I Love My Secret (Nicole's Erotic Romance) by Sabrina Lacey

of a high-school
boy who realizes he can’t get the prom queen to go out with him.
    My head spins. This is new information. I thought
he wanted to see me because he was interested in my work. I’m stunned, waiting
for him to go on and add that he loves my work and meant every word. He says
instead, “Yeah, so, dumb me, I guess.”
    I blink. He’s waiting for me to say something but
all I want to say is, what you said up
there about my paintings being incredible, was bullshit. You were trying to get
in my pants. You didn’t mean a damn word of it. I feel the softness I’d
begun to feel for him, turn hard and break apart until only ashes float away.
My eyes turn cold as ice and only two words come out: “Goodnight Danny.”
    “Right. Goodnight, Nicole.” He frowns, shoves both
hands in his trench-coat pockets and walks away. I watch him, silently urging
him to turn around. Say you meant what
you said about my work! But he doesn’t turn. He never turns.
    When he’s gone, I look up at the tops of the
buildings around me, my Grandma’s warning sounding in my ears: “Nicole, women like you and me. We gotta be
careful.”
    “Why
Mema?”
    “Because
we too pretty and too black for people to treat us with any kind of respect
unless we make them respect us. No one’s gonna love you for you unless you show
them you stronger. And believe me. You are stronger than all of them. You got
that?”
    My mother
had laughed and said, “She said that same thing to me when I was your age.
Momma, you’re too funny. The girl’s only ten years old.”
    “Is it
true Momma?” I’d asked, wide-eyed.
    Her eyes
had steeled then and she shared a long glance with Mema before she looked at me
and said, “It sure is, baby. It sure is.”
    I open the door and, walking back up the stairs, I
drop my jacket on them.
    “Glad you’re back.” Michael says from above. When
I get to the top, he turns and sizes me up. “He’s not man enough for you, Nic.”
    I walk to the cigarettes and light one as I shoot
back, tired, “Not like you, you mean.”
    He says nothing. I sit on the couch and watch him
work. Michael may be waiting to make love to me, but at least he doesn’t lie to
me. I believe he has a reason for making me wait, and that the reason is for my
own good. How many men can I say that of? None. Most would fuck me and then try
to hold me as a possession. I am no man’s trophy. I’m a whole person with a
heart that can be hurt.
    I spend hours watching Michael paint, losing
myself in learning from him one minute, day dreaming the next. When it gets to
be around 1:00 a.m. after we’ve devoured Chinese take-out and talked for hours about
nothing in particular, I call it a night and take a cab home. I don’t even mind
that he didn’t kiss me tonight. The one kiss was all I needed to show me he
truly cares about me. I know now that he did that to protect me from Danny, not
to show his status. He saw motives my blinded ego couldn’t see, and he didn’t
mark his territory so much as say, you
will not harm this one.
    When I get home, opening the door to my apartment,
a small New York style one-bedroom with exposed brick and white walls, I think,
I don’t have it half bad. Who says making love to someone is the way to show
you love them? There are other ways, too.
      The
smell of Eucalyptus from my bath earlier meets me, infused with the air I
breathe. Its soothing aroma whisks me away to dreamland as soon as my head
lands on the pillow, my clothes still on, even my jacket. A voice from my past
whispers for me to wash my face, brush my teeth, take off my socks – feet need to breathe when you’re sleeping,
child – but I pretend like I don’t hear. I just don’t have the
energy, Momma. Sorry…

 
    The Night Amber Meets Josh

 
    “I can’t believe how busy this place is…” I say,
looking around The Crosby Bar in Soho. You can barely see the stripes of the
long booth for all the asses that fill it. Every chair opposite is