Bittersweet Chocolate by Emily Wade-Reid

room with four bottles of Pepsi, a bowl of potato chips, and paper napkins.
    “Any preference in music?” she asked. Hearing a unanimous no, she walked over to the stereo and Graham followed. Opting for jazz—a little Ahmed Jamal, Art Blakely, Miles Davis, Ramsey Lewis, and Nina Simone—she considered her choices the perfect background music.
    “Nice stereo,” Graham commented.
    “Yeah, I think so.” Knowing how much she loved music, her father had given her the stereo as a housewarming present. Her most prized possession, the stereo was an elongated, one-piece mahogany cabinet with built-in speakers. With a turntable on one side, the other side had a panel of knobs evenly spaced vertically along the light-up AM/FM radio indicator panel. These knobs controlled base, treble, volume, and tuned the radio, on and off. On the turntable, she could play 33 1/3-rpm albums, or she had a spindle adapter that allowed her to play her 45-rpm records.
    She lifted the lid, turned on the stereo, and mellow sounds of music from WHAT-FM, the all night jazz station, flowed from the speakers. Kneeling down beside the stereo, acutely aware of Graham standing next to her, she tried to appear calm as she flipped through her collection and made her selections. She placed them on the spindle with the balance arm on top to hold them in place, flipped the knob from radio to record player, and rejoined her company. Graham followed.
    Darien and Richard seemed to hit it off instantly, while her conversation with Graham didn’t go as well, her responses monosyllabic. That’s because she recognized the signs―him trying to make a move on her, and damn if she wasn’t sexually attracted to and intrigued by him. Yet she couldn’t shake the notion she’d met him and Richard before. It was one of those psyche don’t go there feelings that kept her on edge.
    She stared at his sinfully sensual mouth while he talked about himself―twenty-six, supervisor at the post office, and not married.
    “How long have you lived next door?” she asked.
    “A year and a half.”
    “Have you always lived in this area?”
    “No, we’re originally from the Camac and Diamond area.”
    Startled, she blurted out, “Do you know Joel Raines?” They were from Joel’s neighborhood. Camac and Diamond was a gang term, Joel’s gang. True, that side of town wasn’t exclusive to the gang, but people not affiliated with the group usually referred to the community as Temple University area, or east of Broad Street.
    Graham gave Richard a sidelong glance before he answered. “Uh-uh, don’t know him.”
    She didn’t miss the look exchanged between the two men, but gaffed it off, assuming they thought her interest out of line, on first acquaintance.
    Around midnight, Darien stood to leave and Richard said he’d walk her to her car. Marissa walked them downstairs to the front door, locked up. Coming back upstairs, she found Graham waiting in her bedroom, his back to her, staring out the balcony door.
    Gaze ranging freely overhis toned physique, she took note of broad shoulders, and a back slimming down to a trim waist, tight ass, long legs... damn. Nice view, and way too tempting; the man had to go.
    “Uh, Graham, it’s late. I have to work tomorrow.” She thought she made it clear she wanted him to leave. He ignored her, started rambling about being on the early shift at the post office. Forced to abandon subtlety, she snapped, “Go home, Graham.”
    Intending to turn him toward the door, she grabbed his arm, inhaled sharply, and for several heart-stopping seconds, their gazes locked and she couldn’t move or turn away. His look said he’d felt it, and he understood. Snatching her hand away, she lowered her eyes and stepped back.
    He chuckled, moved to the door, and stepped outside, letting the screen door close between them. Standing beneath the porch light, he watched her through the screen. “You fascinate me, Marissa with the smoldering tiger