Bittersweet Chocolate (6 page)

First week on her own was a bit spooky.

Twice, and not consecutive nights, after going to bed, she thought she heard someone moving about the apartment. She’d investigate, return to bed, wouldn’t hear any more noises, and gaffed off the sounds as echoes of neighbor activity. Other than those two incidents, the routine she had developed during Joel’s absences went smoothly.

Each day after work, she’d go home, enjoy a long hot bath, followed by dinner. Once she cleaned the kitchen, she’d put on a variety of mellow music and settle down with a crossword puzzle or a good book.

She’d been an avid, voracious reader since getting her first Bobbsey Twins novel. Advancing from there to Nancy Drew Mysteries, to Agatha Christie―she did love her some Miss Marple, Tommy and Tuppence, and Hercule Poirot. She read all of Georgette Heyer’s mysteries, and she had a thing for Dorothy L. Sayers’ Lord Peter Wimsey too, currently reading
Whose Body?

Conversely, having a hardcore personality didn’t mean she confined her reading to murder, mystery, and mayhem. She read romances by Barbara Cartland, Victoria Holt, Georgette Heyer, her fave
Devil’s Cub,
and other romance writers. Heck, she had eclectic tastes, enjoyed reading anything except some of the stuff, considered classics, she’d been required to read in school.

Her routine fit with the month-end close work schedule, which usually left her too tired to do anything but fall asleep with a book.

By the middle of her second week, while watching
My Man Godfrey
starring William Powell and Carole Lombard, she found herself talking to the characters and knew she’d become bored with her own company. Unfortunately, the girls she’d known in school, she hadn’t kept in touch with after graduation. They didn’t live in her area, not that it would have mattered. Except for her sister, cousin, and the gang, she wasn’t good at socializing.

Normally she’d call Brittany, but her sister was busy preparing for her trip to Iwakuni, Japan with her fiancé. Of course, there was Darien. She hadn’t seen or spoken to her since moving in with Joel.

Marissa picked up the phone.

The following night, Darien came for dinner.

“Hey girl, thought you were high-hatting me, as they say in the old movies,” Darien mocked. “Up here in the rich burbs, not answering the phone, what’s up with that?”

“Girl, quit. Between settling in here and my work schedule...”

“Just kidding, I barely have time to hang out. I’ve been working quite a few double shifts at the hospital.”

Darien, studying to become a LVN, licensed vocational nurse, as a nursing assistant, she worked with her aunt, a registered nurse, at the Philadelphia Naval Hospital. Being the newbie on staff, Darien had the grunt work and fill-in shifts.

“But hey, the money is good.”

“I hear ya.”

Marissa gave Darien the five-cent tour around the apartment before they settled down for dinner. She served hamburger pie.

One of her Puerto Rican friends at school gave her the recipe, said it was the poor-person’s lasagna. Made with flour tortillas, browned and seasoned ground beef, grated cheese, and tomato paste mixed with honey, her personal touch to sweeten the tartness of the tomato taste. She baked it in a casserole dish in the same manner as lasagna. Never one to forego vegetables, she served asparagus with balsamic butter sauce as a side dish.

During dinner, Darien brought her up to date on the latest gossip from the old neighborhood. Numerous times Marissa considered telling Darien about her experience with Joel, the night she lost her virginity, but gang mentality kept her quiet. It never would’ve occurred to Darien to ask questions because she probably assumed Marissa had lost her virginity years ago.

In the past, when Darien talked about her sexual exploits, Marissa would act like she had a clue. It would have weakened her rep, if she’d let anyone know otherwise. Besides, her mistrust of females as friends also kept her silent.

“Met any of your neighbors?” Darien asked.

“No, but I think a bunch of guys live on the second floor of the duplex next door, and there’s also a young couple—”

“Men next door!” Darien jumped up. “And you haven’t met them? Girl, are you losing it?”

“Hey. Joel and I...in a relationship.”

“You
have
lost your mind. You
are not
married.” Darien grabbed Marissa’s arm and tugged her through the living room, down the hall, into the bedroom, and out onto the balcony, before she stopped. “Let’s go get acquainted.”

“I’m not sure only guys live there. They might live with their girlfriends.”

“We’ll never know if we don’t check it out.”

