I Love My Chance (Nicole's Erotic Romance 3) (6 page)

“You, too.” Mark walks into the kitchen to get water. I
look down and see Jess returned my text.

Jess: Yay! I’ll bring Chris! Text the deets in a bit.

I smile at the phone. I love my girlfriends. Thank God for
them.
Prideful anticipation fills me
up, thinking,
This is so exciting!
Finally I won’t be the fifth wheel.

Kathy tucks her scarf tighter and goes to leave, but I
reach out and grab her arm, looking to the kitchen to make sure Mark isn’t
listening. I whisper as quiet as I can, so quiet that she’s more reading my
lips than hearing me. I’m acting it out as I go. “Did you knock before?”

She nods. “Yeah. I knocked a bunch just now. Why are we
whispering?”

I roll my eyes. Look back at the kitchen again. We’re safe.
“No, before that.”

She frowns and shakes her head.

Guilty for even asking, I mutter, “Must have dreamed it. I
was sleeping. Sorry.”

She smirks. “Yeah. Sleeping. Sure you were.”

I wave my fingers at her and she grins and leaves. I close
the door and lean my back against it, heavy with thoughts. If it wasn’t her,
then who was it? Maybe it was a salesperson going door to door. Maybe it was a
plumber searching for the right leak to fix. Maybe it was a delivery guy
bringing food to the wrong floor.

Maybe I’m grasping at imaginary phantoms.

An Hour Later

Mark sits opposite me at Tre Dici Steak, a hip Italian
steak house in Chelsea. I want to tell him I was at another Italian place last
night, and while the food was amazing (and the company crap) – I much
prefer
this
place and
this
company. I should keep this feeling
to myself. He already met Grant which was sooooo much fun. And he saw a
painting of Michael, which was enough to tell Mark I think about Michael enough
that I had to paint him. So, really. Mark doesn’t need to hear I was on a date
last night, too. I mean, how many men am I seeing anyway? There’s Jason and
Zach – my current go-to’s. Oh damn. I almost forgot about Tom. Should I
be feeling slutty right about now? The concern twists me for a second. But fuck
it. I’m a grown woman and I get to do what I want with my body. And those guys
are my friends, too. Except for Tom. Met him at a party and fucked him in the
bathroom. It was okay. I can probably get out of that by not returning a text
or two. Jason and Zach, though. There will have to be a conversation. Wait a
minute… what?

“Are you fine with a zinfandel?” Mark asks, looking up at
me from the wine list. The light in here is beautiful and his face looks so
gorgeous as he waits for my answer.

The server – twenty-five, stocky, Italian
–
 
crosses his hands one over
the other, looking at me like there are a lot of other tables he has to get to.
I look from him to Mark, trying to figure out what they’re waiting for.

 
“What?”

Mark smile, eyes dancing. “Where’d you go?”

Down my sexual past. “Nowhere. I’m right here.”

He laughs. “Zinfandel good? Do you like red?”

“Oh…mmhmm… sounds nice.”

Mark looks back to the server and they discuss the options
while my mind fades back to spin-mode. I can’t remember. Did I already tell
Mark I was on a date last night? This is frustrating. See, this is the problem
with meeting someone good. I have to find ways of wiping all the other men
under the rug. Nothing to see here! No – don’t look! Seriously. Nothing’s
under there but a hairball…spit out by my imaginary cat. Who’s big. Like,
really big. Like five-men-from-my-immediate-past big.

Yeesh.

I switch my focus to the room. Focus on this moment. I read
The Power of Now and he said that now is the only reality anyway, that
everything else is only in our minds. If that’s true, then those other men
who’ve been in my pants don’t even exist anymore. Huh. I can see why he’s a
bestseller. I feel better already.

Looking around, I fall in love with the décor. Red walls,
dark leather chairs. There’s a 1920’s vibe in here, like you could film a scene
from Boardwalk Empire and not change a thing. It looks as though at the next
table there should be an illicit card game with men in old-fashioned tuxes and
women in glittering gowns standing by, their gloved hands rested on the men’s
shoulders, egging them on to win.

