Didn't Mean To Love You (Serendipitous Love Book 2)

by Christina C Jones

  “Salted caramel and whiskey truffles. You said that you didn’t really have a sweet tooth, so I thought that maybe one that wasn’t so sweet, with more complex flavors would be more in line with your tastes.”

  “Whiskey, huh?”

  I nodded. “Yes. A 12-year-old Lagavulin, very smoky, very chocolatey on its own. From my personal collection.”

  “Oh, so this is a special recipe just for me?”

  The grin on Carter’s face made me blush, and I stammered over my words as I replied. “This is a test run of a new item for the shop,” I said, trying to cover.

  “You’re gonna use 12-year-old whiskey from your personal collection for the shop?”

  Damn. No, I’m definitely not using a two-hundred-dollar bottle of liquor in a recipe for the shop.

  “Well, I… um…”

  “Yeah, I thought so,” Carter said, chuckling. “So… why do I get the special treatment?”

  I sat down on the edge of his desk. “I… I guess I just wanted to thank you, for returning my plant this morning.”

  “I get personalized chocolate for returning the plant?” he asked. He was standing so close that I could feel the heat radiating from his body, and smell the barest hint of cologne from his clothes.

  “Well… I may have had another intention… to cheer you up.” I looked up at him with a smile, hoping to gloss over how nervous I was about his possible reaction.

  He lifted an eyebrow at my response, and I could tell that I’d surprised him a little. “You did that already, Frenchy. Last night?”

  I shrugged, then reached up to wipe a bit of the truffles’ cocoa powder coating from the corner of his mouth. “I wanted to be sure.” I met his eyes for a moment, my hand still touching his face before I looked away, then slid down from the desk. “In any case, I am happy to hear that you enjoyed them. I’m going to let you get back to work. I’ll see you around.”

  “Yeah,” he said. He smiled at me, but his eyes were unreadable. “I’ll see you around.”

  It wasn’t rhythmic enough to be sex.

  At least, not good sex, with somebody who actually knew what the fuck they were doing.

  That’s what I told myself about the sporadic banging coming from the other side of my bedroom wall — the wall my apartment shared with Vivienne’s. For the past thirty minutes, I’d been unsuccessfully trying to get to sleep, but every time I managed to slip away, there it was again, rattling the wall.

  It was only eight at night, and a Saturday at that, but I was mentally drained after a conversation with my mom about my little brother’s behavior problems. But… I was drained after every conversation with my mother. Still, I was done with this day, ready to move on to the next one, and sleep was the fastest path to that.

  Finally, a full ten minutes passed with no banging, and I tried again to fall asleep. I cringed when the sound came yet again, shortly followed by a loud scream, then a series of muffled bumps like a bag of potatoes being dropped to the floor. That was concerning.

  Groaning, I sat up, tossed my discarded notebook onto my bedside table, pulled on sweats and a tee shirt, then found my way to Viv’s door. I knocked, waited a few minutes, then knocked again when I didn’t receive an answer.

  What if she does have… company?

  I chuckled. I would definitely be doing her a favor if she had company that had her screaming like that. She sounded more scared than anything… Shit. With that thought in my head, I knocked again, even louder than before, kicking myself that I hadn’t exchanged numbers with her yet. But I was trying to be respectful, trying not to overstep, trying not to come off as a creep, when I knew she was fresh off a breakup. I was pulling my cell from my pocket to get her number from Simone when the door finally swung open to reveal Vivienne standing there in hot pink boy short panties… and my shirt.

  I couldn’t even address that at the moment, because she was holding her head, and blood was seeping through her fingers as she scowled. Stepping into her apartment, I closed the door behind me, looking around for anybody else inside. “Viv, what happened?” I asked, trying to pull her hand away so I could see her head. “Did somebody—”

  “No,” she said with a dry laugh, shaking her head as she made her way through the bedroom into the bathroom, with me close behind. “Although being attacked would be much less embarrassing than what actually happened.” She bent to open the cabinet under the sink, giving me full view of her ass before she stood again, placing a first aid kit on the counter.

