh.

  Easton brought his arms up, mouth in a wide grin I could feel against my lips. “I’ll do the recap, baby. Now how about we do the naked thing because I’ve never had ‘my boyfriend wants to move in together and we’re getting a dog sex’ and I’m excited.”

  “You’re so fucking extra.”

  “And all yours, forever. You said.”

  That hand went back to stroking and that mouth back to licking and nipping and I was done with homework. I had my hands full for the foreseeable future, and I would not change a thing.

  “I did. You are.”

  * * *

  Acknowledgments

  It’s hard to believe we’ve made it this far! I am so grateful for the readers who have responded so positively and shown so much love to these Dreamers.

  I am endlessly grateful for every review, tweet and shoutout, more than I could every say.

  When I set to write the stories of Nesto, Camilo, Patrice and Juan Pablo my hope was that I could give readers like me HEAs that they could see themselves in. It’s beyond what could I hope for that these books have touched so many, and, what’s more, left Romancelandia hungry for more Afro-Latinx romance, literally and figuratively.

  As always, there is no way I could do this without the support and love of so many wonderful people:

  Kerri Buckley, my editor. I am so grateful for the journey we’ve been on together. I know that your care and support have made me a better, more thoughtful writer.

>   The Carina PR and Marketing team, for all your support getting my stories out there and rolling with all my ideas.

  Linda Camacho, my agent, for all the positivity and support.

  My writing community. My RWA-NYC friends, you continue to inspire and amaze me.

  My partner and my girl, for being my two biggest fans. I am so incredibly lucky.

  To LaQuette and Robin B for your amazing feedback and enthusiasm for this story. Patrice and Easton’s story is better and stronger because of you.

  Finally, I have to give a shoutout to the man that inspired Patrice’s character, my Uncle O. A gentle, kind and brilliant Haitian man who was not only a role model to me, but to a whole generation of Dominican kids in my family who were blessed to have him in our midst. From him I learned too many things to name, but mostly what it looked like to walk with grace and to know your own worth. Merci merci, pour tout.

  Author’s Note

  All the events in this story are fictional, however, the challenges that so many young black and brown men in America face are far from it. My hope is that like Patrice and Easton we can all continue to show up for hard conversations and be able to walk together as we find ways for every single one of us to feel safe in our communities.

  About the Author

  Adriana Herrera was born and raised in the Caribbean, but for the last fifteen years has let her job (and her spouse) take her all over the world. She loves writing stories about people who look and sound like her people, getting unapologetic happy endings.

  When she’s not dreaming up love stories, planning logistically complex vacations with her family or hunting for discount Broadway tickets, she’s a social worker in New York City, working with survivors of domestic and sexual violence.

  You can find her here:

  Twitter: Twitter.com/LAadrianaHerrera

  Instagram: Instagram.com/LAdriana_Herrera

  Facebook: Facebook.com/Laura.Adriana.94801

  Website: AdrianaHerreraRomance.com

  Newsletter: AdrianaHerreraRomance.com/Newsletter

  And coming soon from Carina Press and

  Adriana Herrera...

  Juan Pablo Campos lives without regrets. He has his dream job, the best friends and family in the world, and no time to dwell on what could’ve been—except when it comes to Priscilla. The childhood friend who he’s loved for what seems like forever...

  Read on for a sneak preview of

  American Sweethearts,

  the next book in

  Adriana Herrera’s Dreamers series.

  Chapter One

  Juan Pablo

  The flex is really fucking real.

  I grinned as I tapped the caption onto the photo of me cheesing with my glass of XO on the rocks, in the private motherfucking jet I was taking to the Dominican Republic. I ran my fingers over my mouth as I posted it on Instagram with more hashtags and shit than necessary, but who could blame my ass for doing the most.

  “Juan Pablo, get off that phone, sweetheart, and take it easy on that liquor. We haven’t even taken off yet.”

  I rolled my eyes, pocketing my phone as I looked behind me where my parents were sitting. “Okay Ma, it’s only my first drink,” I protested as I pointed at the glasses of champagne she and my dad were sipping on. “And that’s not water.”

  My father smiled at my whining. “It is an open bar, Irene. Let him live.”

  My mother shook her head, making her dark curls bop on her shoulders as she pushed up to kiss my dad gently on the mouth, both looking like lovesick teens even after almost forty years. “I can’t take you anywhere,” she said, without even a hint of annoyance, or specifying which one of us she was talking about. She then turned to the other side of the aisle where the rest of our group was looking on with amusement. “Odette, you have to help me keep these boys in line.”

  Okay, so both my parents were on the jet with me, as were my best friend Patrice, his partner, Easton, and Patrice’s mom and stepdad. We were on our way to our other best friend Camilo’s wedding. So I wasn’t exactly ballin’ on this trip. Camilo was, however, marrying a zillionaire who seemed to live for showering him with every luxury he could get away with. Which meant we were travelling like fucking moguls. That was, we would be if we ever got in the air. We’d been held back because at the last minute a few other passengers were added to the flight.

