Chapter 1 #2
I laugh her off, but the minute I stand to get another drink, I feel lightheaded. My vision blurs slightly, making me dizzy, the strength of the alcohol hitting me all at once. At least I think it’s the alcohol.
“Nevaeh! Sit down! The last thing we need is for you to pass out on your birthday.”
I listen to Blaire and sit back down, realizing I probably should’ve finished the birthday dinner my mom made for us.
The last thing I need is for her to find out I had to be taken to the hospital.
I already got the third degree from her earlier when she and my dad came over with dinner to celebrate my birthday.
Blaire let it slip we were going out tonight and my mom almost had a heart attack.
“Nevaeh, you should be at home where it’s safe and temptation isn’t knocking on your door. Do you really think it’s wise to put yourself in a position that will lead to sinning?”
I didn’t bother to argue. She would just ignore anything I said.
“This isn’t the way you were raised,” she added.
Blaire rolled her eyes but wisely kept her mouth shut.
“You need to focus on your teachings and prayers,” she continued.
I know my mom loves me, but sometimes I wonder if her love is only for the woman she wants me to be.
If I stopped being that woman, would she still love me?
She says she loves my brother even though he didn’t follow the path she wished for him, but at the same time, she’s constantly using his choices as an example of what not to do.
She swears she accepts him for who he is, yet she’s always judging him and coming up with reasons not to see him.
And if I’m honest, that bothers me. Growing up in a church, we were taught not to judge, yet so many religious folks do just that.
Makes me wonder if my mother’s love really is as unconditional as she pretends it is.
“I’m going to grab us a couple of waters,” Blaire announces.
I nod and watch her walk away. On her way to the bar, several guys try to stop her, most likely asking her to dance.
She shakes her head and continues on her way.
I’m sure her reluctance has something to do with the guy she’s been seeing the last couple of months.
She swears they aren’t serious, but the hearts in her eyes when she talks about Victor tells a completely different story.
She makes her way back over with two bottles of water and sets them on the table. “Are you having a good birthday?” she asks, taking a sip of her water.
Grabbing the other bottle, I twist the top open. “I am,” I say with a smile before I guzzle down half the bottle of water, suddenly feeling parched. Blaire gives me a look that lets me know she’s aware there’s a ‘but’ coming.
“But,” she says for me.
“I just… I feel guilty,” I confess, hating that I allow my mom into my head and my thoughts.
Blaire rolls her eyes and takes another sip of her water. “There’s nothing to feel guilty about, Nevaeh. You’re having a drink and dancing. You aren’t screwing anyone on the dance floor!”
I know she’s right. I’m not doing anything wrong, but it doesn’t stop the guilt from seeping through the cracks any less.
I drink the rest of my bottled water as I watch the people around me dance, flirt, and have a good time.
To these people, this is the norm. A night out at a club.
No big deal. But for me, it’s so much more than that.
My mind goes to my List of things I want to do before I die.
Go to a club
It’s on my list because for me, this is a huge deal, and it makes me extremely giddy on the inside, knowing when I get home later, I’ll get to check another item off my list. Especially since it doesn’t happen often.
I have another item on the list: Get drunk.
But as lightheaded as I’m feeling right now, I don’t think I’ll make it through another drink.
On the other hand, maybe how I’m feeling is because I’m already drunk.
Feeling the sudden urge to pee, I tell Blaire I have to use the ladies’ room.
She glances up from her phone, and the look in her eyes tells me she’s texting with Victor. If I were a betting woman, I would say it won’t be long before they take their relationship to the next level.
“Do you want me to go with you?” Blaire asks.
“No, I’m good. I’ll be right back.”
I trip getting off the stool, but luckily catch myself, gripping onto the side of the table. I start to laugh at my drunken clumsiness—realizing I can check that item off my list after all—when Blaire giggles and snorts out her drink. “Maybe I should get you another water.”
“Yes, please!”
Heading toward the front, I go in search of any sign that indicates there’s a restroom somewhere in this huge place, now fully understanding why it’s called The Warehouse.