  I stepped beside her, pulling a clean towel from her shelf. “Hold still,” I said, pushing the hair that had escaped her messy ponytail away from her face so I could see her forehead. She flinched when I pressed the towel against the gash that ran from the top of her forehead to the end of her eyebrow. When the bleeding finally stopped, I carefully cleaned it with alcohol, then covered it with one of the over-sized square bandaids in the first aid kit. “How the hell did you do this to yourself?” I asked, washing my hands.

  She shook her head, taking her turn at the sink to run a fresh towel under the hot water to clean the residual blood from her face, hands, and hair. “I purchased new art, and I was trying to hang it. The hammer slipped from my hands, and… ”

  My eyes went wide. “You did this with a hammer, Viv? You could have killed yourself!”

  “Ah, but I have a handsome neighbor who would have come to my rescue,” she joked with a weak smile as she fixed her ponytail.

  “I don’t know how much I could have done about a hammer sticking out of your forehead.”

  Vivienne gave a heavy sigh as she returned the first aid kit to its place under the sink. “The hammer didn’t do this,” she said, pointing to her forehead. “This happened when I smacked my head on the ladder when I fell, trying to make sure I did not kill myself with the hammer.”

  “Ah, so you’re the sack of potatoes I heard falling.”

  “Guilty,” she chuckled. “Seriously though, thank you for coming to check on me.”

  “Well, you screamed, so I couldn’t exactly ignore it. Besides, I was about to knock on your door anyway and complain about the noise.”

  Viv cocked her head to the side. “Seriously? It’s not even 8p.m.”

  “I was trying to sleep.”

  “At eight o’clock?”

  “Yes. That’s when the noise ordinance kicks in.”

  “Oh.” She lifted an eyebrow, then gave me a mischievous grin. “What were you gonna do to enforce it?” she asked, teasing me in that sexy, musical accent. I scratched my head, resisting the urge to tell her I would gladly spank that pretty little ass of hers if she kept playing, but instead, she kept talking. “Why are you going to bed at eight on a Saturday? Shouldn’t you be out trolling for women?”

  I shook my head. “Not tonight. Tonight, I want to sleep.”

  “Well,” she said, stepping past me into her bedroom. She cringed at the random spatters of blood dotting the floor, the overturned ladder, and the large chunk the hammer had taken out of the glossy hardwood floor. “You will definitely have quiet from me for the rest of the night. My walls will just be artless, because I am terrified to use that hammer over my head again.” She gave a heavy sigh, with a look of dejection that made me want to pull her into my arms.

  Instead, I patted her on the shoulder. “Hey, how about I finish hanging these for you, while you put some ice on your forehead?”

  “You would do that for me?” she asked, turning to me with an excited smile.

  “Yeah. I mean, it’s not a big deal. Just show me where you want them.”

  Viv pointed out the places, and I carefully measured and hung the hooks to hold the paper-covered canvas prints while she cleaned up the floor, then went to the kitchen for ice.

  I reached for the first canvas, tearing off the brown paper wrapping. Blood rushed to my groin, making me glad that my back was to Viv, so she couldn’t see my body’s involuntary reaction when I held the picture up to look at it. I don’t know what I was e
xpecting the picture to be, but a topless Viv, covering her breasts with chocolate-covered hands was not it.

  This woman is trying to kill me, I thought, unable to peel my eyes away as I hung the provocative image on the wall. All five of the canvases I eventually hung featured Viv in tastefully seductive nude poses, covered in various types of chocolate, plus one of her dripping with caramel that I would have paid good money to hang on my own bedroom wall.

  “It was extremely messy, and very hard to clean off afterwards,” she said, returning to the bedroom with a bag of ice wrapped in a towel, which she placed on her forehead after she climbed into the bed.

  “I can imagine.” And I did. My mind drifted to an image of her in the shower, bathroom filled with steam while… I probably shouldn’t think about that, but damn… it was Viv.

  “I had a lot of fun though,” she called from her reclined position against her pillows. “It was for a feature, in Sugar & Spice magazine. You know the owner, Cameron Taylor? She’s Roman’s cousin.”