  I turned around to ask P if he knew who would be joining us when I heard the flight attendant’s radio come alive with a crackly voice, giving her instructions.

  She smiled in our direction and gestured toward the still-open door of the plane. “Looks like our final passengers are here. We should be heading out very soon.” With that she quickly went to meet whoever had finally arrived. This shit of travelling in a private jet was pretty fucking swank. I mean, no security line and you basically just rolled up to the plane, which was waiting in a hangar at the Westchester County airport. I could fucking get used to this. Also I needed the vacation, after coming off of what seemed like an interminable off-season, I’d been taking my time decompressing. This trip to the DR was exactly what I needed...

  I heard her before I saw her, talking to her mother and father, whose voices I’d also recognize anywhere, and felt that sickening dip of excitement mixed with barely contained want that always took over whenever Priscilla Gutierrez was near.

  Shit. No wonder Camilo didn’t respond to my texts asking who he’d put on our flight. That little fucker probably thought this was funny. I wasn’t expecting to be in a confined space with Priscilla for four hours today. My heart started pounding in my chest and my vision blurred a little as I heard her chattering with her mother.

  I had no clue how to act and for some reason panicked at the thought that she would be caught off guard by me being here. But before I had time to turn around and get some information from Patrice or Easton, she was walking onto the plane.

  It was November so even though we were headed to the Caribbean, everyone was wearing fall attire. Pri was in what I always called her Bronx Girl Chic. Fancy leggings and sweater combo with pristine, matching Nikes. The whole thing was a mess of fall colors, olive green and terracotta leggings and a mustard-yellow sweater. She’d taken her braids out and had her hair pulled back into a messy top bun. Glossy baby hair framing her face.

  “Oh, wow.” She had that sickly sweet tone she used when she was too tired to even look aggravated, and as I stared straight ahead it did not escape me that she was avoiding looking at me. Which in a tight space like that required a hell of a lot of effort.

  At thirty-five and after years of working a job that had toughened her on the inside, she still looked so much like the sixteen-year-old girl who made my heart race every time I saw her. When she finally looked up from talking with her parents, her face fell for just a second. Like she didn’t know if she was up for having to deal with managing my presence. Like thinking about it made her tired.

  Fuck, had it really been almost a year since I’d seen her? There had been a time when we couldn’t go more than a few hours without touching or talking. Now months could go by without so much as a word. She of course recovered quickly, not about to give me stank face when our parents were here. Instead she started greeting everyone and giving me an impressively wide berth. Suddenly the luxurious and intimate interior of the plane felt oppressive.

  “What’s the good word, detective?” That was my dad. He always asked Pri about her job with more than a little bit of pride in his voice. He’d been her mentor since the day she joined the academy. Just another reminder of how our lives were thoroughly tangled together in big and small ways. I’d tried to tell myself for so long that was the reason why we were better off as friends: too many people with their noses in our business. But I’d weaned myself of my habit of not confronting my bullshit. Nosy relatives and friends was not the reason why Priscilla and I
didn’t work out. No, that was all on us—on me for being a careless fuckboy and on her for being stubborn and prideful.

  “Rafa.”

  Pri’s affectionate tone as she went in to hug my dad wrenched me out of my seemingly ever-present regrets playlist.

  The kisses, hugs and backslaps went on for what felt like hours until she finally got to me, and I knew that I wasn’t imagining everyone looking at us. Like she always did, Pri kept it surface and polite in front of the parents. We could go at it behind closed doors as much as we wanted, but our parents would never ever see any of it. Not if she had anything to say about it.

  “Hey J.” She bent down to give me a quick peck on the cheek. But she popped back up so fast I could barely get a whiff of the expensive lemon verbena shower gel I’d gotten her addicted to and now couldn’t use myself because it reminded me too much of her.

  “Hey yourself, you looking fresh like always,” I said, proud of myself for not sounding like a thirsty scrub. “You ready for this?” I asked, looking around the plane full of our raucous family and friends. We were rowdy by nature, but holy shit when we were on the way to our islands we could reach rapture levels of celebration.

  Pris smiled, looking at her parents, who were already strapped down on their seats and in conversation with the other couples.

  “Let’s hope Thomas got us a DR/PR proof plane.” My own parents were on their second glasses of wine and we hadn’t even taken off. I was about to make an awkward comment about her Nikes when the flight attendant came by asking us to finish up our drinks, since we would be taking off soon.

  That broke the tension and by the time she was done giving us instructions, Priscilla was seated next to me. To be fair, it was the only seat left and she had Easton, her best friend, on the long couch-looking thing on the other side. I had no time to fret on things getting awkward or weirdness between us, because within seconds we were all in an easy conversation about the wedding, the obligations and tasks Camilo had given each of us. It was familiar and natural to be with Priscilla—then again that had never been our issue. Coming together had always been too easy. It was staying that way that never seemed to work out for us.