Tastes Like Chocolate: A Red Hot Valentine Story

Tastes Like
Chocolate:

A Red Hot Valentine
Story

By

Graylin Rane

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This book is a work of fiction. Names,
characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s
imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events,
locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Red Hot Valentine: Tastes Like Chocolate

Copyright 2014 by Graylin Rane

ISBN: 978-0-9899610-2-8

Cover art by Fiona Jayde

All rights reserved. Except for use in any
review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or
in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means
now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written
permission of the publisher.

Published by Graylin Rane at Smashwords

Chapter One

“
Don’t worry about my ex.
Her relationship is with that statue.”

My ex-fiancé’s voice trailed off as he and
his latest mark left my store. Taking a deep breath, the twinge of
pain at his betrayal nipped at my heart. Less than before; now it
bubbled, surrounded by relief.

At least my Adonis statue didn’t sleep with
all but one of my friends.

Angie cursed behind me. “Vivi, I can still
shoot him for you. Just because you used years of sculpting
education and experience to etch the most perfect body ever,
doesn’t mean your pudgy ex has to take it personally.” She laughed
while pacing with anger.

I checked myself in the mirror. I’d pulled
my shoulder-length brown hair back in a sloppy ponytail and slipped
my size fourteen body into baggy jeans and a smock. The streaks of
chocolate on my clothes made me look dirty. I didn’t care,
much.

I’d long grown used to the strange looks.
I’m large in the Midwest. In South Florida, I’m a whale in need of
a good strip mall doctor visit. Moving here after my thirtieth
birthday meant I’d decided who I was, liked her, and wasn’t going
to change to fit the surroundings. That doesn’t mean I didn’t have
days where I envied the women on the beach. The ones whose boobs
and ass didn’t care how powerful gravity was; they always pointed
to the sky!

“
I did make him perfect.”
I’d gotten an A in penises during anatomy class.

“
Everywhere.” Angie licked
her lips while looking at his crotch. “For him, I’d give a blowjob
a week.”

Her husband was limited to four a year: his
birthday, New Year’s Eve, their anniversary, and one random day of
his choice.

She stroked the statue’s perfect ass. “I
would even leave George for a Greek god.”

I doubted it. Angie and George met in high
school. We got stuck in the most boring history class ever. The
three of us sat in the back trying to stay awake. It was the 90’s.
Life was different. We wore gobs of eye shadow, hair spray that
could protect you from head injury, and music that made white
people think they could dance, me included.

Adonis was the god of life, death, and
rebirth. I needed a do over. So I made him.

At thirty-four years old, I was single
again. My fiancé, Rick, slept with the entire wedding party in a
week and then kept coming around to rub his latest conquest in my
face.

At the second to last fitting for my dress,
one of my bridesmaids, still drunk from the night before, blurted
out my fiancé hated the pictures of my dress she’d shown him. I
wished I’d had lasers for eyes; they would’ve bounced off the
mirrors, striking her dead where she wobbled.

The silence in the room shattered when the
dress fitter, a friend of mine, yelled, “You fucking bitch!” while
throwing sewing needles at her.

The rest of the day became a blur. I called
him. He didn’t deny it. Angie took care of the rest. She even
intercepted wedding gifts, sending them back without my knowledge.
My great aunt told me when hers arrived with “Groom screwed the
bridesmaids. Thank you for your generosity” written across it in
red pen.

That was a month ago. A week before the
life-sized chocolate block showed up. This client wanted one thing.
“Please sculpt a man. He needs to be well endowed with chiseled abs
and a nice ass.”

That was it. The block was delivered frozen
and I had to sculpt it that way to keep him from melting all over
the front of the store. I’d had a refrigerated area in the back
installed years ago. Must’ve eaten a good two to three pounds of
shavings; my bonus for the work.

Angie’s breathing filled the room. She stood
in front of him licking her lips.

“
Okay, you have to go
before you bite it off.”

“
You have to taste it. One
lick. So you can say you did it. You can fix it later.” Her words
lingered behind her as she left.

The gallery door jingled open and voices
drifted back to me. Focusing on the work, I couldn’t pull my eyes
off the body in front of me. I’d given him short hair with a slight
swoosh to the front. Clipped brows framed his large eyes. I needed
to work on his cheeks. No man had angled cheekbones; they only
existed in romance novels.

The one on my nightstand had sex scenes I
didn’t think were humanly possible. My imagination got away with
me. Running my hands over his face, I could almost feel warmth
under there. A quick intake a breath told me I wasn’t alone.

“
I’ve seen that look
before.” Angie’s voice carried a tinge of laughter.

“
Okay, I’m tempted. Who
wouldn’t be?” The hair stood up on the back of my neck, like I’d
been caught masturbating by my mother. The harsh defensiveness
audible in my tone, softening I asked her, “Who was at the
door?”