It’s a huge rectangular-shaped building with minimum décor, focusing on the bar and dance floors.
The walls are made of sheet metal, adding to the industrial feel.
It’s simple yet still draws you in. Just as I finally spot a sign with an arrow pointing down the hallway, I hear my name being called.
“Nevaeh,” a deep voice calls my name for the second time.
I look to where the voice is coming from and see the source is my ex-boyfriend of two years, Gerald, who has an exotic-looking woman hanging off his arm.
She’s slim and perky in all the right places with bright-red hair that looks like it’s from that hair commercial on the television.
We’ve only been broken up for less than six months and he’s already with someone else. I guess I’m easy to replace.
As I stand frozen in my spot, watching Gerald and Miss Perfect walk over to me, I’m seriously wishing I’d had Blaire tag along to the bathroom. One look at this woman and I can tell she exudes more sex appeal and confidence in her pinky than I do in my entire body.
As they approach me, I notice they look like complete opposites.
Gerald’s spiky jet-black hair to her red, his ruggedness to her sexiness, yet they look like they’re made for each other.
Gerald has that same cocky stride he’s always had, like it’s his world and we’re all just living in it.
But the weird thing is, even with all that swagger, our relationship seemed to lack all the passion.
I kept hoping to feel something more, to feel the spark I’ve read about in romance novels or see in movies—you know the spark…
the one that lights up the woman’s body and heart at the same time, giving her butterflies that don’t just flutter in her belly but attack—but I never did.
Gerald used to blame me. He would say it’s because I wouldn’t have sex with him.
But even if I wasn’t waiting until marriage to have sex, I couldn’t see myself even wanting to be with him.
If there’s no spark out of the bedroom, how can I expect there to be a spark in the bedroom?
I don’t for a second believe two people who lack chemistry with their clothes on, will suddenly spark a flame once their clothes come off.
Needless to say, Gerald and I never found our spark, and one day he got tired of waiting for me to put out and walked out the door.
My heart hurt, but worse, it made me lose a little bit of hope in the male species, that there might not be a man out there willing to wait for me, willing to take the time to find our spark outside of the bedroom.
I know I live in a time where sex is rarely viewed as sacred, but I’m hoping one day I’ll meet a man who will love me enough to honor my beliefs.
I’m not saying I’m a prude. I read plenty of romance books that include sex in full detail, and Gerald and I have had a couple groping sessions—which made me question if the romance books are lying.
It’s just that when I give myself to a man, I want it to be with the person I plan to spend the rest of my life with.
“Wow, look at you.” Gerald appraises me as the woman he’s with glares my way.
“Gerald, it’s good to see you.” I give them both a small smile in an attempt at being polite.
“Likewise. Nevaeh, this is Chantal, my fiancée.” When he places emphasis on the last word, I find my heart suddenly beating a little faster, jealousy seeping through the cracks of the tough wall I’ve erected to protect myself.
Not jealousy over the fact Gerald is engaged, but that he found the person he wants to spend his life with.
For him to propose to her so quickly, she must be giving him what I couldn’t—what I chose not to.
What if it’s me? What if I’m broken? What if the lack of spark was because of me and not Gerald?
The thought hurts my heart. I don’t want to die alone.
“It’s nice to meet you, Chantal.” I stick my hand out to greet her, but when she looks at me like I’m a disease, I quickly retreat to save myself from humiliation.
“It’s your birthday today, right?” Gerald asks. I’m surprised he’s remembered since he always forgot during the years we were together.
“Yeah, I’m here with Blaire,” I say, wanting out of this awkward situation and still needing to pee.
Gerald nods. “Of course you are. And I’m assuming you still live together?”
On more than one occasion, Gerald voiced his disdain for Blaire, agreeing with my mother that I would be better off living elsewhere. Trust me when I say, Gerald’s feelings toward Blaire are more than mutual.
“We are. She’s somewhere around here.” I look around in hope that by willing her to appear, she will suddenly materialize like magic.
“I’m surprised to see you in a club.”
