Forever Claiming You : A BWWM Romance (Grudging Hearts Book 3) Page 2

This restaurant is known for it’s ‘retro’ feel and the tiled tables are just one of many quirky stylistic choices. There’s also a medieval candle flickering near my head. Elvis posters frame the walls. A giant stuffed bear leans against the hostess podium.

  I hate the décor, but the affordable menu and the incredible dishes keep me coming back.

  Me and half the city.

  It’s Friday night.

  We waited two hours in line just to get in.

  Half-an-hour for the steak.

  That’s two-and-a-half hours wasted just for Damion to tell me this isn’t working out.

  Something he could have started with when he picked me up from home. Or when we were inching along in the line. Or when we sat down at the booth.

  I blink steadily. Run my fingers through my braids. I got a new style done for tonight. Siamese twists. Cobie recommended a bomb hair braider. The stylist did a great job. I was thinking of going back for my wedding. I even booked her in advance for it.

  Not ‘it’.

  My marriage to Damion.

  I thought tonight was the night.

  Damion called me at work. Insisted that we meet. He refused to tell me what it was about. Just said it was important.

  Important?

  What’s more important than a marriage?

  I convinced myself he’d propose.

  I even borrowed a dress from Chandra. It’s yellow—my favorite color—and worth more than I’d ever spend on a piece of cloth that covered this little of my body.

  Chandra assured me that Damion would propose tonight after seeing me, even if he originally had no intentions to.

  Chandra was wrong.

  This dress has no power.

  My mind is spinning.

  I try to get my voice to work.

  It doesn’t.

  I try to get Damion to look at me.

  He doesn’t.

  The candle flickers against his face—the sharp chin, thin nose, brown eyes. He’s not traditionally handsome. His eyes are a little too droopy, his lips a little too small. But there’s a beautiful, artistic, almost dream-like quality to Damion’s looks.

  At first glance, he struck me as someone with depth, substance.

  It was the look in his eyes.

  Eyes I got to know like the back of my hand.

  Eyes that are trained away from mine right now.

  My heart sinks.

  This isn’t a joke.

  I wish it were.

  If this were some stupid segue into Damion dropping to his knees and begging me to spend the rest of my life with him, I’d forgive him and say yes anyway.

  But it’s not.

  The way he’s slumped in the booth says I’ve decided. You’re not The One. I’ve known for a long time, but I couldn’t tell you.

  He opens his mouth.

  I know what he’s going to say before the words taint the air.

  “I want to break up.” He lifts his head. Peers at me with guilt-riddled eyes. “I can’t do this anymore.”

  Can’t do what? What exactly is he referring to?

  I’ve been a heck of a perfect girlfriend.

  Early on in our relationship, I learned Damion’s love language.

  It’s affection.

  Guess what I’ve been giving him for the past eighteen months?

  I’ve blown so much money on his birthday, Christmas and Valentine’s Day presents that I’m still paying back the interest on my loans.

  But it’s not just the money.

  I’ve given my time. I listen to him whenever he needs to talk. Even if that’s right in the middle of a cake I’m sculpting for a custom order.

  I let him hang out with his friends whenever he wants. I don’t go snooping in his phone and I don’t get jealous when he has to pull long nights with female composers.

  Just what about that is so annoying to him?

  Damion’s fingers fidget with his blazer. It’s the one I bought for him two months ago so he could impress the judges at his musical theatre auditions.

  Funny story.

  The musician who was butchering the piano at the ice sculpture gala where I lost my…

  My brain throws up a Teale block.

  Let me start again.

  The guy who was butchering the piano at the ice sculpture gala I attended two years ago was Damion. He sought me out after getting my information from one of the organizers.

  I should have known better than to go out with a pianist who can’t play the piano, but I was in a vulnerable place.

  It felt good to be pursued.

  I went on a date. And another.

  Somehow I found a year and six months had flown by.

  I’d fallen in love. Sort of.

  Whatever this was, I was content.

  Was.

  I’m already thinking in past tense.