Marissa let Darien convince her. She
had
become bored, not used to so much solitude when she’d had sisters at home. Besides, as Darien pointed out, she wasn’t married, and after her one night with Joel, she wasn’t sure what their relationship was, or if it would work.

They climbed over the balcony rail.

Marissa knocked on the door. Within seconds, the door swung open and she blinked with surprise at the man who stood poised in the entrance. Tall, minimum six feet, probably mid-twenties and he was too good looking for her peace of mind. She stood there gawking at him, until Darien hip-bumped her out of the way and introduced herself.

“Hi, I’m Darien Windslow. I’m visiting with my silent friend and we ran out of ice cubes. Can you spare a few?”

“Not a problem. And what’s your silent friend’s name?”

Marissa cleared her throat. “I’m Marissa...Marissa Wells.” The man left the doorway, and she turned to Darien. “Do we know him?”

Darien shrugged. “I don’t think so.”

“There’s something vaguely familiar, but I can’t place him.”

“I don’t remember meeting him, but I wouldn’t mind getting to know him.”

Marissa started to say something, but the man returned with the ice. She took the tray, thanked him, and turned to leave.

“Wait,” the man called out. Marissa turned back. “Would you ladies like some company?” he asked just as another man appeared behind him.

About to refuse, Darien thwarted her by saying, “Sure, we’d like that, wouldn’t we, Marissa?” She frowned, her look daring Marissa to say no.

With his gaze on Marissa, the man said, “My name is Graham Spence. My friends call me Gray. This is Richard Moody. Everyone calls him Rick.”

Marissa regarded them with curiosity as they clambered over the balcony. Both were dressed in white t-shirts and Levi’s, both attractive, Graham more so than Richard. Appearances aside, she couldn’t shake the feeling she’d met, or had seen these men before.

Inside her apartment, putting suspicions aside, she became the competent hostess. “Would you like something to drink? I have Pepsi or ginger ale?” She wasn’t wasting her Pinot Grigio on strangers.

“We’ll both have Pepsi,” Graham replied.

Mumbling curses about Darien’s cavalier tactic, Marissa strode into the kitchen and tossed the ice from the tray into the sink. She grabbed sodas from the refrigerator, chips from the cabinet, and returned to the living room with four bottles of Pepsi, a bowl of potato chips, and paper napkins.

“Any preference in music?” she asked. Hearing a unanimous no, she walked over to the stereo and Graham followed. Opting for jazz—a little Ahmed Jamal, Art Blakely, Miles Davis, Ramsey Lewis, and Nina Simone—she considered her choices the perfect background music.

“Nice stereo,” Graham commented.

“Yeah, I think so.” Knowing how much she loved music, her father had given her the stereo as a housewarming present. Her most prized possession, the stereo was an elongated, one-piece mahogany cabinet with built-in speakers. With a turntable on one side, the other side had a panel of knobs evenly spaced vertically along the light-up AM/FM radio indicator panel. These knobs controlled base, treble, volume, and tuned the radio, on and off. On the turntable, she could play 33 1/3-rpm albums, or she had a spindle adapter that allowed her to play her 45-rpm records.

She lifted the lid, turned on the stereo, and mellow sounds of music from WHAT-FM, the all night jazz station, flowed from the speakers. Kneeling down beside the stereo, acutely aware of Graham standing next to her, she tried to appear calm as she flipped through her collection and made her selections. She placed them on the spindle with the balance arm on top to hold them in place, flipped the knob from radio to record player, and rejoined her company. Graham followed.

Darien and Richard seemed to hit it off instantly, while her conversation with Graham didn’t go as well, her responses monosyllabic. That’s because she recognized the signs―him trying to make a move on her, and damn if she wasn’t sexually attracted to and intrigued by him. Yet she couldn’t shake the notion she’d met him and Richard before. It was one of those psyche
don’t
go there feelings
that kept her on edge.

She stared at his sinfully sensual mouth while he talked about himself―twenty-six, supervisor at the post office, and not married.

“How long have you lived next door?” she asked.

“A year and a half.”

“Have you always lived in this area?”

“No, we’re originally from the Camac and Diamond area.”

