Naomi #2
“I’ll talk to you later, Reina,” Jaxon says smoothly. I can hear the gratification lacing his words, and it infuriates me. The call ends with three soft beeps, leaving me staring at the phone in disbelief.
“Aisha!” I spin on her, voice rising in incredulity.
She’s already at her vanity, filing her nails with an air of smug satisfaction. Without even looking at me, she says, “What?”
“What did you tell him?” I demand, charging toward her.
She finally glances up, rolling her eyes. “Oh, you know, just all the things you wish you had the guts to say—how sexy you think he is, how you wanna scream papi while he makes your legs shake.”
“Aisha!” I squeal, throwing my hands in the air. “Christian and I are together!”
Her gaze sharpens, and she points the nail file at me like a weapon. “Notice how you didn’t say I was wrong.”
Heat flares in my cheeks, and I cross my arms. “Are you going to work today, or is your entire schedule dedicated to wreaking havoc on my life?”
She smirks, holding my gaze. “Taylor and Courtney have it handled. Besides, I have more important things to do.”
“Oh? Like what?”
She rises gracefully, sauntering toward her closet. “Like dressing my favorite doll for a date.”
I blink. “Date? Who’s going on a date?”
“You.” She throws the word over her shoulder like it’s obvious. “With someone fine as hell, too.”
“June, you didn’t.” My voice drops to a whine as I stomp into the walk-in closet after her.
“Relax, Lady.” She huffs, but she’s already sifting through hangers. Even though she hasn’t lived here in years, the closet is still well stocked. She lifts a baby blue dress off the rack, holding it against me.
“I respect my relationship, you know.” I glare at her, planting my hands on my hips for emphasis.
Without sparing me a glance, she retorts, “Do you think he’s out there in the middle of nowhere ‘respecting your relationship’?” She mimics my voice with an exaggerated whine, complete with air quotes.
“I do,” I snap, but the words feel brittle. “And I love him, Aisha.”
That softens her. She sighs, pulling a dress off the hanger before turning to face me fully. “Lady, I get it. But it’s been four years. No ring, no real talk of a future—something’s off.”
“We’re not in a rush,” I lie, shrugging, but my voice wavers. The truth presses like a weight on my chest—Christian’s been talking about marriage and babies non-stop. But I’m just not…ready.
Aisha steps closer, pulling me into a hug. “Fine. I get it. I just told Jaxon that you two should try being nicer to each other since you’re stuck in this situation anyway.”
I pull back, staring at her in disbelief.
She grins, her mischief slipping back into place. “I would never betray you like that. Even if the sexual tension between you two is so thick it could twerk.”
“There is no sexual tension, June.”
“And you will die on that hill, Reina.” The ‘R’ rolls off her tongue in the same manner it does Jaxon’s. “That man wants you.”
A shuddering breath rolls out of me—like it or not, Aisha might be right, but I can’t think about that. “Thank you, June. For not…”
She smiles genuinely as she turns back to the rack. “No problem, Lady.”
“But wait.” I frown. “I thought you said I have a date with him.”
“No,” she interrupts, strutting past me. “I said you have a date with someone fine as hell.”
I gape at her retreating figure as she heads back through the bedroom and into the bathroom. Confused, I trail behind her. “Please, elaborate.
She twists the shower dial, and steam fills the room as her laughter echoes against the tiles. “Better make it quick. We’ve got a long day of retail therapy ahead.”
I give her my best wide-eyed pout, the kind that could melt stone. “I love you,” I whine, stretching out my arms to pull her willowy frame into a hug, resting my head against her chest like a petulant child seeking comfort.
“I know.” She huffs, giving me a quick squeeze before nudging me toward the shower and snatching a bottle of hair oil off the counter. “Hurry,” she orders.
The door clicks shut behind her, leaving me alone.
As I strip out of my outfit from last night and step into the scalding spray, the water hits my skin like tiny needles, chasing away the knot in my chest. For a second, I let the heat work its way into my muscles, washing away everything but the ache buried deep inside me.
But no matter how much I try to focus, his image keeps slipping past my defenses like a whisper I can’t ignore. Jaxon. Those full, maddening lips of his, inches from mine when he threatened to fix my attitude.
‘My palm is itching to teach you a lesson.’
The memory runs through me like wildfire, filling my body with a vicious heat, one that has nothing to do with the water. I press my palms to the wall as the memory claws its way deeper.