  I nodded. “Yeah, I’ve heard him mention it.” For the first time, I tore my eyes from her nude body long enough to notice the Sugar & Spice logo in the corner of each canvas, along with a publication date. “So the issue comes out next month?”

  “Mmhm.”

  “I’ll be sure to get a copy.”

  She smirked, but didn’t otherwise respond, and I took that opportunity to gather up the discarded paper to take to the trash. When I was done, I looked around, for the first time taking notice of how different Viv’s apartment was from mine. The layout was the same, even though I had a bigger corner apartment, with two bedrooms, but while my place was all dark grays and blacks, hers was an unsurprisingly vibrant mixture of purples, oranges, pinks, and white.

  Viv was always dressed in a wild assortment of colors and patterns, which she somehow managed to make look incredibly fly. But then again… everything about Viv was fly. Still, it surprised me that she chose such colors for her living space, and I started to say something to her about it, but when I returned to her room, her eyes were closed, and the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest told me she was asleep.

  No, no, no.

  I sat down beside her on the edge of the bed, gently nudging her shoulder to wake her up. When she finally opened her eyes, I couldn’t do anything but stare.

  Vivienne was just… fucking gorgeous, and I wasn’t sure why it always caught me off guard. The wild mass of red-tinted curls, soulful brown eyes, full, sensual lips, and creamy caramel skin covering a body of lush curves… wearing my tee shirt. She wasn’t even doing anything and she was sexy.

  “Carter?”

  Goddamnit.

  I briefly closed my eyes, then shifted positions on the bed as my body responded to her half-whispering my name. “Wake up, Frenchy,” I said after clearing my throat. “You hit your head, you probably shouldn’t be going to sleep right now.” I smiled when she cut her eyes at me, groaning as she sat up. “Besides… we need to talk about this.” I tugged at the hem of the tee shirt I’d been looking for since that I day ran into her in the laundry room. Weeks ago.

  “What about it?” she asked, feigning innocence.

  “This is mine, you little… how do you say thief in French?”

  “Voleur.”

  “Yeah. That.” An embarrassed smile played at the corners of her lips, but she avoided my eyes until I caught the bottom of her chin, gently turning her face back to mine. “Tell me why you’re wearing my shirt, pirate.”

  “So I am a pirate now?”

  “Your patch needs to be a little lower,” I said, motioning toward the bandage on her head, “But you’re out here claiming other people’s stuff as bounty, so yeah, you’re a pirate. Now stop deflecting and answer the question.”

  She shrugged. “It is comfortable.”

  “I know. That’s why it’s my favorite shirt.”

  “Oh,” she said, running her hand over the fabric. “I did not know it was your favorite. I will have it clean and back to you tomo—”

  “No,” I interrupted, grabbing her hand. “You keep it. It looks better on you anyway.”

  Viv’s lips parted for a second, then she blushed, avoiding my gaze again as she bit her lip. “Umm… are you hungry?” she asked, finally looking in my general direction, more over my shoulder than actually at me. “We could order a pizza or something… unless you have something to do?”

  Let’s see… go to sleep alone, or spend time with Viv, who I’ve been crushing on from a distance for almost a year?

  “I could eat.”

  —

  “This fruity shit is all you have?” I asked, frowning at the raspberry-infused concoction Viv placed in my hand when I asked if she had any beer.

  She shrugged. “Unless you want real liquor, yes. That’s the only beer I have.” She turned back to her laptop, to finish ordering our dinner using the pizza parlor’s online service. I tried my best to ignore the appetizing view of her bare thighs, almost completely exposed in her current state of dress. I’d hoped that she would put on a bigger pair of shorts, maybe a snuggie or something, since we were going to be alone, behind closed doors, for an extended period of time. But, Viv seemed completely comfortable in my shirt and the tiny pair of hot pink panties she was wearing.

