I Love My Chance (Nicole's Erotic Romance 3) Page 2

  My heart skips, and my body tingles. The idea is more than a little exciting. “Really?”

  He chuckles, smiling sideways. “Really.” His expression shifts, making it clear he’s about to say something profound. “You want to know something? It’s serious. Are you ready?”

  I gulp, bracing myself. “Yes.”

  He looks to the ground. “I’ve slept with some bat-shit crazies in my time, too.”

  A smile sneaks out of me. He got me again. “You have, huh?”

  He nods slowly, like this is big, scary news. “We’re talking restraining orders.”

  I’m skeptical and gullible. Because now I don’t know what to believe! “Restraining orders?”

  “Hanging from trees outside my window. Heavy-breathing voice messages. Boiled bunnies. The works.” He nods, his eyes laughing, his mouth straight-line somber.

  I purse my lips, thinking, Damn, he got me again! “Men probably shouldn’t own bunnies.”

  He shrugs, says in all seriousness, “We do it just to see who the real nutcases are. Saves us a lot in alimony. A few bunnies sacrificed for the greater cause.”

  I laugh. “That’s sick.”

  He covers his heart with his hand. “The trick is you don’t name them. That way you don’t get attached.”

  “The bunnies or the women?”

  “The women.”

  I lean up and kiss him. “Thank you.”

  He deflects my gratitude. “Seriously, though. All kidding aside. In this day and age if you’re over twenty-five and not married, you’ve dated crazy. But I have to say, the way you told him off?” He shakes his head and makes a phew noise again. “And here I thought I needed to protect you.”

  He takes my hand and I’m quiet for a bit as we walk in the opposite direction from Grant. I’m remembering what Jessica said about making room for the man to be the man. I’ve been alone for so long, I haven’t needed anyone to back me up. What if I’d let Mark handle Grant – what if I hadn't jumped to my own defense?

  “Mark…”

  He looks down at me. “Yeah?”

  I pause for second, struggling to be this open, to say what I really want. I breathe in the strength. “I love that you protected me. I do need that.”

  His eyebrows rise up, pleased. “Yeah?”

  I nod. “When you stood between us, you were amazing.”

  His arm goes happily around me.

  “So what were we talking about,” Mark asks, his mood light.

  I snuggle close against him, my arm around him, too. “I can’t remember. Oh, we were talking about your meeting. They loved it. So, does that mean it’s now a ‘go’?”

  He’s silent. I crane to look at him. He throws me a nervous look. “Let’s go get a hot dog!”

  I stare, baffled. “A hot dog?”

  “Yeah! I’ve always wanted to try one – you know, from those stands. Come on!” He quickly turns to lead me in the direction of 59th Street. I hop-walk to match his time as he walks faster. Mark points to where we can see the speck of a hotdog cart in the distance. “That one! We’ll get one from that guy.”

  “Your face is making me nervous.”

  “What face? I just want a hot dog.”

  I point my free hand at him. “And now that face! The one that says you’re innocent when you’re not innocent! My best friend does that!”

  “Amber?” he asks, not looking back, legs moving fast.

  I shake my head, breaking into a trot. “No. My other best friend. Slow down!”

  “You have a best friend named Slow Down?”

  I laugh and pick up to a jog. He lets go of my hand, breaks into a full-on run, and the chase is on! I run after him, laughing, as he dodges me several hilarious times. He makes me chase him all the way to the hot dog stand. I’m out of shape so he loses me long before we get there. I finally catch up, panting my heart out. He’s out of breath, too; his grin is like a little kid’s.

  I grab my thighs, bent over, chest heaving. I look up at him and scowl. “Stop checking your imaginary watch!”

  He feigns surprise. “You can’t see my watch? I see it.”

  I shake my head, standing up straight, holding onto my ribs for consolation. “Oh, right. Sorry. It’s very expensive. My apologies.”

  “Cost my mom nine months to make it! What do you want on your hot dog?” He smiles, filled with mock pride and nods in the direction of the forty-something Lithuanian vendor who’s watching us, not amused.

  I hold my hand onto my chest. “I really need to start going to a gym or something. Umm… mustard.”

