I Love My Hope (Nicole's Erotic Romance)

by Sabrina Lacey

  Her phone buzzes on the counter. We both look at it. It’s Jess. Amber picks it up and texts back. While typing on her phone, she tells me, “She’s coming. Get ready.”

  I steel myself. “Great. This is going to be a blast.”

  She shoots a look at me and sets the phone down. “You don’t like relationships, so having sex the way you have it – you know, with guys who respect you and like you and where there’s an understanding… well, that’s different than what she’s doing.”

  I cross my legs and adjust the fabric of my dress so it doesn’t wrinkle under the weight of my butt. “Amber, I just think maybe you’re jealous because Josh isn’t giving you the sausage.”

  “The what??!!” She crinkles her nose and laughs.

  I smile, my elbow on the counter, glass held loosely in my floating hand. “I’m trying to be funny so I don’t strangle you.”

  She frowns. “Am I really that difficult?”

  And this is where I have to bend. When you’re hitting this close to home, joke over. It’s either time to have a real conversation or it’s time to shut the hell up and be kind. I am choosing the latter. This is not called lying, under these circumstances. It’s called compassion.

  “No, you’re not difficult at all.”

  Amber looks to the door, primed. “Oh good. I didn’t think I was difficult.”

  I glance to the door, suspense rising as we wait. Leaning over, I ask, “So… what’s the plan?”

  Her eyes never leave the door. “I’m going to come right out and say, we’re afraid you’ve lost your way.”

  This hits me to my core.

  “Oooh, this is going to go deep.”

  Amber, still looking at the door, whispers, “To having the courage to say what needs to be said.”

  We both drink much larger gulps this time. Then I say, “Why are we whispering?”

  But she doesn’t have time to answer because in walks Jess holding hands with a handsome man neither of us has ever seen before. This is not James. We know James.

  Amber sits up straight, confused. “Whose hand is she holding? Is that the guy from San Francisco?”

  “I have no idea, but can you say wow? They look so cute together.”

  She shoots me a look and I shut up. But it’s true. Jess and this guy are balanced energy. He smiles at us on his approach, but it’s clear he only has eyes for our redheaded friend, who’s calm and peaceful as she greets us. The way they stand together is as if they’ve always been together. Amber and I are extremely interested and curious, and when I say interested and curious, I mean shocked as hell.

  “Guys, this is Chris. Chris, these are my best friends, Amber and Nicole.”

  Chris asks her, “What do you drink?”

  She smiles up at him and says, “Chopin. Rocks. Two limes, please. Thank you.”

  He reaches out to touch her hand before he leaves.

  Amber, for once, has no idea of what to say, so blurts out, “What is going on, what’s that fucking bruise on your cheek, and who is that guy?!”

  Amber stares with her mouth wide open.

  Jess touches her bruise. “Oh, I almost forgot about this. I got punched by a model named Misty.”

  Amber and I both blow up. “What??!!”

  “It’s a long story. Chris is someone I met just recently, but…” She looks off in his direction. “I have a feeling he’s going to be around for awhile. I’ll tell you all about it when we’re alone. But guys, something more important has happened. Well, I don’t know about more important… but it’s pretty freakin’ huge. I’ve decided what I want to do with my life!”

  We both gasp.

  “I don’t know if you noticed, but I’ve been flailing about for awhile.”

  “We noticed.”

  Jess laughs because we said that together. “Yeah, well… you don’t have to worry about me anymore.”

  I lean back and scoff, waving my hand like she’s being ridiculous. “Who said we were worried?”

  Amber blurts out, “We were very worried.”

  Jess hugs her and says, “I know. I know you guys better than you think I do.”

  Amber pulls away. “Wait. Is Chris the guy from San Francisco?”

  Jess’s face falls a little. “No. Chris lives here. I could never date someone long distance after what happened with David. But that guy was amazing. I guess it just wasn’t meant to be.”

  I shake my head fast like a dog out of a bath, throw up my hands, and announce, “I’ve always said I have psychic abilities, but let me just say it right now. I don’t! I did NOT see this coming! In fact, life has been surprising me left and right!”