  I don’t want this to end.

  Damion and I are a lot alike. We’re both black—although he’s on the lighter spectrum while I’m on the darker side. We’re both short. Quiet. More prone to spend a date indoors watching movies than braving a crowd.

  We just… fit.

  Or we used to.

  Again with the past tense.

  I stare at my hands pulled into my lap. Words disappear from my mind. Dissolve on my tongue.

  I should throw my wine at him.

  I should make a scene.

  But I can’t move.

  I’m too shocked.

  “Why?” I croak out.

  “Does it matter?”

  “Yes.”

  “Relationships end. Sometimes people just drift apart—”

  “Don’t give me that patronizing bull, Damion. Tell me.”

  “Fine.” He sighs. “I love you, Zania. I do, but you’re just…”

  “I’m what?”

  “Too boring.”

  Two words.

  They fall on me like a tub of gasoline.

  Barrel into my chest. Straight into me.

  A cymbal crash.

  Boring.

  “See.” Damion gathers a bunch of napkins from the dispenser. Hands them over. “That’s why I didn’t want to tell you.”

  For a second, I wonder why he’s offering tissues to me.

  And then I feel something course down my cheek.

  I’m crying.

  No way.

  I’m not bawling over this guy.

  Not right in front of him.

  The thought courses through my mind, just as another tear falls.

  “Zania…” He calls my name, but it’s not the way he usually does. This ‘Zania’ is devoid of affection. It’s a croak of shame, of embarrassment.

  His eyes skitter to the left.

  He doesn’t want anyone looking at us.

  That’s all he’s worried about.

  “Are you serious?” I thrust his hand away. Sniff. Try to get a handle on my rickety emotions.

  “I know you’ve been dropping hints about wanting to get married.”

  My jaw falls. “I—”

  “Don’t try to deny it.”

  “I wasn’t going to.” It’s true. I want to get married. I’ve always had a clear vision of where I want my life to end up.

  A husband. Kids.

  That’s my dream.

  Baking is a passion I stumbled upon along the way, but I don’t see why I can’t have my cake and eat it too.

  Damion rubs his temple. “At first, I was into it, but then I took a long, hard look at the future you and I would have. It wasn’t exciting. We’d spend the rest of our lives stuck in a rut, living the same routine over and over again.”

  “You don’t know that.”

  “Yes. I do.”

  “We’d be stable. Comfortable.” I don’t know why I’m trying to sell myself to a man who doesn’t want me. But I can’t stop my mouth from running. Can’t stop my heart from hurting. “We’d be happy.”

  His eyebrows slant together. “Are you?”

  “What?”<
br />
  “Happy? With me.”

  Right now. As in… in this moment? No. Not really.

  “I am. Over-all.”

  That’s the truth. It took a while. And maybe I’m not red-hot, passionately in love with Damion, but who needs that kind of messy, mind-bending, soul-snatching experience anyway?

  What we share is steady. Solid. Reliable.

  As soon as Damion gets his big break, I won’t have to pay for dates anymore and we’ll be able to purchase a nice little house in a suburb somewhere and start building a family.

  “I’m happy the way things are.”

  “I’m not.” Damion shakes his head. “I want more.”

  More.

  More than me.

  I’m not enough for him.

  His lips press together. “I wish things were different. On paper, you’ve got everything I want, Zania, but I just…”

  A lump forms in my throat.

  Builds and builds until I can’t breathe.

  I need to get out of here.

  The chair scrapes noisily against the floor as I rise.

  Damion’s brown eyes hike up.

  Struggling for composure, I clutch my purse to my body. “I understand.”

  “I’m sorry,” Damion says again.

  As if I’m the pitiful one.

  As if I’m the loser.

  And I guess I am.

  Turning, I stumble out of the restaurant, wishing I’d had the courage to throw my wine at him.

  3 Teale

  “What’s with the screw you expression?” I ask. “Aren’t you happy to see your brother?”

  “Where the hell have you been?” Ollie growls, dark blue eyes searing into me.

