I Love My Hope (Nicole's Erotic Romance) Read online

  He stops fighting me and says helplessly, “But she had her phone back on! I had to try.”

  Oh man. I want to bear-hug the poor guy right now, he’s so pathetically cute. This might be the biggest mistake, but I’m taking him with me, come what may. I turn to my cabbie. “Can you drive us over to the East Village?

  His sweet little head bobs. “Let’s go!”

  Josh climbs in one side while I jump in the other. He mumbles, brain spinning and eyes hazy with worry, “She’s at Jess’s isn’t she? That’s why Jess didn’t respond.”

  “No.” I shut the door. “She’s at a bar. I couldn’t get a hold of Jess, either.”

  “Oh.”

  I give his hand a little pat and then turn to look out the window, because I am pretty sure I’m breaking the best friends code and I can’t look at him anymore. But something is telling me to bring him, and something is telling me to go to her, too. How can I not listen to these instincts? Angels, I hope you’re not leading me to a big fat mess!

  When we arrive at the bar, I look at its door. Why didn’t I try harder to make sure she was okay when I saw her lost here, last weekend? What kind of a friend am I?

  I climb out. Josh insists on paying our cabbie. “Thanks, man,” he says, distractedly pulling too many bills out of his wallet.

  My cabbie gives him half of them back. “No no, that’s too much!”

  I walk over and kneel down in front of his window, so we’re eye level. He smiles an encouraging smile.

  “Let’s do this again soon, okay?” I say.

  He grins, that one missing tooth still charming my socks off. “Anytime.”

  I tap his door. “Have a good night.”

  “It will work out. Don’t worry,” he says to me, as he puts the car in gear.

  I turn and Josh isn’t there. Shit!

  “Josh! Wait for me!” Running after him, I fumble for my ID as I open the door. I frantically wave it at the bouncer who nods in the direction Josh went. I look over and see the back of Josh’s head moving fast and ahead of him, Amber’s blonde hair unmistakable, at the bar. I have to beat him! But the crowd makes it difficult! By the time I see that Amber isn’t alone – that she’s talking to a handsome man who’s holding her hand – it’s too late! Josh has drawn back his arm and lands a punch hard into the guy’s jaw. Neither of them even saw him walk up. I am a failure as a friend.

  Amber yells our names, looks guilty as hell and reaches for the stranger, who turns and looks at me. When we lock eyes, I see his face move with a gasp – like how Amber gasped the night she first saw Josh. The surprise in his eyes flickers at me before he turns his attention to Josh, his attacker. It’s as though seeing me was more surprising than the hit.

  Life has a funny way of taking you places you never saw coming. What happens next between Josh and Amber is their business and their story, but when they leave to make some very tough decisions, I am left alone with this stranger, and we look at each other with the same awkward expression, not knowing what to do. Motioning to the chair Amber vacated, he says, “You look like you could use a drink.”

  I nod and sit down, inspecting him. “You, too. Your jaw is pretty red.”

  “Is it?” He touches it, wiggles it around. “Nah. It’s okay.” He motions to the bartender – a woman who reminds me of Trinity from The Matrix, and she leaves to get a drink.

  “I’m Mark.”

  I look into his eyes, unflinching, taking a moment. He is the most handsome man I’ve ever met… besides Michael. This man is very different than the brooding ball of mystery that Michael is. This man has an ease and open confidence about him that makes him feel more present, when I look at him. Like he is nowhere else but here with me.

  I hold out my hand. “I’m Nicole. Very odd to meet you.”

  He’s been thoughtfully inspecting me, too, and he smiles. “Yes. It is.” He holds my hand a moment longer than is necessary and…I don’t mind.

  Trinity-Bartender returns and places a beautiful glass of white wine in front of me.

  “Thank you.”

  “No problem,” she says, serenely. I watch her walking away. She had a weird look on her face. I let go of his hand. What is going on here?

  “Pretty glass,” I say, changing the subject and sipping from it. “Oh, good wine, too. Buttery.”