  “Here you go,” Chris says, as he returns and hands Jess her cocktail.

  Jess lifts her glass. “To surprises!”

  The four of us bring them in together and clink. “To surprises!”

  _______________

  As the night goes on, Chris completely wins us over. He seems to just get it, and he fits right in like he’s always been a part of the group. He’s a great listener; adding things when he has something interesting to add, keeping quiet when he doesn’t. He finds our interactions funny, and he watches us with a smile on his face. He even appreciates the story of how the bartender got my number last night, and wishes me well on my date next Friday.

  Truth? I was really excited about that date until I saw these two. There’s something about when two people fit. It makes it obvious when two people don’t. And sure, I don’t know Sexy Bartender yet (that’s the name I’ve given him since I don’t know his name) but I didn’t think, this is the guy when I met him. I thought, wow, this guy has some courage. And I like his facial hair.

  Which is cool, but it’s not even close to the same.

  Amber, though, gets quieter and quieter as the night progresses. At one point, I follow her into the bathroom to ask, “You okay?”

  “I’m fine.”

  “You’re lying to me right now.”

  She shrugs behind a sad smile. “Let’s just be happy for Jess tonight. It’s great to see her doing to so well, you know? I don’t want to spoil it with my boring problems.”

  I tilt my head and narrow my eyes, not sure what I should do. She walks out the door, doesn’t give me a chance to argue. Maybe she’s right and we should just celebrate tonight. But there’s a feeling in my gut that says something is rotten, and she is not okay.

  Friday Night

  An Apple For An Apple…

  My phone goes off and it’s a text from Sexy Bartender. How am I going to ask him what his name is? This is awkward. We’ve texted several times throughout the week, and it got a little heated, yet still I haven’t found a way to ask, “What is your freaking name?”

  On Sunday Morning

  Sexy Bartender: Looking forward to Friday.

  Me: Me too. Where are we going?

  Sexy Bartender: Wherever you want to go. No limits necessary

  Me: I like the sound of that.

  On Tuesday Afternoon

  Sexy Bartender: Had a dream about you.

  Me: Oh?

  Sexy Bartender: Oh yeah.

  Me: It’s 3:00 p.m.

  Sexy Bartender: I just woke up. I work until 4, remember? ;)

  (Not sure I like that.) Me: Gotcha. What was the dream about?

  Sexy Bartender: You were naked with me under a waterfall in the Caribbean.

  (Now that I like) Me: Were you enjoying yourself?

  Sexy Bartender: Not as much as you were.

  Me: Oh my…

  Sexy Bartender: Yeah. I hope this isn’t coming on too strong. I can’t help my subconscious.

  Me: Lol. No, you can’t. And no…you’re not.

  Sexy Bartender: Good, because I can’t get you out of my mind.

  Me: Me, or my body?

  Sexy Bartender: Both. Thank God they’re connected.

  Me: Lol

  (Silence after that. I hate it when they disappear mid-conversation.)

  On Thursday Aft
ernoon

  Sexy Bartender: Hey.

  Me: Hey.

  Sexy Bartender: What’re you doing?

  (Let’s see what he does with this)

  Me: Touching myself.

  Sexy Bartender: Really?

  Me: No. Okay, yes.

  Sexy Bartender: Me too.

  Me: Are you…?

  Sexy Bartender: I am now.

  Me: Describe it to me.

  Sexy Bartender: I’m well endowed. And then some.

  (Yeesh)

  Me: And then some?

  Sexy Bartender: Reaching the moon, it’s so big.

  Me: Funny.

  Sexy Bartender: Who says I’m being funny. I just poked the man on the moon in the eye.

  (He’s killing my vibe.)

  Me: Okay. Stop.

  Sexy Bartender: You describe what you’re doing then…

  (Get ready buddy)

  Me: Okay. I’m sitting with my back to the wall in front of a mirror. My legs are spread… and other things.

  Sexy Bartender: Holy shit. Go on.

  (I doubt he can handle this, but let’s see)

  Me: I’m wet. I’m dripping down my fingers as I touch the sweet warm slippery place between my legs.

