by Nia Arthurs
I jut my chin to the counter. “I think you just broke your phone.”
She laughs. The guard in her eyes softens. “You’ve been watching me?”
“Kind of hard not to.”
“That’s slightly stalker-ish.”
“It’s not every day a woman treats her cell phone like a baseball. You stole my interest, but you’re welcome to think what you want.”
She curls her fingers under her chin. “I see.”
“I’ll leave if you say the word.”
“What a gentleman.”
“I’ve never been accused of that.”
“Sounds like a warning.” She flutters her eyelashes. Smiles a little deeper.
Oh yeah.
She’s open. Interested.
I lean in close. So close I can smell her perfume. It’s subtle. Lavender. Vanilla, maybe? Like Zania’s.
Dammit.
I’m not thinking about her.
Not tonight.
I offer my hand to the brunette. “I’m Teale.”
“Riley.”
“Beautiful name for a beautiful woman.”
She blushes.
The bartender brings her drink.
When she lifts it to her lips, her fingers tremble.
She sets it back. Looks at me. There’s a boldness in her eyes that wasn’t there a second ago. “Come here often?”
“When I can. Work has me traveling a lot.”
“What do you do?”
That’s a question a lot of women ask me lately. As if my career has anything to do with the night we’ll spend together.
I shrug. Play it off. “I dabble in tech.”
“Dabble?”
I nod. I’m not giving her any more than that.
Gesturing to the phone, I ask, “You expecting someone?”
“Not anymore. My date skipped out on me.”
“Idiot.”
“That Damion guy… he’s an idiot.”
I wave the memory of my last conversation with Zania away.
“Online dating, right?” She flings her hair over her shoulder. “I’ve always preferred meeting people the old-fashioned way.”
“A lot of things are better the old-fashioned way,” I agree.
“Like?”
“Talking in person. Behind a computer, you can hide everything, but there’s not much you can fake when you’re face to face.” I lean closer. “In each other’s space. Close enough to touch.” I lower my voice. “To feel that chemistry…”
Her pupils dilate.
She’s thinking about touching me.
About screwing me.
I could whisk her to my place right now and she wouldn’t make a peep.
It should thrill me.
But it doesn’t.
When I try to imagine this woman in my bed, my mind replaces her with Zania. Her yellow dress on the floor. Her angry glower turned to lust. Brown eyes looking up. Curvy body under me.
It makes my blood boil.
The easy pickup. The random woman. The night’s just beginning, but I already know how it’s going to end. And I can’t seem to feel any anticipation about it.
“I like the way you think, Teale.”
She likes the way I look too, but she’s keeping that part unsaid.
A couple more minutes of talking and three drinks later, Riley’s pulling on my arm and whispering in my ear about the couch in the back.
She’s sexy. She’s willing. She’s nice.
I’d be a fool to pass her up.
A fool is what I am.
When I leave the club, I don’t leave with her on my arm.
Traffic is light.
My head’s even lighter.
I’m still trying to figure out why my passenger seat is empty.
By the time I get home, a clearer picture is forming. A picture of a woman. Dark skin. Thick braids. Pouty, pink lips.
I toss my keys on the dresser. Climb into bed. Set my alarm so I can wake up early in the morning.
Brew Drop opens at six thirty.
And I’ll be there.
Bright and early.
There’s a feisty, gorgeous woman I need to see.
6 Zania
The bakery is quiet. Too quiet. I turn on the speakers. Pull out my phone to sync my favorite hard rock album. Bob my head to the angry, roiling screams.
I’m an RnB girl through and through, but when you break up with your boyfriend and meet your mortal enemy in one day, it calls for a ripping, tortured guitar solo.
I pull out the cupcake pans filled with scrumptiously baked cupcakes and muffins. Straightening, I slam the oven door with my hip. It crashes back into place.
The metal sheet warms my mitts.
I quickly toss it on the counter before it can singe my hand.
With a hiss, I stare at the mitt. It’s green with a snowman on it. It was a gift from Gran the day before she moved across the country to live with her sister.
I’m still upset that she left me.
It’s been just the two of us since my dad was incarcerated back when I was too young to remember.
Gran and I did everything together, so when she decided to leave, I took it personally. I’ve never been all that great being by myself.
My gaze refastens on the oven mitt.
It’s starting to fray.
I frown. Yank it off.
The side door opens.
Chandra steps in.
She smiles softly at me. “Hey, Zania.”
“Hey.”
“What time did you go home?”
“I didn’t.” My fingers pluck at my tank top and shorts. I always keep a change of clothes at Brew Drop in case I need to pull an all-nighter.
Chandra’s eyes shift to the whiskey on the counter.
It’s mostly full.
I couldn’t bring myself to drink much of it.
Not when it reminded me so much of Teale.
Thankfully, my boss doesn’t ask questions.
She pulls her purse off her shoulder and rubs the back of her neck with slender, manicured fingers. “I’m sorry… about yesterday.”
