8. Nourah Marcell
Somewhere across town…
Iwasn’t gon’ lie…
Life had been kicking my ass lately.
Not in the I couldn’t pay my bills type of way because my little one-bedroom apartment stayed paid for, my lights were on, and I always made sure there was food in my refrigerator.
As a single, independent woman with no kids, I was simply surviving, but I wanted better for myself. I was almost thirty and felt like, Damn… what’s really next for me?
I sighed, sinking farther into my couch as I stared up at the ceiling, my phone resting against my stomach.
A smile tugged at my lips as I thought about my sister. She’d sent me pictures of herself wearing the peach-and-nude dress I made for her, and she looked damn good!
Big girl or not, my sister was the shit. I knew it—I just wished she did. Her confidence was better than it had once been, that was for sure, and she had her moments when she’d be feeling herself. I just wished she felt pretty and confident 24/7 because I really looked up to her.
Noree was super sweet, funny, and so damn talented! Anything she touched turned to gold, but I hated that she didn’t use her talents.
I was so glad she’d won that contest, though, because out of all the people who entered that Weekend with Ozy experience, her winning meant something… well, at least to me it did.
I was a firm believer that everything happened for a reason, even if we didn’t know what that reason was at the time. Her being around him could possibly spark her interest in music again by seeing him in his element.
I still couldn’t believe it.
I reached over and grabbed my phone, smiling as I looked at the picture of her in my outfit again. I couldn’t wait to print it out and add it to my portfolio. I kept a big physical book of every design I’d ever made. That book was my holy grail.
I leaned my head against the couch cushion for a moment, opening my email again. Right there at the top sat another rejection. The same one I’d read from top to bottom seven times.
I sighed. “Ugh! This is some bullshit.”
Over the last few months, I’d submitted sketches, sample collections, pitch decks, and mood boards. Hell, I’d even hand-delivered garments to boutiques, hoping somebody would at least call me back.
Nothing.
Every answer felt exactly the same.
Unfortunately…
We’ve decided…
At this time…
I was so damn tired of those three phrases.
I loved fashion and turning nothing into something that made somebody stand out. I loved creating bold statement pieces that nobody else would ever be able to say they had in their closet. And I was damn good at it. Like, ya girl was a beast for real!
I just wished somebody would believe in me the way I believed in myself.
I rubbed my face before looking down at what I already had on.
A black long-sleeve lounge shirt with matching black shorts covered in bright pink smiley faces. Fuzzy black slippers. Hair pulled into a messy bun.
I hopped up, grabbed my keys, locked my apartment behind me, and headed downstairs because I really needed a drink. Bad.
A nice lil’ personal bottle.
Ten minutes later, I pulled my silver Honda Accord Sport into the liquor store parking lot.
The place wasn’t packed, but there were quite a few people coming in and out, which immediately reminded me that it was Friday night. Instead of being out somewhere having a good time, I was over here sulking in misery.
I climbed out, locked my doors, and headed inside. A blast of cold air hit me the second I walked through the entrance.
A couple of people glanced my way before going back to what they were doing, just being damn nosy, as I headed toward the aisle I knew like the back of my hand.
Don Julio Reposado.
“How you doin’, beautiful?”
I ignored him.
“Damn, she fine,” another guy said.
I kept walking toward the counter.
Baby, I wasn’t entertaining anybody tonight. I came for one thing, and that was it.
The cashier rang me up, slid the bottle into a brown paper bag, and wished me a good night, slick trying to flirt on the low, but I wasn’t interested.
“You too, hun.”
I pushed through the front door and headed back toward my car, my slippers softly slapping against the pavement.
I unlocked my Accord and reached for the driver’s-side handle, but that’s when somebody grabbed my arm.
I jerked around so fast my heart damn near jumped into my throat, my fists balled up, ready to do a fuck nigga in if need be.
An older man stood there grinning at me.
I immediately made a face because not only did he look rough, but he also looked like he didn’t need to be standing all up in my goddamn face.
It looked like he had one good eye and was missing hella teeth in the front. Then he had the nerve to keep sticking his tongue through the big ol’ gap. That tongue was white as hell too, like he hadn’t brushed it in years.
“Uh… can I help you? And why you touching me?” I asked immediately.
He chuckled. “I was just coming over to say hey to a pretty lady.” His grin stretched even wider. “You lookin’ real good tonight.”
“Thank you.” I turned back toward my car.
“Hold on now.” He stepped beside me. “That ass lookin’ good in them shorts, baby.”
My face twisted.
“I’m tryna see what that’s about.” He slowly dragged his tongue across his lips.
“Ew.” The word came out before I could stop it. “I’m good.”
“C’mon, don’t be like that.”
“I’m not interested.”
“You ain’t even gave me a chance.”
“I don’t need to.” I reached for my door again, and his hand wrapped around my forearm again.
Every ounce of patience left my body.
I snatched my arm away so hard he stumbled back a step.
“Didn’t I tell your ashy ass—”
“Leave her the fuck alone before I bend every last one of yo’ muthafuckin’ fingers back.”
The voice came from somewhere behind me. It was deep and low, but it demanded attention.
I slowly turned around.
Oh shit. Girl… that man is fine.
My eyes slowly dragged down his body. He was tall as hell with brown skin and fresh braids.
They had a lil’ hang time too. He had a baby face with barely any facial hair, but damn…
he was handsome. Cocky. Standing with his legs spread on some big-dick-energy type shit, his face balled up and his eyes locked on the old ashy nigga.
His wide shoulders filled out the black Security T-shirt stretched across his chest, making him look like Superman.
The older guy instantly threw both hands into the air with his scary ass.