  I would have thought it was meant to be a seduction, if she weren’t acting so completely innocent. There was no “accidental” touching, no thinly-veiled innuendo, so I pushed away thoughts of those supple golden thighs wrapped around my waist, and accepted it as her just being comfortable in her own home, not trying to get me into her bed — which I would not have minded.

  “Well, while we’re waiting on the pizza, I’m gonna run back to my place and grab a few real beers, okay?”

  With a playful roll of her eyes, Vivienne nodded. “I am going to find a few pain relievers to take. My head is pounding.”

  I left her rummaging in her medicine cabinet and went back to my apartment. I snagged a few beers from the fridge and headed back, stopping when my phone began vibrating in my pocket just before I got to my door.I put the beers down on the table by the door while I pulled out my phone. One glance at the number on the screen tanked my mood.

  Groaning, I took a seat on the couch, and just before it was about to stop ringing and send the caller to voicemail, I slid my finger across the screen and answered the phone for my brother, Roderick.

  “Carter? Yo, Cutz, you there man? What the fuck is up, bruh?” he said when I didn’t immediately speak. Already, I could feel the stress creeping through my temples, settling in my forehead in response to his rambunctious greeting.

  “Yeah, Rod. I’m here. What’s going on, man?”

  “Not shit. Just wanted to holla at you.” Even in my annoyance, I grinned. Rod tried to sound “hard” despite the fact that he simply wasn’t. His voice was deeper than the last time we spoke, but still held a youthful edge, betraying the fact that he was only 18 years old, still a kid. A smart kid, who didn’t have to do half of the stupid shit he did.

  “Cut the bullshit, Rod. What are you about to ask me for?”

  He sucked his teeth. “Damn, Cutz, I can’t just call to say whassup?”

  “That’s never been the case before, so quit stalling. I’m in the middle of something.”

  “Ohhh. She fine, ain’t she?”

  “Rod.”

  “Okay, damn. Mom wanted me to see if I could come and stay with you for a while.”

  “For what?”

  Roderick blew out a breath. “Shit, I don’t know. Some bull about you being a good influence or something,” he mumbled.

  I gave a heavy sigh of my own before I answered, knowing I only had one real option anyway. “Rod… I’m not for any of that nonsense you pull up there with mom. If I even get a hint that you’re up to anything, your ass is—”

  “Out of there, I know. So I can come?”

  Leaning back into the cushions, I massaged my temples, trying to alleviate the sudden pressure.
“Yeah, you can come. When, and for how long?”

  “I’ll have to call you back next week. Mom has to talk to the judge so I can be approved to leave.”

  I scowled. “Is that how you avoided having to go to criminal detention? Mom talked to the judge?”

  “Yeah, how you know?”

  I decided not to mention that the judge our mother had talked into keeping his ass free, even after Roderick had gotten into yet another fight, was probably the same guy who had decided to put him on probation. I’d spoken with him before, some curly-haired Obama wannabe who claimed he wanted to ease our mother’s mind about Rod’s troublemaking by putting him in a program that would correct it. More likely — he wanted Roderick off of her mind because he was sleeping with her, and didn’t want her son around ruining the mood.

  “Don’t worry about it,” I said, shaking my head. “I’m pretty sure he’s gonna let you go. Just call me back with the details.”

  “ASAP,” he replied, and I couldn’t help smiling again. He couldn’t even hide the fact that he was excited. “Ai’ight man, I’ll holla at you.”

  “Hey, Rod,” I called out, catching him before he hung up. “A few things, little brother.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “Leave the bullshit at home, okay? I’m not playing with you. You get on my turf and start fucking up, I will kick your ass and send you home. You got me?”

  “I got you, Carter. I swear, I’m not gonna get in any trouble.”

  “Good. And you’re getting a job too. You’re a grown man, you’re not gonna be hanging around on the Xbox eating up all my food.”

  “Okay, man.”

  “Seriously.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay. I’ll see you soon.”

  “Ai’ight, bye.”

  We hung up, and I scrubbed a hand over my face, trying to rid myself of the perpetual strain of dealing with my brother. A glance at the time told me I’d been gone for nearly thirty minutes, and I was sure that Viv was probably wondering where I was.