“Which part?”
“All of it. We didn’t know about Damion.”
“It’s okay.”
“Is it?” She cringes. “The last thing you needed was a party.”
I shrug. “I could have gone home, but I came to the bakery for a reason. I wanted your comfort.” I wipe my hands on the back of my pants. “But I didn’t know there’d be extra guests.”
“Griffin and Ollie?”
“I’m talking about Teale.”
“Teale?”
“Did you invite him?” Somehow, I can’t imagine Teale RSVP’ing my celebratory engagement party.
Why did he show up?
The thought’s been bothering me since last night. His motivations for being there. For buying me liquor.
What exactly is he playing at?
“We didn’t invite Teale. He was nearby so Ollie told him to join us.” Chandra tilts her head. “Why?”
“No reason.” I lift the still-hot cupcakes with a pair of silver tongs.
She glides closer. Points a finger in my face. “You’re avoiding my eyes.”
“No I’m not.” I swerve.
She matches my movement. “Yes, you are.”
“Could you get out of my way? I’m trying to work here.”
Chandra stubbornly remains. “You’re hiding something from me.”
“Shouldn’t you be busy planning a wedding right now?”
She huffs. Flounces back. “Don’t remind me.”
“You still haven’t told me what kind of cake you and Ollie want.”
“Because I know, whatever it is, you can handle it.” She squeezes my shoulder. “We’ve got the venue, but we’re still trying to decide on a guest list. When I get that out of the way, I’ll let you know.”
Her phone rings.
“Speaking of, that’s Ollie now.” She rolls her eye
s. “He’s probably angry.”
I smirk. “Let me guess. You snuck out again this morning?”
“I don’t like waking him when he’s asleep. It’s called being polite.”
“Try telling him that.”
“I will.” She slants me a proud look and disappears into her office to answer.
The smile on my face is bittersweet. Ollie and Chandra’s relationship is the cutest thing. I love the way he dotes on her.
Both Griffin and Ollie give me hope that decent guys do exist.
I just can’t seem to attract any of them.
Bitterness starts to paw at my chest.
I close my eyes. Breathe in through my nose. Out through my mouth. Find the stillness in the calm, just as Gran taught me back when kids found out my dad was in jail and treated me like I was personally responsible for his crimes.
Find the peace inside, Zania. Find it and let your worries go.
It never worked, but it’s a habit now.
Positive thoughts back in place, I take the tray of cupcakes. Move to the door. Push my weight against it so it flaps open.
Even if I’ve just broken up with my boyfriend, the world still turns. Debt collectors still call. Banks still charge interest. I’ve got to push past Teale and Damion and everything else. Focus on work. Get through the day.
I set the cupcake tray on the counter and slide the display glass aside to gain access.
Sunlight dances through the large windows. Outside, it’s a clear, beautiful day. The strains of my rock music are a harsh contrast to the crisp scenery and quiet.
I finish setting the last cupcake in the display and grab the tray to leave when, through the window, I see a silver vehicle park in the lot.
My heart thuds.
That’s a Jag.
Teale’s Jag.
Panicked, I duck.
I don’t know why the heck I do that.
It’s the most immature move I could make, but here I am, knees tucked to my chest, arms wrapped around them, waddling forward, hoping and praying I can make it to the kitchen without him catching sight of me.
Then the bells above the door jangles.
Footsteps pound.
I stare at the distance between me and freedom.
It’s too much.
I’ll never make it.
Before I can decide on the next course of action, Teale’s voice runs a delicious tremble down my back. “Going somewhere?”
I freeze.
My mind goes blank.
And then it goes wild.
Scrambling for a solution, I do what I’ve seen heroines in all the cheesy, rom-coms pull off when caught in this exact predicament.
“Oh, look!” I press my forefinger and thumb together. Jump up. “My earring.”
A corner of his lips notches up.
Blue eyes simmer with amusement.
He’s not buying it.
I clear my throat. Lift my chin. Try to act like my face isn’t burning from embarrassment. “What are you doing here?”
“Take a guess.”
“You’ve come to annoy me?”
He smirks. “I’m here to buy a cup of coffee. Happy?”
“Hardly. And there are plenty of other places you could go.”
“But the view’s not as good.”
My heart flips. “Says who?”
“Is that an argument you should be making, sweetheart?”
“I’m not your sweetheart.”
“Not mine. A. You’re a sweetheart.” He grins.
I bristle.
Don’t let him get under your skin, Zania.
“And you’re a jerk.”
“True.” He sets a fist under his chin. “I missed this.”
“This?”
“You.”
My breath shutters.
Looking at him now, I can’t believe I was ever stupid enough to think that Teale liked me.
Every move is practiced, every word dripping in charm.
He oozes sex appeal. Confidence.
Dirty promises gleam in his eye.
I’m not the only woman to fall for it.
I won’t be the last.
He leans on the counter, elbows to the glass. Muscles bunch beneath the sleeve of his T-shirt. “No one makes red velvet like Zania.”