  Sexy Bartender: Fuck Friday. I want to come over now.

  Me: Can’t wait. Why don’t you call me, so you can talk me through this?

  Sexy Bartender: Can’t.

  Me: Why not?

  Sexy Bartender: I’m at Happy Hour with my buddies. Sorry.

  (Which means he’s probably showing them my text. Awesome.)

  Me: You’re fucking kidding me.

  Sexy Bartender: I wish I was.

  Sexy Bartender: You still there?

  Sexy Bartender: Sorry.

  Sexy Bartender: Still on for Friday? I’m sorry. I just didn’t want to stop reading about you touching yourself. It was so hot. Can you blame me?

  Sexy Bartender: Hello?

  Sexy Bartender: I didn’t show my friends. Or tell them. I promise.

  (Magic words)

  Me: Okay. Friday’s on. But you are on thin ice.

  Sexy Bartender: Understood.

  (Silence from both our ends)

  Now it’s Friday night. I’m sitting across from him at Scarpetta, a nice Italian restaurant, but I’m not feeling it. I’m not feeling the straight, hard lines of this restaurant, nor am I feeling the less-than-manly vibe from him now that his beard has been shaved off without warning. He had been growing it for a short film he booked where he’s bold and courageous. So that husky masculine man I met last week? An act by an actor.

  But the food is delicious. I got the pancetta-wrapped pork chop and it is melting in my mouth. The words with which to speak to this guy? Not so much.

  “So… you’re a painter,” he says, nodding. I can’t help but stare at the pinky finger he has shooting out from the wine glass he’s holding.

  “I am. Yes.”

  “What’s your day job?” He laughs at his own joke.

  I smile and take another bite of chop.

  I point to my mouth to indicate I’m chewing, while I pick up my glass and sip the red. I’m taking my time to answer since I hate this question more than any other. Why is it assumed that an artist can’t make a living in art? Some of the richest people in the world are artists, musicians, filmmakers, actors, etc. Like him! I mean, really. It’s nonsensical.

  I take a breath, look around, and then lock on him. “Why would assume that my paintings aren’t covering the bills?” It sounds like an accusation when I hear it.

  He hears it, too. And the war is on.

  “You don’t have to get touchy about it,” he says behind wounded masculinity, which grates on my nerves, too. This isn’t a male-female thing. It’s a person-person one. But men never see it like that. You argue with them and they instantly think their dicks are shrinking. Says more about them than us, in my mind. And not all men. Just guys like him who have no idea who they really are yet. Children in hairy men-suits. So not hot.

  I pick up my knife to slice off another distraction. “I’m not touchy. I was asking you.”

  “It didn’t sound like a question,” he says.

  I mumble, “Well, I’ll be more careful next time,” and pop a chunk of meat into my mouth. This is the only meat that will be going into my mouth tonight. Sigh.

  He starts sucking on his teeth and the sound is gross and impossible to ignore. “And I have to bartend to pay the bills. But hey, you’re obviously better than I am.” The sarcasm whips my ears.

  “Obviously.”

  “This isn’t working out, is it?” he says, annoyed.

  “Look…um…” I was about to say his name, but I have no idea what it is! Which is hilarious to me all of a sudden. The realization is so amusing that I start giggling uncontrollably. I cover my mouth with my hand to try to stop myself because laughing in somebody’s face is going too far, even for me.

  “What’s funny?” he asks, growing progressively angrier. I don’t blame him!

  “Nothing.” I squeak from behind fingers. A full-blown, gut-busting laugh bursts out of me. I clasp my other hand over the first, my eyes wide in embarrassment. But it’s too late – like when you’re a kid in church knowing you’re not supposed to laugh… and knowing that makes you laugh more.

  “What is so funny!” he demands as tears come to my eyes from the giggles.

  People are looking at us.

