Thirteen
“ I would like to propose a toast,” Jaz says, her shot glass of tequila raised high in the air. Michael, Jeremiah, and I raise our glasses to hers. “To our girl, Nia. When it comes to relationships and finding the man of her dreams who can match her freak, she is clearly cooked, but she holds onto hope and never gives up on her dreams. We could all learn a thing or two from her when he comes to perseverance. May the next man she finds be the BDSM king she has waited her entire life for. To Nia!”
“To Nia!” the rest of the group shouts, while I force a smile that is part annoyed, part fed up, and part thankful for them.
The four of us stand in Jaz and Michael’s kitchen listening to a smooth playlist of relaxing R&B and soul music that Micheal has effectively labeled as “Chill Shit.” Currently, H.E.R. croons over a beautiful track about how every time she tries to leave, something keeps pulling her back. It’s ironic, because that’s exactly how I feel after another failed attempt at finding a Dom.
Everything with Marcus started off so great, but he eventually showed his true colors, revealing that being a Dom is something he does in his spare time and whenever he finds a woman who wants it in the bedroom. I’m beyond disappointed with how it ended, and there’s a part of me that wants to erase every single profile I have across all dating sites and social media, but every time I try to leave, something keeps pulling me back. Whatever it is that I’m tethered to, I wish it would just let me go.
As the group moves to the small bar stools that surround the beautiful gray granite island in the center of the kitchen, the tequila in my stomach mixes with my dismay and makes my body feel tightly wound. They all sit, placing their glasses in front of them while the tequila bottle is pushed to the middle like a centerpiece. Personally, I wish I could have the liquor all to myself. While work is going fine, I suppose, I still don't like that I’m being forced to research a man who I know is a criminal. Everything feels rigid in my life right now, and maybe a good drunken night would be exactly what I need to loosen it.
As my friends get comfortable, I grab the bottle and slide it over to me, filling my shot glass and knocking it back with no hesitation. No toast required. The glass slams back onto the island as I wince from the taste. When the process is finished, I pause as I realize all of them are watching me with wide eyes.
“Damn, girl. You alright?” Jaz asks, laughing.
“I'm fine,” I lie. “Let’s see if talking about other people’s sex lives makes me feel better about mine. Jeremiah, you go.”
Jeremiah’s hand flies up to his chest as he points to himself. “Me?”
“Yeah. So, are you dating anybody? In the middle of a little fling?” I ask, already prepared to reach for the bottle again because my buzz is taking far too long to take hold.
Jeremiah looks stunned and stammers like English is his second language. “Umm … uhh, okay. Well, let’s see … I’ve actually been dating someone by the name of Gerald for about two months now.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me,” I say, letting my head fall back until I’m staring at the ceiling.
Jeremiah laughs. “Sorry, girl. When it comes to struggling through relationships, you're riding that wave all by yourself. At least, for now anyway. We all know I’ve had my own issues with finding something long term. I hope it works for me and Gerald, but it’s still really new, so time will tell.”
Even though my throat is still burning from the last shot, I snatch up the bottle and pour another. Everyone stares as I do it, their faces a mix of shocked and entertained. I don't even care. I’m thirty years old and perpetually single, with an extra helping of constant disappointment to go along with it. I understand their staring, because I’m sure my circus act of a love life is captivating. If I wasn't the one going through it, I would stare at the cinematic event, too. Who doesn't love a great tragedy?
I tilt my head back and pour the liquor in my mouth, my face scrunching from the fire engulfing my throat, then I slam the glass down to turn my attention to Jeremiah.
“Alright, we get it, Jeremiah,” I say sarcastically. “You’re in love, and my life is a running joke that has everlasting stamina and will never stop running. Great. Just tell me what color we’re wearing for the wedding. Okay? Awesome. Moving on! How about you two? What’s going on with the Carmichaels? Going down a particularly bumpy road these past few months? Sleeping in separate bedrooms? Does Michael snore so much that you accuse him of doing it on purpose?”
Jaz frowns so hard I think her face will shatter.
“Damn, Nia,” she exclaims. “What are you doing, hoping we split up because your love life is off the rails?”
“Ugh, no,” I reply, faking like I’m crying but suddenly feeling the sting of real tears. “Of course I would never wish anything like that. I love you guys so much, and you're such a perfect example of how a loving marriage is supposed to look. But, that’s the problem. I see you two and it is a constant driver of my desire, and an immovable reminder of what I don't have. If you guys split up, I wouldn't know what to do with myself. On one hand, I'd lose all hope for love in this life, and on the other, I’d struggle to find peace because I’d be on the run from the police for killing Michael. So basically, my life would be ruined if you got a divorce.”