My nostrils flare.
There are no words for how much I can’t stand this man.
I force a smile to my face. “We’re all out.”
He glances down. Stares pointedly at the cupcakes nestled in the display. Back up. “Is that your way of chasing me out?”
“You know what, Teale? You’re not as dumb as you look.”
He chuckles.
I hate that he thinks I’m being funny.
I’m completely serious.
He straightens. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine.”
“I meant about—”
“I know what you meant,” I snap. Fidget with my fingers. Stare at the ground.
Talking with Teale about Damion is just… weird.
“You know,” he slips his hands into his pockets, looking effortlessly sexy, “they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” His voice is soft. Seductive.
Is he actually suggesting we have a repeat of that night?
Or is he just jerking my chain?
I lift my eyes. Stare him down. “Are you offering?”
His eyelashes flutter.
“If you are, I’ll have to turn you down.”
“No rush. You can think about it. ”
“Ask me in a hundred years and the answer will still be the same.”
“You don’t know what you’re missing.”
“Actually, I do.”
“So you do remember.”
My eyes flicker. “I don’t.”
“Need a reminder?”
“From who?”
“Who else?” he arches an eyebrow. “From the best.”
“I’m afraid I’ve seen better.” I stare pointedly at his pants and then back up.
A slow, amused smile creeps over his face.
He rubs his jaw.
Interest glimmers from his eyes.
I shouldn’t have said that.
I think… I just made a big mistake.
7 Teale
I didn’t know this fiery version of Zania existed. In the past, she was quiet. Shy. Careful. As beautiful as she was, I’d overlook her in a crowd and forget her in a heartbeat.
But that’s not the case anymore.
All I’m seeing is her.
I don’t know what it is—if it’s the pert tits, the virgin, clueless baker shtick or the don’t screw with me smirk… but I like it.
A lot.
And I want to see more.
I want to see everything.
Her biting words feel good.
Man, am I crazy? Most guys would be offended.
But most guys aren’t as confident in what they’re working with.
I know she doesn’t mean the shade she’s throwing. I know she’s saying it just to get to me.
I don’t care.
I like it.
The excitement I’d been missing yesterday with that girl in the bar stirs me up now. Like a pot set to boiling. Bubbling. Overflowing.
Zania’s the match to my gas-soaked wood.
“You’ve seen better?” I lean forward. “Do tell.”
“I’m not discussing this with you.”
“You’re the one who mentioned it.”
“I’ll end it here.”
“Why?”
“Your ego wouldn’t be able to handle the truth.”
I grin. “Sweetheart, my ego can handle more than you think.”
“Of course it can.” She rolls her eyes so hard it looks like a pinball machine gone rogue.
“You don’t believe me?”
“I believe you’re full of crap.” She gestures to the door. “Thanks for stopping by. Please don’t
come again.”
“I don’t have my coffee yet.”
She snorts. “You didn’t come here for coffee.”
It’s true.
We both know it.
I adjust the sleeve of my shirt. “Got any whiskey left?”
“Why?” Dark eyes narrow. “You want it back?”
“Only if you’ll have a glass with me.”
“I’d rather gargle acid.”
“Such harsh words from such a pretty mouth.” I let my gaze linger there. Trace the shape and color—dark brown dissolving into a sultry pink at the center—with my eyes.
I remember the taste of her lips.
Vodka and strawberries.
Sweet.
Delicious.
“It’s too early to be this obnoxious.” Zania scowls. Even angry, her lips still tantalize. Seduce. Beckon.
I lick my own.
Her eyes follow the movement. “Don’t you have something better to do?”
“I cleared my schedule just for you.”
She jerks her gaze away and thrusts a pair of tongs into the display case. “How generous of you.”
“I’m a generous guy.”
That, right there.
Her eyes darken. Flare with need.
And hate.
So compelling.
I lean forward. “I’ve got a proposition for you.”
“I already rejected your offer. I’ll deal with my heartbreak on my own and if I need to get under someone, it won’t be you.”
“You enjoyed it last time.”
Flames burst to life in her eyes.
She’s about to stab me with those prongs.
I chuckle. Calm her down. “But that wasn’t what I was going to say.”
She scrunches her nose. “Then what?”
“Let’s be friends.”
“You and me?”
“That’s right.”
She looks at the ceiling. Taps her chin. Pretends to think about it. “Hm… no.”
“Why not?”
“Because I hate you.”
“I know.”
“Then why ask to be friends?”
“Because I don’t hate you.”
Her face turns mottled red beneath the dark skin. She’s rattled.
In this war of words, I’m not sure who’s supposed to be the winner. All I know is the truth.
Truth is—no woman has captured my attention this much.
Truth is—I want her to give in to me.
Truth is—Zania’s not making it easy.
And the resistance is giving me life.
She purses her lips. “Did your booty call flake last night? Is that why you’re torturing me?”