  “Here and there.” I smirk. Ollie knows where I’ve been. He peeps on my IG account whenever I post a picture so I’m not buying this clueless act.

  My brother folds his massive arms over his massive chest. The scowl on his face is an Oliver Landry staple. Paired with his ink sleeves and overall brooding, Grim Reaper personality, I have no idea how he scored a woman as dainty and glamorous as Chandra.

  Not that I’m still bitter about that.

  I may have been interested in Chandra when we first met, but the better man won.

  I point to Brew Drop’s front door. “You gonna let me in or…?”

  “Nah.”

  My patience goes thin. I shuffle back. “Then what the hell did you call me here for?”

  “Shut up and give me a hug, man.” Ollie’s grizzly expression shifts into a smile. He wraps his arms around me. Gives me a hearty squeeze. “It’s been too long.”

  I slap his back once and push him away.

  He holds on for a second more, just to piss me off. When he steps back, he clasps my shoulders. “You look good, bro. A little scrawny, but what can you do?”

  “Scrawny or not, I can still take you.”

  “In your dreams.”

  “If I saw your ugly mug in my dreams, it’d be a nightmare.”

  “Keep talking smack. I’ll lay you out.”

  “Bring it on, brother.” I say, only slightly joking.

  It’s been a while since me and Ollie have gone head-to-head. I love my brother, but there are moments I want to tear him down a peg or two. Maybe just to prove that I can.

  He’s always been bigger. Stronger.

  He still is.

  But I’ve got an annoying habit of getting back up when I’ve been slammed to the ground. Probably because Dad did his share of pushing me around when I was a kid.

  Ollie grins before our conversation can get any tenser. “Come in. Everyone’s excited to see you.”

  I follow my brother inside Brew Drop Coffee Shop.

  The wide-open space is fitted with tall tables, colorful chairs and huge bookshelves stuffed with tomes no customer has bothered to crack open.

  The lights above the display counter are on, but the platters inside are empty. Tomorrow, they’ll be filled with cupcakes, brownies, and cookies.

  All scrumptious.

  All perfect.

  All created with love by Zania’s dainty hands.

  Zania.

  I wonder how she’s doing.

  The last time we met, I took her virginity.

  It wasn’t intentional. Wasn’t planned. Wasn’t… smart.

  Let’s just say… I broke one of my rules. I messed with a girl who didn’t know how to play the game. It’s not my usual m.o. It was a jerkish move.

  Which is why I’m a little nervous about seeing her tonight.

  Ollie leads me into the kitchen.

  My eyes bounce from the pregnant woman standing in the midst of all the stainless steel appliances to the man balancing precariously on a ladder while trying to hang a banner from a hook in the ceiling.

  “No, babe. More to the left,” Cobie says. Slender hands move up. Lift her bouncy black curls. They jostle and bounce against each other before falling against her back.

  “Here?”

  “No. Wait. It doesn’t look good. The right.”

  Griffin dutifully inches the other way. “Now?”

  Cobie clutches her round chin. Sultry brown eyes flash on Griffin’s butt before she grins. “Oh yeah. I like that.”

  “Griff, Cobie’s staring at your booty,” I taunt.

  Cobie swings around. Sees me. Grins. “That’s my booty. I can stare if I want.”

  “Woman’s got a point,” Griffin says. He climbs down from the ladder and joins his wife. A tan arm winds around her.

  I nod at Cobie’s swelling stomach. “I heard my prodigy is ready to pop out of the oven.”

  “Prodigy?” Cobie plants a fist on her wide hip.

  “You do know what the word means, right, Cobie?”

  “I’m not stupid, Teale.”

  “Yeah, she’s not stupid,” Ollie says.

  “You calling my wife ‘stupid’?” Griffin puffs out his chest and glowers at me.

  I laugh.

  The guy’s so whipped for Cobie.

  Not that I’m against that.

  When I first heard about Griffin’s unrequited high school crush, I was rooting for him and Cobie to meet again.