“Aight, man. Damn. I was just talking.”
Security took one slow step forward. “I don’t give a fuck what you was doing. You heard her tell you no. So now I’m telling you to take yo’ dumbass on somewhere before I break yo’ jaw. Move!”
He shouted the last word and damn near made me jump. The older man literally ran off like a bitch.
I watched until he disappeared between two parked cars before finally letting out the breath I’d been holding.
Silence settled between me and Mr. Security.
I placed one hand on my hip before looking up at him.
“You know…” I tilted my head. “You really didn’t have to do all that.”
One corner of his mouth lifted. “Damn…that’s the thanks I get for saving your life?”
I couldn’t help but laugh. “You didn’t save my life.”
One of his eyebrows lifted. “I didn’t?”
“No.” I shifted the brown paper bag against my hip before pointing toward my driver’s-side door. “Trust me, I was about to reach inside my car, and he wasn’t gon’ be standing here too much longer.”
For a second, he didn’t say anything. He just looked at me.
Then he laughed.
Mmm… and he had perfect teeth.
“Oh, shit.” He said, still grinning. “My bad, lil’ mama. I thought you was a damsel in distress and shit.”
“Nope. I don’t play them games.” I shrugged like it wasn’t nothing. “People mistake kindness for weakness, and that’s where they mess up. I’m small, but I go to the gun range faithfully.”
“I respect that.”
Something about the way he said it made me tingle, and I got lost in the sauce. My eyes roamed all over his body again, stopping at his crotch for a moment.
And honestly? It looked heavy.
“Wassup?” he asked with a small smirk. “You sizing me up?”
Heat crept into my cheeks. “I wasn’t.”
“Nah, yo’ lil’ ass is lying.”
I tilted my head and giggled. “Maybe I am.”
He held his hand out. “I’m PB.”
I looked from his face down to his hand. “PB?”
“Yeah.”
I slipped my hand into his, expecting a quick shake.
Instead, his fingers wrapped around mine for a second longer than normal.
I smiled. “The only letter you’re missing is a J.”
“J?”
“So, you can be PB&J.”
He blinked. “A peanut butter and jelly sandwich shawty?” A loud laugh escaped his sexy lips as he dropped his head for a second. “Oh, you got jokes.”
“A little bit.”
“I see.”
Neither one of us let go right away.
Finally, he loosened his grip, but his smile never faded as my hand slid to my side.
“You still ain’t told me your name.”
“I’m Nourah.”
“Nora?” He repeated it slowly before squinting at me. “What kinda old-ass name is that?”
I gasped dramatically, pressing my free hand against my chest. “First of all,… you gotta take that up with my mama and daddy because they the ones who named me.”
“Fair enough.”
“And second…” I held one finger up. “I like my name. It fits me.”
“I ain’t say it didn’t.”
I continued. “It also ain’t spelled like the regular Nora.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“It’s N-O-U-R-A-H.” I smiled proudly. “Thank you very much.”
He nodded, then his eyes drifted toward the brown paper bag tucked beneath my arm.
“So…” He nodded toward it. “Don Julio. What’s the occasion?”
I looked down at the bag before letting out a small sigh. “Honestly?”
“Yeah. What’s up?”
“I was just feeling a little down.”
His smile softened. “What happened?”
I shifted my weight onto one leg.
“I’m a fashion designer. Well, a seamstress too, but I mostly design. I’ve been submitting my work to different clothing companies, boutiques, anybody who’ll look at it, really.”
“How long?”
“Months.” I laughed, but there wasn’t much humor behind it. “I’ve mailed samples, sent sketches, portfolios… the whole nine, but I keep getting turned down.”
“Damn.”
“I’m actually hoping this weekend changes that.”
“What you mean?”
“My sister won that Weekend with Ozy contest.”
Recognition crossed his face, but it disappeared so fast I almost thought I’d imagined it.
“She did?”
“Yeah.” I smiled. “I’m really happy for her too.”
“That’s what’s up, shawty, but what’s that got to do with your designs?” He scratched his head confused.
“Wellll….I made every outfit she packed for the weekend.”
His eyebrows shot up. “Word?”
“Yup. Every single one.” I nodded. “I’m praying somebody notices them. Maybe a stylist. Maybe somebody connected to the industry. I don’t know…” I shrugged. “I’m just hoping one opportunity opens another door.”
“I like your hustle.” He smiled.
That made me smile a little bigger. “I appreciate it.”
“For what it’s worth,” he said, sliding one hand into his pocket, “don’t stop sending your work out.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
His phone began to ring. He glanced at the screen, then sighed.
“I hate to cut this short, love.” He held up a lighter. “My shit always getting stolen. I ran over here to grab one right quick, but I gotta dip.”
“Well…” I smiled. “Thanks again for not saving my life,” I teased.
“Yeah, aight.” He shook his head, smiling. “Nice meeting you, though.”
I opened my car door and climbed inside.
By the time I’d buckled my seat belt and started my Accord, I thought that was the end of it.
Then PB tapped on my window. I rolled it down.
“What’s up?”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “You wasn’t gon’ give me your number?”
I smiled. “Well… you didn’t ask.”
“You got a nigga or something?”
“If I had one,” I laughed, “I wouldn’t be talking to you.”
“I figured as much.” He unlocked his phone and held it out to me. “Put your number in there, love.”
I took his phone, entered my number, then handed it back.
He looked down at the screen just as it started ringing again.
“Have a good rest of your night, Nourah.”
“You too, PBJ.”
He started walking away, laughing. When I pulled off, I couldn’t help the way I was feeling.
He was low-key exactly what I needed to get my mind off everything.