  He nods, but says nothing. I’m nervous, so I ask, “So, what were you and Amber doing?”

  “Working out a problem. Is she a good friend of yours?”

  “She’s one of my best friends.”

  His thumb absently moves up and down his almost empty glass. “You have more than one?”

  I look at it as I answer, “I have two.”

  “And your boyfriend? Is he your best friend, too?”

  I laugh. “Nice way to find out if I have a boyfriend.”

  He smiles a disarming, provocative smile. “Caught me.”

  I tilt my head, looking at him from the corner of my eye. “And you? Are you here alone?”

  “You didn’t answer my question,” he says.

  “And… now we’re even,” I smile, biting my bottom lip without knowing it. My body is turned completely to him, and his to mine. Trinity-Bartender sets down another pint in front of him and takes his old, warm one away. Neither of us looks at her this time.

  “Okay. I’ll go first,” he says, but his thumb distracts me, now melting the ice on the new chilled glass. He glances from it to me, amused. “What it is about my thumb?”

  I avert my gaze innocently. “What do you mean?”

  “Amber was staring at it, too.”

  This makes me grin. “She was? That’s hilarious.” I laugh, taking a sip of wine and looking away as I debate whether or not to be honest with him. Honesty wins. “Okay.” I look back to him and he’s smiling in such a way that shocks my system. “Um…it’s just that it’s very sexy what you’re doing. And the way the condensation is melting as you rub that glass…well, it implies your body heat is high.” I look away, embarrassed.

  His eyes narrow in thoughtful concentration. “I see. I see. What if I do this?” I look at him. He brings up the glass and licks it like a dog, but not in a sexy way, in a goofy way that is funny as hell. I burst out laughing and he grins.

  “Oh yeah!” I joke, “Just like that. That was incredibly hot.”

  “Is everyone watching? Do they all want me now?” He puffs up his chest and looks around like a proud rooster among hens.

  “They are. The entire room is enthralled.”

  “Good. Good.” He settles back with a relaxed smile. He’s very real. There isn’t anything posed or self-aware about his attractiveness, which is why his peacocking was funny. It’s the total opposite of his natural state of being.

  “So, we got off topic. I’m Mark. I live in San Francisco. Yes, it’s far away, but please don’t make that face. Come back to me, here.” He points from my eyes to his. He caught me processing that San Francisco isn’t here. He doesn’t live here. Don’t get too excited about this one, because he’s leaving. And why do I feel disappointed by that? I just met him.

  “I wasn’t thinking anything. So, what are you doing in New York? Vacation?” I sound light and airy. Good.

  “I’m here to meet some potential investors about an app idea I have. And as to why I’m here…” He points to where he’s sitting. “I had hoped I’d be on a date tonight, and she lives in the area, but she met someone before I came to town so…here I am alone. And no, there’s no girlfriend back home.”

  “Huh.”

  “Yeah.” He smiles. “Don’t look so sad for me.”

  “I wasn’t sad for you. I was wondering how someone could stand you up.”

  “You and Amber really are friends.”

  “Did she say the same thing?”

  “With less aplomb.”

  I laugh, and sip my wine. “So, are you pining after your almost-date?”

  He looks away, both hands on his glass as he stares at it. “I barely knew
her, but I feel like if I’d lived here and not so far away, things would have turned out differently.” He turns his head to me.

  I reach out and touch his hand. “You know what? My momma always told me, things happen for a reason.” The way he looks at me makes my heart skip. I pull my hand away.

  He looks at me, taking in what I said. “I think that’s very wise.”

  I smile. I want to look away, but the pull to him is so strong that I feel like I can’t. His eyes are caramel brown, his hair light; the color of sand when its wet. His skin has a light tan to it and his neck is very strong above broad shoulders. But it’s the open expression he seems at home in, that is the most attractive thing about him.

  “Nicole.”

  “Yes, Mark.”

  “Do you have anywhere you have to be tonight?”