“
Someone delivering
another note.” She handed me an envelope.

There was gold dust inside with a card.

“
Sprinkle this on your
sculpture, make sure to cover every body part. Then, the magic will
begin,” I read aloud. “It doesn’t say when it will be picked
up.”

“
Or if you’ll be paid.
Remember, if a sculpture is left in your shop for more than a week
unclaimed, it becomes the property of Viviana’s Sculpture and Home
Décor.” She stated the store policy beautifully stenciled on the
front windows.

It would take up half my cold room. I
noticed a few places he needed touching up as I inspected his
calves. Grabbing my shapers, I started to accentuate his
musculature. This man was going to be a dream. I thought of every
body builder I’d photographed as I gave him the form it took him or
her years to perfect. Lost in my work, I barely acknowledged Angie
as she headed home to her husband and kids.

Adonis was beautiful; everything my ex
wasn’t, physically. I knew every curve. At night, alone, he was the
fantasy keeping me company. I lived on the second floor. Upstairs,
after my nightly shower, I swear I could smell hot chocolate. It
fed the dreams where Adonis comes to life, pledges his undying love
to me, and then makes love to me for hours.

I’d completed my three stages of
relationship grief—cake, alcohol, and depression. The chocolate god
before me was the first thing I sculpted when I returned to work, a
six foot two milk chocolate dream. At five foot four, I had to keep
a step stool nearby to work on his shoulders and head.

A few hours were left before I closed when I
went to work on his head. The bell over the door would alert me
should anyone show up. Rare to have customers this late in January,
most of my work being ordered for Christmas. The past six weeks
proved very profitable. I wouldn’t need to sell anything else until
the next holiday season.

On the stool, leaning over his face, I
started perfecting his hair. I used a sewing needle for the finest
lines. Uneven hair in places made it look more realistic. I’d seen
too many bad weaves on the beach. Perfect rows of hair didn’t exist
in nature.

“
Okay, Adonis, you’re
perfect. Now, I’m going to bed. If you want to make your creator
very happy, feel free to come to life and join me.” I laughed as I
sprinkled his entire body with the gold dust.

It wouldn’t fit into all areas of his
crotch, so I rubbed it on my fingers and gently tapped it between
his balls, over his penis, and all of the shaded places. It was
more erotic for me than it should’ve been. Embarrassed at how
turned on I was, I pulled the cover over him.

The front of the store was silent. Faces of
mothers and daughters I’d known looked at me from cherubs and small
ornaments. I loved doing that work. Every family member should have
a small sculpture ornament. It was my most popular item, and the
reason I didn’t have to worry about money this year. Online sales
hit the millions worldwide. I started taking orders in June and
closed them by Halloween to guarantee holiday delivery. January’s
slow sales weren’t a worry for me. Which was good; I wasn’t sure I
could deal with large crowds yet.

The street was quiet as I lowered the gate,
locking up for the night. Mrs. Gonzalez across the way waved,
blowing kisses. She’d taken me into her family when I’d moved a
thousand miles from my own. She tried to teach me how to cook Cuban
food. I didn’t think I could do worse than I did with Middle
American fare. I was wrong. She politely banned me from the
kitchen. The next day, she stopped by and ordered three Mother and
Child statues for her sisters still in Cuba. I used colored clay to
make sure no paint would ever flake off. Angie’s sister owns a
ceramic shop and fired them for her.

We’d been close ever since. She introduced
me to Cuban coffee. Two cups of that and I could work for twelve
hours. I was addicted, happily. The solid wooden stairs creaked a
little I as went up to bed. The shower heated up the chocolate
streaks on my arms and hands. It felt like bathing in a cocoa
mist.

I was white, winter freaking white. The kind
of white skin that gets sunburned sitting next to a window.
Everything looked good. No new bruises from bumping into things,
which happens often. Hopping into my satin pajamas, I turned on the
evening news to see if I’d missed anything.

My cell phone, always on mute, buzzed around
on the bedside table. Angie.

“
This better be good, I’m
thinking of going running on the beach so I can look as tiny as the
meteorologist.”

“
Shut up. Those women
don’t get cake. Pity them, don’t fear them.” She
laughed.

I wondered if other places had entire news
teams hotter than lingerie models. “What’s up?”

She got quiet for a few moments. “George
wants you to come over for Valentine’s Day.”

“
So I can be the odd woman
out? No thanks.”

“
He has a
friend.”

Oh shit. “No, Angie. Not going to happen. Uh
uh. No how.” I sputtered. How could she even call with this request
and not eviscerate him for the suggestion?

“
Vivi, don’t lose your
shit. He means well. You know he thinks of you as his baby sister.
He wouldn’t set you up with anyone he didn’t approve
of.”

“
Making sure he can kick
their ass if they screw up?”