My fingers drift down my body, hesitant at first but quickly finding the ache that’s been simmering for days. My thoughts start to spiral, drowning in the memory of his words, his tone, filling every corner of my mind.
The thought pushes me closer to the edge, my body tightening, my heart racing—but just before I fall, I wrench him from my mind. Instead, I summon Christian’s pale blue eyes, his smile. And my release comes in a rush; it feels hollow. Empty.
As water continues to pour over me, I sag against the wall. And my chest heaves, until guilt claws at the edges of my satisfaction.
Because no matter how hard I try, I can’t shake the truth: It’s not Christian I want.
It’s Jaxon.
Aisha’s parents dropped us off in Santa Monica after a breakfast that could’ve fed a battalion.
Her mom had practically catered a buffet, ignoring our protests that we’d be fine with tea and croissants.
And the insistence came with hugs so tight they bordered on suffocating, with eyes that lingered far too long.
Her dad, always a pillar of calm, looked at us as though we were rare treasures about to vanish. Her mom’s voice trembled as she kissed my forehead, her hands lingering on my shoulders.
“I just can’t believe how fast time flies,” she murmured, her smile brittle and too full of emotion.
“You don’t visit often enough,” her dad added, squeezing me into an almost crushing embrace.
It wasn’t normal. Aisha’s parents had always been affectionate—like mine—but this was different. It was almost like they were scared for me, for us. And for the life of me, I couldn’t piece together why.
“Did my parents seem a little weird today?" Aisha mutters as we stroll out of our fifth store, bags heavy on our arms. "Don’t get me wrong, I love them dearly, but it was weird, right?"
“I mean, not any weirder than normal.” I shrug
“No, they were definitely acting weirder, and you know it,” she shoots back, adjusting the straps of her shopping bags.
“Yeah… Okay, it was a bit off. Even for them.”
Aisha’s parents are always eccentric—self-proclaimed romantics who leaned into their quirks to keep things “spicy.” If my parents are Heathcliff and Clair Huxtable, then her parents are Morticia and Gomez Addams. Where my parents’ love was sugar-sweet and pristine, Aisha’s parents burned with an unrelenting dark flame, fierce and all-consuming.
I used to wonder what that kind of love feels like. Giving yourself over to someone so completely, with the possibility of losing yourself in their blaze. I don’t think I ever could. A practical love seems smarter, less messy. But sometimes… sometimes I envy it.
By the time we duck into our sixth store, my thoughts shift, and I finally spot the heels I’ve been hunting for all day. Silver, strappy Christian Louboutins—perfect for the midnight dress I have waiting on my mannequin.
I place them on the floor and step in, testing the fit as I parade down the aisle like it is my runway.
“Those are undoubtedly the ones,” Aisha declares as she watches me act a fool.
I pivot to meet her gaze. “Four out of ten on comfort, but they gain a point for proper sexiness.”
She sighs dramatically, tucking her phone back into her pocket. “And here I was hoping for a full ten.”
I smirk. “Who’s been distracting you all day?”
A soft smile plays on her lips, her pace quick as she heads for the register.
“Xay,” she calls over her shoulder. Quickly stuffing the shoes back into the box, I trail after her.
“Of course,” I grumble, rolling my eyes. We’re next in line, but I can’t help turning to Aisha. “Just be careful, okay?” My voice is low, almost a plea.
The serpent on Xay’s arm isn’t just for show—anyone in LA could tell you that. But Aisha’s addicted to danger, and once her mind’s set, there’s no stopping her.
“I’m a big girl,” she quips, bumping her hip into mine as I hand the cashier my credit card. “I’ll be fine.”
We leave the store arm in arm, heading toward the main entrance to call our Uber. But I spot a familiar car idling by the curb, and I come to a dead stop.
“I thought you said he wasn’t coming, June.” I groan, yanking my arm free.
“Who?” she asks, genuine confusion etched into her features. Not a hint of deception.
Is this asshole tracking me?
“What is Jaxon doing here?” I hiss, pointing at the silver Ranger Rover parked out front.
When he first started showing up in my life, he made me memorize the cars his company uses, along with plate numbers, just in case. That’s his—no doubt about it.
“I don’t know.” Aisha shrugs earnestly. “I didn’t tell Xay where we were.”
I storm toward the car, dropping my bags to the pavement to tap on the midnight-tinted window, but it doesn’t roll it down.
“I know you’re in there, asshole,” I snap, knocking again. “At least have the decency not to be creepy about it!”