  A chill goes through me and my wall rises up, fast. I turn away, cross my legs, assuming all sorts of things as I say, “Uh uh. I just met you. There is no way I’m going home with you to help you get over some girl, so just get it out of your head.”

  Shocked, he reaches out and touches my arm. “No, no, no! God! Nothing like that! Seriously, look at me, please.”

  I look down at his hand on my arm. He removes it quickly as I suspiciously side-eyeball him.

  “Sorry. Look. Look at my face. I’m not interested in any more one-night stands. Even if you threw yourself at me, I’d say no. I’m not going down that road again.”

  The image this springs to mind is of Michael turning me down when I threw myself at him.

  “Whoa. What was that face?”

  I cover my face with my hands. “You saw that?”

  “Miami saw that.”

  I laugh, peek at him through fingers and bring my hands back down. “Let’s just say you’re not the only one who’s been burned.”

  He leans back, like he’s touched something hot. “Recent breakup?”

  “No. Just a distant memory coming back to haunt me.” If distant means months… but he doesn’t need to know everything. “Let’s change the subject. No more broken-heart talk.”

  “Agreed. But my heart’s not broken. It just got slapped around a bit.”

  I nod. “Sometimes hope is the hardest thing to let go of.”

  “You and Amber are best friends. Yes, it is. Because it’s in our heads,” he adds thoughtfully, staring at the bottles on the back wall.

  I run a finger over the top of my wine glass, considering what he said. “Our imagination has a powerful way of making the unreal, real… doesn’t it?”

  He nods. “I like the way you put that.”

  We both sip from our glasses and I’m suddenly aware that I wish I hadn’t shot him down about taking him home with me. His lips are very kissable. Too late now. Plus he said he’d turn me down. Please tell me that’s not why I want to jump him.

  Shoving the thought out of my head, I ask, “So, what were you going to ask before I so rudely told you off?”

  He laughs. “Well, I was thinking I’d like to see more of the city. You’ve got a jacket. I’ve got a jacket. How about we take these jackets for a walk?”

  I smile. “That sounds really nice.”

  A warm smile spreads from his eyes to his whole face. “Great. Let me take care of the check and we can go.”

  I nod and watch him make the universal check please hand gesture.

  “So, my turn for the summary,” I say, as we wait.

  “Go. But remember, since we don’t know each other, it’s almost anonymous, so you can be as honest as you want to be.”

  “Oh God! The pressure. Okay. I’m not a relationship, either. Nor do I want to be, so be warned.” He laughs, puts his hands up in surrender. I continue, “I’m a painter, and I’m about to have my first show, which – since we’re being honest – I’ll confess that I’m very scared about having. I’m afraid – since we’re being honest – that no one will be there and if they are there, they’ll hate my work. There, I said it.” I sit up extra straight like a kid looking for a gold star.

  He smiles at my silliness. “Well done! You made that look easy. Here let me try.”

  “Go.”

  “I’m nervous about meeting with investors tomorrow, and about showing them my idea, because they could think it’s stupid, mediocre, and not a viable financial risk.”

  We look at each other.

  “That wasn’t easy,” he admits.

  “It’s not easy at all.”

  “Phew.”

  “It’ll be fine. They’ll think the app is amazing and give you zillions of dollars on sight!”

  “Yes! And everyone is going to love your paintings! You’ll be praised as a genius!”

  “Yay! Let’s get out of here.” I stand up and he follows suit, turning to finish signing the tab. As he rose, I was shocked by how tall he is, and how well built. I take his check-distraction as an opportunity to scan his body. You can only see so much when someone’s hunched on a bar stool, but man! Wow. We’re talking calendar material. Yikes.

  “What’re you, 6’4”?”

  He laughs. “I love watching your face, Nicole. I don’t think you know how much your face shows what you’re thinking.”

  I stare up at him, flabbergasted. “Oh shit.”

  “See?” he says. “Like right now, you’re thinking man do I love pizza. It’s so obvious.”

  This cracks me up, and I give him a light smack on his chest and start walking out, with him close behind. When we walk past the bouncer, I sneak another look, because there’s a sparkle in his eyes like he knows something about us.