  He stops, throws me a sideways glance. “Onions?”

  “Only if you are.”

  “Great. We’ll both have onions then. Did you get that?”

  The vendor stares at him and starts to work.

  Mark and I share a look. He shrugs, walks over and pulls me close. He kisses me once and leans back to look into my eyes, his arms wound comfortably around me. “Nicole.” The warmth in his eyes turns intimate again, as if we’re alone. “This is the best time I’ve had in years.”

  A surprised smile drifts throughout my whole body. I don’t say anything though, because I’m having a hard time believing he’s real. There must be something wrong with him. Nothing in my life is this easy or makes me this happy. Then I remember – there is something wrong with him. A major flaw called distance. This amazing man lives a very sad and lonely three thousand miles away from me. Suddenly I realize that may be exactly why that girl – the one he met on his last trip – ditched him for another guy. I couldn’t understand it before, but now I know she probably got scared. That’s probably why I’m here and she isn’t.

  Mark’s brow creases as he searches my eyes. “Hey hey hey. What was that?”

  A little puff of disbelief escapes my lungs. “You see everything.”

  He nods slowly, his eyes warm and kind. “It feels good.”

  Easy for you to say, I think. For me, it feels terrifying.

  A heavy Lithuanian accent booms out of nowhere: “HERE YOU GO!”

  Mark and I look over at him. Letting go of me, Mark reaches for his wallet to pay the man.

  I silently watch him ask for a couple bottles of water. He’s so comfortable in his own skin, and even better, I feel comfortable in mine when I’m around him. So what if he lives far away? Maybe long distance can work. I choose to make the opposite decision she made. I’m not going to let him go. I don’t care what happens. I’m not going to be an idiot – because that’s what I think she must be. I hope I never meet her, because I will tell her to her face what she lost… and that’s just mean.

  “Can we have some chips, too?” I call over.

  “The lady wants chips!”

  The vendor nods without expression.

  Mark whispers, “He loved us,” as we walk back into the park.

  I laugh. “Our biggest fan, for sure.”

  “Want to sit on the grass?” He points to a dry patch as we walk up to the lawn. “Here good?”

  “Perfect.”

  We sit down and start munching, looking at each other. It’s weird to have a man watch you while you eat a hot dog. From the amused look on his face, Mark’s thinking all kinds of sophomorically sexual things. I cover my mouth with my hand, eyes doing a jig as I try not to laugh with my mouth full.

  “You look amazing.”

  Choking from the giggles, I say, “I bet!”

  He’s in between messy bites of hot dog. “No really. You do.” Then, without missing a beat, he lights a match to the fuse of a bomb I don’t see coming. “So, it turns out… they don’t just hand you a wad of money the first day you meet ‘em.”

  Mouth stuffed, I shake my head wordlessly asking, no?

  “No. Turns out they need more time. Get to know you a bit, see everything in the package presented, etcetera.” He takes a big swig from a water bottle and opens the other one to hand it to me, cap off.

  “Thank you,” I mumble, swallowing. “So what do
they do? Check references? Things like that?”

  “Mmmhmm.” He nods… fuse disappearing fast as sparks creep treacherously close to my emotional gunpowder.

  I adjust my position so my legs don’t fall asleep. “And what do they need to see? What’s the package?”

  He takes another gulp of water. 5…4…3…2…1. “Your paintings. They’re coming to see your show.”

  KABOOM.

  I choke on the hot dog; spitting, coughing, having a nervous breakdown. He reaches over and pats my back. As soon as I’m able to talk, I yelp, “What??!! They’re WHAT??!”

  He leans forward. “They’re coming to see your show. Surprise.”

  I gulp and blink a million times. My stomach fills with a swarm of hula-dancing bees. His dream depends on my show???!! He puts his hands on my knees, saying my name several times, but I can’t hear him because my mind, the bees, and my mouth repeat over and over, I can’t I can’t I can’t you can’t you can’t I can’t I can’t you can’t no way I can’t I can’t I can’t. He pulls me onto his lap, rocking me until I eventually fall into silence. My thumping heart slows and the bees quiet to a low, deep hum… from shock.