When the door finally pops open, the person who steps out makes my jaw nearly hit the floor.
“Hey, Naomi,” he says, kicking the door closed and leaning back against it.
His voice is deep, rich—it caught me off guard the moment I met him, almost like the sound of slow, sensual R the other, a hunter green that almost feels warm, inviting. That mismatched gaze pins me in place, leaving me gaping like an idiot until Aisha jabs me in the ribs.
I clear my throat, trying to shake off his spell. “Sorry, why are you here? I thought you said you don’t do security.”
His gaze shifts, and I swear I see a story unfolding in those eyes. Duality. Intellect and empathy, sharpened by something darker. The scar through his eyebrow—above his icy blue stare—makes him more cataclysmic, slowly wrecking my resolve.
He rakes his hand through long, dirty blonde hair that falls to his shoulders, revealing a high taper fade before the strands fall back into place.
When his full lips start moving, I’m not listening. I’m too busy imagining tracing the prominent Cupid’s bow—peak and valley—with my tongue and feeling the neat trim of his beard against my skin.
“Jaxon sent me.” I’m sure he said more, but that's all I caught. The warmth in his smile is disarming, but underneath it, there’s something—an allure that pulls at me, daring me to give in.
It was like that from the start, but at least the security gear he wore helped a bit—this black t-shirt, hugging every one of his muscles, is doing nothing for my already frayed nerves.
“We’re not going with you,” I manage, clinging to common sense.
His lips curl into a smirk. “Look, Dollface, don’t make my job harder than it already is.”
He pushes off the car and, without so much as a glance, he gathers all the bags I’ve been struggling with all day into one veined, inked hand.
“Get in the car,” he commands, his voice low and edged with finality. He grabs Aisha’s bags with his free hand and strides toward the trunk without waiting for a response.
“Dollface?” I scoff. “What is this, a 1950s James Dean movie?”
Aisha swats me, giggling, while his chuckle rolls low in his chest—a sound that settles far too deep in my core for my liking. As he slams the trunk shut, he pins me with a look that soaks my panties, his blue eye flashing with something dangerous behind it.
“Naomi, today’s not the day to test my gangsta.” His voice drops to something that makes me want to drop to my knees—feminism be damned. “One last time. Get. In. The. Car.”
Aisha leans in close, whispering, “Lady, play nice. Just listen to the man.”
“You sound like Nan,” I say to her, heaving a defeated sigh. “Fine. You win.”
Nyx’s lips twitch at my surrender, but he doesn’t gloat. Instead, he opens the back door for Aisha, shutting it firmly behind her before I can slide in beside her.
“Not you,” he says, rounding the car and opening the passenger door for me. “You’re up front, with me.”
I hesitate, narrowing my eyes skeptically.
“This is not Driving Miss Daisy,” he murmurs.
With a sigh, I walk around the car and slip into the passenger seat. “Brute,” I mutter under my breath.
“Aw, I think she likes me,” he teases, throwing a grin at Aisha, who is laughing her pretty little ass off in the backseat.
“Whose side are you on?” I demand, shooting her a glare over my shoulder as Nyx closes the door.
“Yours, always,” she promises, but her smirk betrays her loyalty.
Nyx pops the door open on the driver’s side before comfortably slipping into his seat. He pulls a small bottle of eyedrops from his pocket, uncaps it, tips a drop into each eye, and blinks a few times.
“Where to, ladies?” he asks, wiping the excess liquid away with his thumb. There has to be some kind of law against a man being this fine—he rolls his head towards me, his lips curling on one side.
“I just want to go—”
“I’m hungry,” Aisha cuts me off, and I groan. Of course, she would be the reason I have to spend more time with him than absolutely necessary.
“Oh yeah?” he answers Aisha, though his eyes stay locked on me.
“Starved,” Aisha chirps.
He runs his tongue along his bottom lip, a flash of gold metal glinting as he wets it. “What about you, Dollface? You starved, too?” His voice dips as he leans closer—he smells of citrus, tobacco, and something I can’t place, something that hits me like a warm hug…something calming.
“Ravenous,” I whisper before I can stop myself. The moment it comes out of me, I hear my mistake in the sultry way it sounds.
His smirk deepens, his eyes gleaming with a dangerous kind of victory. “Well,” he murmurs, gunning the engine, “I’m sure I can think of a couple of things to satisfy you.”
Aisha’s wide eyes meet mine in the rear-view mirror, and her jaw is just as slack as mine.