Jaz’s stone face softens into a subtle smile. “Nia, I honestly am beginning to think that maybe you're just trying too hard. You want it so badly that you think every time you meet someone that they could be the one. That’s very unlikely, especially in today’s social-media-driven world. Everybody is so fucking fake, and all these apps have done is empower people to be pricks and hide who they truly are behind a screen. I hate to sound like one of those thirty-plus people who think so little of today’s generation, but you're probably better off doing it old school.”
I think to reach for the tequila again but decide not to. Instead, I sit back and listen to my best friend. “What do you mean?”
“You need to remove the bullshit filter of apps and meet someone in person,” she answers. “You'll have a much easier time getting to see someone for who they really are if you're face to face. Now, it’s not a one hundred percent guarantee, because people will always be full of shit. However, there's nothing better than meeting someone in person, instead of your first communication being typed messages.”
“So, what are you suggesting? That I go to clubs and bars, hoping men will approach me? I use apps because I'm in the lifestyle, and I know I'm not going to find that randomly in a club.”
“You could go to a BDSM club,” Michael interjects. “I heard there's a place in Center City called The Black Collar. It’s a BDSM exclusive spot that, apparently, is popping. I’ve heard some crazy stories. You'll definitely find someone who's into what you're into there.”
Jaz cuts her eyes over to her husband. “Now how the hell do you know about that place?”
“Oh, stop,” Michael says playfully.
“ Anyway ,” Jaz goes on after rolling her eyes. “Michael and I will talk about that later, but he might be right. Maybe go to a club whose patrons are into the lifestyle, too. I promise it'll be better than using those apps.”
“Or, maybe she has already met him,” Jeremiah jumps in, pulling everyone’s eyes over to him.
“What?” Michael asks.
“Who?” Jaz adds.
“Don't,” I demand.
Jeremiah smiles. “Rome Giovanni.”
“The boss?” Michael asks.
“Oh, the boss,” Jaz says.
“No,” I say with a scoff.
“Yes,” Jeremiah continues. “I saw the way the two of you interacted the other day, and it was fucking hot. You're clearly feeling him, and like I told you then, it was pretty obvious to me that he's into you, too. He called you his good girl.”
“Oh, shit,” Michael exclaims.
Jaz gasps as her head snaps over to me, her eyes wide with delight.
“He did not call me his good girl,” I correct Jeremiah with a raised finger. “He just said good girl after I said what he wanted me to. Big difference.”
“I don't think there’s that much of a difference,” Michael says.
“Trust me, there is,” I reply.
“To be honest, Nia,” Jaz says. “Everything you've told me about your boss has made it sound like he is exactly your type.”
“First of all, I don't know what you're talking about,” I reply. “Secondly, even if Rome was exactly what I'm looking for, he's not into me, and I highly doubt that he's into the lifestyle, which is an absolute necessity for me. I'm a submissive woman. I want a dominant man.”
“And what about Rome tells you that he's not a dominant man?” Jeremiah asks. He glares at me like he already knows I won't be able to come up with an answer.
I try to think of something—anything about Rome that would suggest that he's not the kind of man who could be a Dom. I picture the way he carries himself when he walks into a room, and the thought alone makes me want to sit up straight. I remember the way everyone responds to his presence, everybody focusing more and giving him their undivided attention. I think of the way he maintains eye contact, never feeling the need to avert his gaze out of fear or nervousness. When he speaks, everyone listens, and it feels like more than just his position as CMO and owner of Sandcastle. The way he commanded me to repeat that he was in charge, and called me a good girl when I did what he asked … that will never be erased from my memory. Try as I might, I can't think of a single thing that Rome does that doesn't carry the aura and essence of a Dominant.
When it’s clear that I can’t come up with something, Jeremiah just smiles at me, nodding his head proudly.
“Maybe you should go for it,” Michael suggests. “I know he's your boss, and the people at your job would probably feel some type of way about that, but fuck them. It happens all the time.”
Even Jaz agrees. “I wouldn't usually suggest trying to sleep with your boss, but I know you. This isn't about hooking up with him to get a promotion. We all know you're looking for the real deal, and from what I understand, he sounds like he just might be. Don't let fear block your blessing, girl.”
I take a second to soak it all in, shaking my head in disbelief about what I'm considering.
“Fine,” I say. “I’ll test the waters, but I’m telling you all, he’s not a Dom. He may act like one and carry himself like one, but that's just because he's a man who’s in charge. He owns the company. There’s nothing more to it than that.”
“And what if there is more to it than that?” Jaz asks.
“There’s not.”
“But what if there is?”
We lock eyes, both of us knowing what it could mean if Rome was a Dom and he and I hit it off. Jaz just wants what’s best for me. She wants to see me happy just as much as I want to be happy. She has always been in my corner and the foundation I could stand on when I felt like I was losing my footing. I trust her, and the look in her eyes tells me I should go for it.
I let out a long sigh.
“Then I guess we’ll see what happens,” I say. “But I’m not holding my breath.”