  He whispers into my hair, “How’re you doin’? All good now?”

  I shake my head no.

  “You ready to hear what I have to say?”

  I shake my head no.

  “Is your name Nicole?”

  I shake my head no.

  He chuckles and kisses the top of my head. “Get ready for a truth-bomb. Here goes. Your paintings are beautiful, moving and edgy. They’re exactly what I’ve been looking for. If these guys come to your show and don’t see it, then they aren’t aligned with what I’m developing. There is no pressure on you. The pressure is on them to rise up and see what I see. If they don’t, I’ll find someone who does.”

  I mumble against his chest, “I thought you were scared they’d reject your idea. Remember what you said last night?”

  He kisses my head again and tightens his hold around me. I can feel his lungs expand as he takes a deep breath in. “That was before I saw the painting. We’re supposed to be doing this. I can feel it now.”

  I don’t feel so sure. “I know you’re trying to make me feel good about this.”

  “I’m not just saying this to make you feel better. I’m being honest.”

  I pull away slowly and sit opposite him, smoothing down my hair, and moving away napkins and hotdog wrappers so I can gather myself, take the time to think. “You know, this is going to sound stupid, but it’s the only thing going through my head.”

  “Shoot.”

  “Well…I used to say I was psychic…” I stop. I’m wondering if he believes in things like this. Or if I sound like a hippy-dippy nutcase.

  His eyebrows rise and his forehead crinkles up in the handsome way it does on some men. “Used to?”

  I nod, staring at him. “Yes. Awhile back.”

  “When?”

  “Last week.”

  He grins at me and I start to laugh. I lean back on my hands, shaking my head as I look at him. “You are like my friend. She’s the only other person who can make me laugh when I’m freaked.”

  He smiles, quietly pleased at the compliment. “I look forward to meeting her.”

  I pick up a dandelion and run my fingers over its feathery cap. “Anyway, I’m not psychic because my show, you dreaming of my painting, this day… you… your encouragement. All of this. It’s such a surprise, Mark.” I look up and my breath catches with the way he looks at me. We stay quietly staring at each other.

  His eyes narrow slightly. “I understand.”

  “Yeah? Good. Because I don’t,” I blow the seeds off the dandelion and watch as they fly gently through the air.

  He watches them too. Then he looks back at me, thinking. In a matter-of-fact tone, he tells me, “I’m psychic.”

  “Yeah?” I toss the stem aside. “You did have that dream.”

  “Yep. And I know what you’re thinking right now.”

  My eyes widen. “Oh?”

  He looks at my forehead, concentrating. He nods. “Yeah.”

  I rest on my hands, my head tilted. “What am I thinking?” If he says that I’m thinking you’re too good to be true and don’t leave me, I will poop in my own pants.

  He takes a moment. “You’re thinking, I sure could use a great cup of coffee.”

  I laugh, relieved. “Wow! How do you do that?”

  “Pretty amazing, right?” He smirks and we stand up, gathering our trash and bringing it to a trashcan. “You ready to go?”

  I shake my head and nuzzle into his chest, enjoying the feel of his arms as they move around me. He lifts my chin up with his hand, leans down and kisses me in a slow, sensual kiss. Goose bumps spreads over my body. I make a little sound of happiness against his soft lips. He pulls me tighter to him.

  When we pull away, I sigh. “Okay, let’s go get you some coffee. And I want to shower and get changed before dinner. Come with me?”

  He puts both index fingers to either side of his head. “Oh wait… You’re thinking -– wait, let me get this right.” I laugh. “Quit it.”

  He closes crinkles his eyes, cute little lines framing them as he pretends to read my mind through the ether. “You’re thinking…it’s clearer now… oh, wow! Really?” He pretends to be me. “I want to shower with Mark. I want him to wash me all over.” His eyes pop open. “Good, huh?”

  I purse my lips. “Impressive. We need to get you a run-down house and a neon sign that says Palm Reading $15.00. You could make a killing.”

  “With enough readings, I could have the backing for my app.” He looks at me with purpose.

  I throw up both hands. “Okay! Okay! They can come see the show.”