  “I’m sorry. It’s just uh…” I point to my head and make a ‘crazy’ circle, grabbing my napkin to dab at my eyes. “I just remembered something funny. I’m so sorry. I have to go to the bathroom.” I jump up, grab my bag and take off as he stares at me

  In bathroom mirror, I giggle to myself and wipe mascara streaks away. I don’t want to go back out there. I feel like I’m an asshole, and so is he. Pulling out my phone to text Jess and Amber about the debacle this date has turned out to be, I see that it’s been blowing up for the past twenty minutes with texts and calls from Josh! Oh no… something happened to Amber. I call him back immediately without reading them. My heart races. I’ve gotten these kinds of calls before. Please let her be alright!

  As soon as he says, hello, I burst out with, “Josh?! What’s going on?! Is Amber okay?”

  He sounds lost and confused. “She left me. She threw an apple at me and then she left.”

  “Wait. So, she’s not in the hospital? Jeez, you scared me.”

  “She’s in the hospital?”

  “What? No! I thought from all the… never mind.”

  “Didn’t you read my texts? Listen to my messages?”

  “No Josh. Sorry. I just saw how many there were and I freaked. Okay. Start over. She did what?”

  “She threw an apple at me, started screaming out of nowhere, then she ran out the door and left! Her phone is off and I don’t know how to find her. Nicole, please come. Please come help me. I can’t live without her.”

  My mind is processing quickly everything he says. Amber was in trouble.

  “Josh, let me call you back.” I hang up. I need more information, but he’s right. Her phone is off and my call goes straight to voicemail.

  “Amber, it’s me. Josh just called. You okay? Do you need me to come get you somewhere? Do you want to stay at my place? You’ll have to sleep in bed with me, since I don’t have a couch anymore…but that’s okay. Call me.”

  I dial Jess next. It rings and rings, and goes to voicemail. “Jess, Amber’s in trouble. She left Josh. Where are you? Oh, you’re probably out with Chris. Okay, call as soon as you get this.”

  I call back Josh and say, before he has a chance to say hello, “I’m coming over.”

  “Oh thank God!”

  “Stay right there.” I hang up and swing open the door to the bathroom, speeding out like I’m a hit woman who’s pulling out her gun, running for the target who’s right outside. As I see my date, I stop fast at the table and say, “I have to run. There’s been an emergency.”


  “Wait! What? Do you know how expensive this bottle of wine is, and this food? You’re just going to leave after that fucked-up laughing fit?”

  I pick up to bottle of wine, look around and walk it over to a table with a happy young couple who’s definitely on a better date than we are. “See that guy?” I ask them, pointing to Not-So-Sexy Bartender. They nod. “He wanted you to have this.”

  “Thank you!” they call out to him. He forces a smile, but he is pissed.

  I speed back to him. “There. You just did a good deed. That should feel good. I’m about to do the same, so… bye.”

  As soon as I’m outside, a cab drives by. “TAXI!!!”

  It screeches to a stop and reverses. Peering up at me from the driver’s seat is the same cabbie who helped with my paint supplies. “Hello again!” he calls through the open window.

  I jump in. “Well, hello to you, too! You’ve come to my rescue!”

  He grins. “I have a feeling you’re not the type of girl to need rescuing.”

  “You’d be surprised.” We drive off so fast my head swings back.

  “What am I rescuing you from?” he asks, looking at me from the rearview.

  I grin and answer, “The wrong guy!”

  Minutes Later

  Josh is waiting outside when we drive up, looking scared and guilty. I climb out of the car and give him a hug as my cabbie waits.

  “It’s all me. It’s all me, Nicole. It’s all my fault.”

  “Josh! You’ve been a jerk – I won’t lie to you, but it’s never just one person. Okay? I don’t know what’s going on, but Amber loves you. Okay?” He nods and I turn to my cabbie friend. “I’m sorry. I didn’t see how much I…” I’m interrupted by a text alert and Josh practically jumps me.

  “IS IT AMBER?!”

  “Josh! Yeesh. Calm down.” I call out to my cabbie, “Hold on, please. I’m so sorry.”

  He motions don’t worry.

  The text is indeed from the best friend in question. She’s at the bar where we met Chris, and when I read, “Need help,” my stomach twists. Maybe she doesn’t want to see Josh. Oh God. What do I do?

  I look up to see Josh on his phone, calling her. I grab at it and wrestle it from his hands. “Josh put the phone down! You’ll scare her off!”