  Then he did.

  And she fought him tooth and nail before she eventually admitted to loving him too.

  Took ten years but Griff actually made it happen. He married the girl he’d been in love with since he was a teenager.

  He’s allowed to overdo it now.

  “No, sir. I’d never insult a lady.” I point to Cobie’s stomach. “This is between me and my student.”

  “I don’t want you teaching our baby anything.”

  “Are you calling me a bad influence? Because… you’d be right.”

  “Is that Teale I hear?” A woman emerges from the room to the left. She’s tall. Ebony-colored skin. Big brown eyes. Long black hair.

  Stunning.

  “It is you!” Chandra sprints forward. Leaps at me. Grabs me in a tight hug.

  I know she’s my brother’s girl so I force my thoughts away from how soft her body feels against mine and how good she looks in that sexy red dress.

  Like I said, the better man won.

  That doesn’t mean I’ve gone blind.

  “Teale!” She pulls back quickly. Looks me up and down. Sisterly affection glimmers in her gaze. “No wonder Ollie was so giddy today.”

  “I’m never giddy,” Ollie argues.

  “You so were.” Chandra’s bright smile is blinding. “When did you get back?”

  “Yesterday. I stopped by Mom’s first. Spent the night.”

  Ollie nods in approval. “Good move.”

  I shrug. Mom’s my heart and soul. I jet-set around the world and see her only a handful of weeks out of the year, but I’d give her every dime in my bank account and every drop of blood in my veins.

  She’s had a hard life.

  We all did, but she took the brunt of it.

  Chandra steps away from me and cuddles close to Ollie.

>   My surly brother melts like a puppy.

  It’s, honestly, disgusting.

  “Baby, I can’t find the sparklers we bought,” Chandra coos.

  “Did you check?”

  “I did, but I think we might have left them at home.” Chandra pushes out her bottom lip. “I really wanted to set them off when Zania brought Damion.”

  I perk up. “Who’s Damion?”

  “Zania’s boyfriend,” Cobie says.

  “Boyfriend?”

  Cobie giggles. “Well, he’s her fiancé now.”

  “Right.” I don’t know why I’m so surprised. For a while, I’d felt guilty about how I left things with Zania.

  Looks like I was stressing for nothing.

  “What do you think of our poster?” Cobie gestures to the banner overhead.

  I tip my chin up. Study the giant, oddly-stretched picture of Zania kissing the cheek of some nerdy-looking punk in a blazer and skinny tie. The words beneath the photo read ‘CONGRATULATIONS TO THE HAPPY COUPLE’ in the ugliest font possible.

  I cough. “Did Cobie design that?”

  “What is this? Roast Cobie Day?” The petite, mom-to-be laughs so I know she’s not really offended.

  Chandra nods. “She did.”

  “I think it looks great,” Griffin says.

  “Love really is blind,” I mumble.

  Ollie laughs.

  Chandra snickers.

  Even Griffin cracks a smile.

  Cobie’s natural hair salon has been racking up awards and national acclaim, but Griffin handles all the business’s marketing needs for a reason.

  “Everyone was busy so it landed on my shoulders at the last minute. Should I take it down?”

  “No,” Ollie says. “I think Zania will get a kick out of that.”

  Chandra turns her phone over. Presses a thumb to it. “Speaking of, I wonder when he’ll propose. Maybe after dessert like you did?” She arches an eyebrow.

  Ollie blushes from his neck to the roots of his hair.

  I wasn’t there when that particular milestone happened, but Cobie caught the whole thing on camera. My not-a-romantic-bone-in-his-body brother went all out for his proposal last month.

  He hired a violinist, rented a yacht and even had fireworks.

  Overboard.

  He went overboard.

  But I get it. Chandra’s used to dating men like me—men with enough money to spend on crap like that. Ollie saved up for months just to over-do it, but to him it was worth it… because to him, she’s worth it.

  “Whenever he proposes, I know Zania will be ecstatic. She’s been waiting a long time for this.”