  “Ha!! Yes!” He does a funny fist pump that makes me laugh.

  We walk back out to 59th Street to catch a cab. Mark steps away to the edge of the curb to call a taxi. He calls over to our hotdog vendor, “Those were delicious.” The man glares at him. When one of five taxis riding by pulls up, I bend down, hoping for my cabbie friend. It’s not him, but a large man from the Dominican Republic who smiles at me. I’ll take what I can get. It’s better than oh-too-common apathy. Plus, it’d be weird if it was my friendly cabbie. Not that any of this isn’t weird.

  Mark holds the door open for me. “You okay?”

  I scoot in. “What? Oh…yeah. I’m fine. Was just looking for someone.”

  As I lean forward to give the driver Third Rail Coffee’s cross streets, Mark slides his warm hand under my jacket and holds it to my lower back with gentle pressure. When I sit back, he moves it around me and I snuggle into the nook of his arm. We ride toward Greenwich Village looking out the window with my head leaned on him as he points to things that catch his interest.

  “Look at that. Is that a church?”

  I nod. “Mmmhmm.”

  “It looks like it’s been there for centuries, right in the middle of all this modern architecture.”

  “Cool, huh?”

  “Very. Evidence of the first colonies,” he says, watching the sights speed by.

  I close my eyes and rest into the sweet softness of his tall, lean frame. Even though I’m 5’8" or 5’9" (it seems to vary depending on my mood), his height makes me feel tiny; a little more feminine… protected. I really want to feel protected, but I didn’t know it until I met him.

  Growing up in a volatile home, I never felt protected as a child, never felt safe. I didn’t know what mood my father was going to be in from one day to the next. Sometimes when he didn’t come home, my mother wouldn’t leave her bedroom. She’d lie in bed for days, comatose from depression. I’d have to feed myself because she wouldn’t even open her door when I knocked, when I begged her to come out, cried for her to leave him. It was so odd because we lived in a beautiful home and appeared to the outside world to be put-together and fabulous, but on the inside, I was growing into a fighter who too often made herself cereal for breakfast, l
unch, and dinner, for days on end.

  “Hey.”

  I snuggle closer, eyes still closed. “Mmm?”

  “I’m glad I met you.”

  I tilt up my chin, eyelashes fluttering open. “Yeah?”

  He nods and kisses my nose. “Yeah.”

  “I’m glad you met me, too.” I give him a sexy wink.

  He laughs and looks back out the window. I close my eyes again, shutting off my mind, relaxing and enjoying this easy-going moment, not thinking about anything but how good it feels to be here… with him.

  An Hour Later

  Coffees in hand, we opt for the stairs up to my place as we chat easily about our lives, our footsteps echoing off the walls. I grab the handrail and look back. “No, I always thought I’d live in New York. I spent a lot of time in Los Angeles with my dad, and the weather’s a huge improvement… but this city is more me. Plus I’ve got my sisters here.”

  “Your girlfriends?”

  I nod. “They’re my family. Especially with my momma gone. And my mema passed before her, when I was only fourteen. Heart attack.” Off his expression, I say, “I know. Broke our hearts. Not my dad’s though. Mema had no patience for him and had no problem telling him so, every time she saw him.” I shake my head and laugh at the memory. “She was a strong lady. Anyway, he’s my only family now. But we barely talk. So my girlfriends are my family. My chosen one.”

  “I can see why you’d stay here. New York is more alive than LA. From what I’ve observed this trip, you can feel it – the electricity.”

  Pangs of jealousy at the reminder of his last visit throb instantly through my veins. Now, why’d he have to go and say it like that? Irked, I take a beat. “Right. You didn’t get out much your last trip, huh?”

  He hesitates. “I was only here a day…”

  Damn. Is it obvious I was fishing?

  “Only a day?” I pull keys out of my pocket, looking back to see his face. There’s a weird light in my eyes, though I’m unaware of it.

  He’s towering over me, hands in his pants pockets, his jacket pushed up to make room. He chews his lips, weighing his words carefully. “Well… I ended up staying an extra day.” A verbal knife rips through me as he adds, “But I didn’t go out much.”