  “You all have a good night,” he says, sitting on his stool.

  I nod. Mark holds the door open as he says, “Thanks. You too.”

  It’s a little chilly out, but not too bad. I zip up my jacket, and we both stuff our hands in our jacket pockets as we walk together, side-by-side, heading north.

  “That’s really wild that you’re a painter, because I was just telling Amber I’m looking for an artist to do the graphics for my app.”

  “Really? I’ve done a little graphic design, too. What kinds of things are you looking for?”

  “I want the app to look distinctly different from the cleaner, more sanitized designs I’m seeing.” He steps around to protect me from a group of loud teenagers who could have run into me had he stayed put. We pass them in silence until we can hear each other again, and he continues, “I’m not looking for clean lines and bright colors. I want more emotional designs, where you can really feel them.”

  We glance at each other. There is something about this little moment that does something to me. I feel possibilities and it’s a very foreign feeling.

  I smile to myself, aware of how many tears I cried, how many times I’ve taken a knife to the canvases, releasing fury and frustration - how I’ve left those slashes in as part of the aesthetic. Art is a perfect place to turn the unhealthy into healthy. “My stuff is pretty emotional.”

  “Is it? Can I see it while I’m in town?”

  “Ack! Now that is the number one most terrifying thing you could have said to me.”

  “Will you marry me?”

  I stare at him. “Okay, the second most terrifying thing.”

  He laughs, and we keep walking. That was jarring. I steal a look at his profile. Something is on his mind and I can see him weighing his words.

  “Well…you’re about to have a show, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Remember what I said about it being easier to share honest things with a complete stranger? Because really… who cares what I think?” He shoots a humble look my way.

  I do, I want to say. Being around this man makes me feel calm and excited at the same time. Looking at the ground moving backwards beneath my walking feet, I take a deep breath. “Mark?

  He hears the seriousness and we stop walking. I don’t meet his eyes. I’m looking instead at another dimension, at a place where I have more courage.

  “Yes?”

&n
bsp; “No one has seen my latest paintings. The owner of the gallery saw them on my phone, but live and in person? And see… when I show them to a whole room of people at once during the exhibit opening, I’ll be able to hide in the crowd. But with just me and you, it’s more intimate even than sex. It’s… showing you my heart.”

  I lock eyes with him.

  He doesn’t move. We communicate without words. My feelings are plain as day, alive on my face, vulnerable and open. If this man sees them anyway, then why hide?

  He reaches out for my hands and takes them both in his, the warmth feeling so good to me. “If you look at it this way, it might help. But the decision is yours.” He takes a breath. “We’re two strangers who may never see each other again. There is nothing to lose because I can promise you that I would respect the privilege. I don’t step on people’s hearts.”

  “Can I think on it?”

  He smiles. “Yes.”

  He lets go of my hands. I miss them the second they’re gone. We start walking again. He’s looking at the buildings around us, taking in the sights, and I think we must have gone past where he’s been, from his expression. I point to a store and say, “That’s Duane Reade. It’s like your 7-11 stores.”

  “Ahh… Looks like it’s a drug store, too?”

  “Oh. Aren’t 7-11’s drugstores? I’ve forgotten.”

  “They’re more convenience stores. So, you’ve been to California?”

  I nod. “My father played for the Lakers, so I was raised there for part of the time, but Momma preferred New York.”

  He’s impressed. “Your father played for the Lakers?”

  I smile and nod.

  “Oh, watch out.” He points to broken glass on the ground, kicks it out of the way like his boot is a broom.

  “Thank you.”

  “What does your father do now?”

  “Lives in regret,” I say, maybe quicker than I should have. “Oops. Sorry, Dad,” I call to the direction of the west.

  “Not on the best of terms, huh? Yeah. I wasn’t either.” A cloud descends on him. “But then he died before I was able to fix that.”

  “I’m so sorry! How?”

  He says, with difficulty, “Car accident. Two years ago.”