I’m not sure how his words are meant to be taken, but they rub me the wrong way.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
He gives me a quizzical look. “Nothing. You’re just usually teaching, reading, or volunteering at your church. I never imagined running into you in a club. Does your mom know you’re here?” He smirks condescendingly, and I know now his words were meant as a dig at me.
Yes, it’s true, I spend my days teaching, I do enjoy snuggling up with a good book, and I do spend a lot of my free time running the church’s youth program, but there is more to me than that.
Well, actually, there really isn’t, which only helps support the fact that I need to stop planning to make changes in my life and actually make them.
I enjoy teaching and reading and running the youth program, but I want to experience more.
I have an entire list of things I want to do that’s sitting in my nightstand drawer, but rarely gets to make an appearance.
“I’m pretty sure my mom doesn’t have a say in what I do,” I hiss, annoyed that Gerald is completely spot-on. She might not have a say in what I do, but she definitely has an opinion and, up until tonight, I allowed her opinion to steer my choices—but not anymore.
He chuckles. “Hmm…I guess a lot has changed in the last six months.”
I shrug, too fired up to respond. It hasn’t changed… but it will. Life is too short, and I’ve spent too much time waiting for it to change, when the fact is, the only way anything will ever change is if I do something about it. It’s my life and I’m in charge of how I live it.
“So, are you seeing anyone?” he asks.
His question momentarily shocks me. I know I should be honest and say no, but when Chantal gives me a knowing look, my insecurities come out.
“Nevaeh? Are you seeing anyone?” Gerald repeats.
The lie slides out easier than it should. “Yes.”
He looks around incredulously, while his fiancée hits me with a bitchy smirk.
“Is he here?” he asks, when he doesn’t locate him.
I’m not thinking clearly—I’ll blame it on my martini. “He’s at the bar.”
They swing their gazes over to where I mentioned, and then Gerald says, “Him? That’s who you’re seeing?”
I follow their line of vision, shocked when I spot the man Gerald thinks I’m seeing…
because my goodness, he is beyond gorgeous.
My eyes land on a pair of calculating eyes that hold me frozen in place.
With his messy brown hair, expensive looking suit that fits him oh so perfectly, and a face that belongs on a cover of GQ, the man is sexy…
and completely out of my league. My eyes are locked with his as he holds my stare for a second longer, before turning his attention back to his drink.
As he raises his glass to his lips, I have this crazy thought of wanting to be that glass—to have his lips press up against mine as he slowly drinks me, tastes me—
“Why don’t you introduce us?” Chantal suggests, cutting off my fantasy.
“Yeah, I would love to meet the next candidate,” Gerald quips.
Yep, definitely blaming this on the martini—and I’m definitely crossing off get drunk from my list, because there’s no way I would make such stupid choices if I were sober.
I mean, really? What was I thinking? I should’ve said he wasn’t here.
Did I really think they wouldn’t want to meet him with him only standing fifteen feet away?
Well, too late now… There’s no way I’m going to admit I’m full of crap.
“Sure,” I tell them with faux certainty in my voice.
With my heart thumping along to the music, I walk up to the mysterious man, who oozes sex and lust and danger—everything my mother has spent my entire life instilling in me to avoid.
He doesn’t see me coming until I reach him, but when he finally does, he acknowledges me with what looks like approving eyes.
I can’t let Gerald win. And that’s what I keep repeating to myself when I grab the stranger’s neck and pull him down until our mouths crash against one another.
His shocked, beautiful, brown eyes are the last thing I see before I close my own.
His lips are frozen against mine for a moment, and I prepare myself to pull back and deal with the embarrassment of rejection in front of Gerald and Miss Exotic.
But before I can back up, his strong arms snake around my waist, tugging me closer to him—his pull commanding and powerful.
And then he kisses me back.
He takes control and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed in my life.
And oh my word, do I feel those infamous sparks! It’s like bright fireworks shooting off behind my eyelids—amazing shades of blue and purple and pink lighting up my body and igniting something deep within me.
And from this kiss, my hope is restored.