“I think I’m being romantic.”

Mark leans back in his chair, the picture of happy. “How
so?”

“I’ve got visions of The Prohibition Era going on. This
room! Look over there. Doesn’t she have the face of the women from the 20’s?
Tiny cherub mouth, round face? Cut her hair shorter, curl it, put a shiny
headband on her…and bam!”

He glances over, amused. “It does feel like a speak-easy.”

“
That’s
what they
called them. I couldn’t remember. A speak-easy. Wow. I’d love to go back in
time and live there for a day. Those dresses. So glamorous. Well, I’d go back
if the Civil Rights Act had passed in the late 1800’s, anyway.”

His expression darkens. He understands my meaning. “Yeah,
things were very different then, weren’t they.” It’s more a statement, than a
question. He looks at me. “Thank God they’ve changed.”

I look down at my napkin, opening it and laying it on my
lap. “Yes, thank God… and thank a whole lot of people who fought for it. Things
were very, very different for my Mema.” I rest my chin on hands, staring off
into the memories of her. “She was a force, though. You always knew where you
stood with her and she held the bar up high. Said that in order to inspire
change, you had to know you were responsible not only for yourself, but for the
people you came into contact with. Treat them well, and if they aren’t right in
the head – if they’re doing things to hurt people – stand up for
the people they’re hurting. Especially if one of those people is you. But she
could also be very kind and comforting. My momma wasn’t strong like her… but
maybe it’s because Mema was
so
strong, Momma felt she had that covered. I don’t know.” Thinking of my momma
always makes me a little sad. I wish I could have helped her have more courage.

Mark leans forward and lays his hand on the table, palm up.
I rest my hand on his. He curls his fingers around mine and holds them. “Your
mema sounds just like you.”

I look down, embarrassed by such a tremendous compliment.
“Thank you.”

I had never thought I might be like her. Am I? The idea is
so hard to believe. It’s like Mark just spoke in a different language.

Mark gives my hand a squeeze, his eyes soft above a crooked
smile. “I’ve had such a great day with you, Nicole.”

My fingers caress his. “Me too. It’s been really…
unexpected.”

We sit back in our chairs as the server returns with the
bottle of wine. He goes to pour a taste for Mark to try. Mark raises his hand
to stop him. “I’m sure it’s fine. You can go ahead and pour.” This simple
gesture impresses me; no pomp and circumstance to it, just easy confidence.

The server pauses and takes this in for a brief moment. He
nods and pours my glass first, then Mark’s. “I’ll give you guys a minute to
decide.” I notice that he said
guys,
like we’re more his peers now. Mark’s rejection of pretense was a social
leveler. I’m fine with that. I’d rather have a nice easy-going night where
everyone’s comfortable and having a good time. ‘Status’ just annoys me
sometimes. I mean, what’s the point?

Mark raises his glass to toast. “To meeting such an
unbelievable woman.”

A shy smile spreads across my lips. “Thank you. To a
beautiful day.” I bring my glass to his and clink it softly, holding his eyes.
The wine goes down nicely; a very dry, full bodied red with more than a hint of
cherry. It leaves that chalky taste in my mouth that I love. “Mmm. This is
good. You know what? We should go wine tasting in California. Sonoma County, right?
Wouldn’t that be fun?”

He grins, leaning back in his chair. He runs his hand
through his soft, sandy brown hair. “That’s the best idea I’ve ever heard.”

“Stick around. I’ve got more.”

The look changes behind his eyes like a thought has
occurred to him, and he’s not sure if he should say it. His eyes narrow and his
head tilts to the side, looking down and back up. “So…”

I rest my elbows on the table, one hand holding my glass.
“So?”

Mark looks younger as he searches for the right words, less
sure of himself. It’s charming. “You said something last night.”

“Did I? What’d I say?”

He takes a deep breath and laughs, shaking his head and
looking away. “Well, you said you don’t want to be in a relationship. You
actually warned me.”