Startled, she blurted out, “Do you know Joel Raines?” They were from Joel’s neighborhood. Camac and Diamond was a gang term, Joel’s gang. True, that side of town wasn’t exclusive to the gang, but people not affiliated with the group usually referred to the community as Temple University area, or east of Broad Street.

Graham gave Richard a sidelong glance before he answered. “Uh-uh, don’t know him.”

She didn’t miss the look exchanged between the two men, but gaffed it off, assuming they thought her interest out of line, on first acquaintance.

Around midnight, Darien stood to leave and Richard said he’d walk her to her car. Marissa walked them downstairs to the front door, locked up. Coming back upstairs, she found Graham waiting in her bedroom, his back to her, staring out the balcony door.

Gaze ranging freely over
his toned physique, she took note of broad shoulders, and a back slimming down to a trim waist, tight ass,
long
legs...
damn.
Nice view, and
way
too tempting; the man had to go.

“Uh, Graham, it’s late. I have to work tomorrow.” She thought she made it clear she wanted him to leave. He ignored her, started rambling about being on the early shift at the post office. Forced to abandon subtlety, she snapped, “Go home, Graham.”

Intending to turn him toward the door, she grabbed his arm, inhaled sharply, and for several heart-stopping seconds, their gazes locked and she couldn’t move or turn away. His look said he’d felt it, and he understood. Snatching her hand away, she lowered her eyes and stepped back.

He chuckled, moved to the door, and stepped outside, letting the screen door close between them. Standing beneath the porch light, he watched her through the screen. “You fascinate me, Marissa with the smoldering tiger eyes.”

“Graham, I don’t live here alone, my boyfriend...” Her train of thought eluded her when she stared into seductive eyes of warm golden brown, hazel eyes, easily losing herself in his look.

A crooked smile lifted one corner of his mouth and he prompted, “Yes?”

She mentally shook herself, and spoke again, her tone cool and businesslike. “Graham, my boyfriend may be on the road a lot, but I don’t need any complications in my life.”

“It’s Gray, and you don’t sound so sure.”

“Goodnight, Graham.” She lifted her chin, arched one eyebrow, and held his stare.

He laughed. “Okay. Goodnight, Marissa.”

Not wanting to appear intimidated, she stayed in her doorway, watching him climbed over the rail. He reached his door, stopped beneath the overhead light, and looked back over his shoulder. Flashing a heart-stopping smile, he winked before disappearing from sight. It took a great deal of self-control for her to close her door without slamming it.

Slumped against the wall, trembling with feelings she didn’t know she possessed, she inhaled deeply in an attempt to calm her jangled nerves. Damn it, what was wrong with her? She was supposed to be in love with Joel, had been attracted to him since the moment they met. But what she felt for Joel, even before her disappointing sexual experience, was nothing like her reaction to Graham. That one touch, something in his eyes when he watched her, sexual awareness of him seemed profound, whatever that meant, hell.

Perhaps she’d been reading too many romances lately, and her one-time experience with Joel didn’t measure up to the propaganda. Graham fit the profile of the tall, dark, mysterious temptation. Yet, despite her keen sexual attraction to the man, she couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling of familiarity.

Too tired to think any more, she put her suspicions aside and headed for the shower.

Joel remained on the road for four weeks instead of three. The last two weeks passed quickly, because Darien stopped by after work a few times. Graham and Richard came over whenever Darien was there, never when Marissa was alone. She didn’t trust herself with Graham.

The day Joel returned, she told him about meeting their neighbors and suggested they give a party so he could meet them.

“Can it wait until I get back from this next run? I’m leaving next week for at least a month.”

“Fine, I’ll plan the party for your return.”

For the next few days, Joel did local runs. During time spent at home, something about his demeanor made her uneasy. It seemed like a front; it seemed he was pretending, especially when he made love―
pffft,
his term not hers. She categorized what they did together in street terms,
doing the deed,
having sex, which left him too satisfied with himself, and her unfulfilled, believing she was frigid. She planned to consult a doctor.

The night before Joel’s departure, she broached the subject of having kids. Being whimsical, she reminded him of the talks they’d had about having children while they were young. Both had younger siblings at home, parents in their late forties. They had agreed they didn’t want to have young kids at home when they were that age. And there were those two spur-of-the-moment incidents when he hadn’t used a condom, so she had babies on her mind.