It’s my turn to look away. I laugh nervously, taking
another sip, quickly. Playing with my napkin, I say, “I warned you? How rude of
me.”

His eyes dance as they meet mine. “It was very rude.” A
mischievous smile tugs at his sexy mouth.

My eyes go innocent, and I shrug. “I have no idea what
you’re talking about. I said that?”

He nods very slowly, biting his lip and his look is enough
to make me wish we were alone. “You know you did.”

I stare at his mouth, my mood changing. “Did I?”

He leans forward. In a deep, sexy voice, he says, “Yeah,”
drawing out the single syllable until it seems to lick my earlobes.

Oh my. I lean forward, pausing for drama. “I lied.”

His eyebrows shoot up. His face changes several times as
surprise has its way with it. “All of a sudden lying seems hot.” He watches me
laugh, as his eyes smolder. He reaches for my hand again. “I don’t want to see
anyone else.”

I turn his hand over and trace the lines on his palm.
“Neither do I. When is your flight?” Dammit. Why’d I have to go and say that?
Saying it out loud hurts.

He frowns. “Tomorrow morning.”

My whole body sinks. We weave our fingers, lightly
caressing them together.
 
“That
soon. For some reason I thought I thought it was at night.”

He looks down, releasing my hand. “I hate it, too.”

We stay silently as the server comes back. I shoot him a
look and shake my head. He turns and goes away again. I look back to Mark,
who’s waiting for what I have to say.

“I have an idea,” I say quietly.

He gets hopeful. “Yeah? I’m listening.”

 
“Why don’t I
tell my girls I’ll see them another time… just you and me tonight.”

His shoulders shift, relieved. He doesn’t ask me if I’m
sure. He doesn’t act like he’s putting me out and
is that okay
, like some weenie. He just takes the oppourtunity as
it’s presented and says, “That sounds incredible.”

This feels right. I really
want
them to meet him...I do. What a weird feeling for me, for me
to
want
to introduce them to a man
I’ve met. Three years is a long time to not have done that. Too long. But it
can wait. I don’t want to share him.

“Let me just tell them.”

He nods, and sits back in his chair, watching me pull out
my phone.

I text Jess: Hi love. Can’t tonight after all. He’s leaving
in the morning. I want to spend as much time with him as I can. How’s tomorrow
night?

Looking up at him, we share a happy look, excited to be on
the same page, excited to be spending a whole evening alone. My phone vibrates
in my hand and I look down.

Jess: Oooooooo. Sexy sexy! Have fun! And yes, tomorrow
works! Love you!

I meet his eyes long enough to say, “She’s fine with it.”

“I like her already,” Mark smiles.

I look down and text back: Love you, too!

Two Hours Later

Walking into the
lobby of Thompson Gild Hall where Mark is staying, we stroll holding hands to
the elevator. I look around. From the cool mix of wood and stone, to the modern
furniture rocking a 1960’s retro vibe. to the packed bookshelves, to the silver
antler-shaped chandeliers, I can tell this hotel caters to the men who work on
Wall Street. It’s nestled in the financial district, after all. But the
masculine décor strikes me as another sign that women still haven’t balanced
out the gender ratio in some of the more powerful professions. This place is
designed to appeal to men, not women. But I keep this annoyance to myself. I do
like the vibe. It’s a very nice hotel and my artist’s eye can’t help but
picture men with pipes sitting in the lobby oozing smoke and ego, with women on
their arms in beehive hairdos, dying for the sexual revolution to start,
panties pulling at the seams at the urgent need for freedom.

Mark pushes the
elevator button just as an older man in a suit walks up. The three of us wait,
facing the doors.
 

Mark throws me a
sideways glance. “What’s got you smiling?”

I look up at him.
“Just happy.”

The businessman
looks over at me, then looks back to the closed elevator. He appears to be
nearing fifty; graying hair, very distinguished and upper class. What was he
thinking just then? The doors open and the three of us step in. Mark and I
stand near the door, our sides touching. He puts his arm around me and I lean
my head on him.