Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
"Not long ago, a beautiful late spring, early summer kind of day I was strolling through the Union Square market.
The weather had just turned and the unseasonably balmy Thursday afternoon had everyone playing hooky. I’d taken my favorite path west across 9th street then turned north up University place to Union Square. As I passed the flower vendors and bakery stands I clocked him hawking me as he headed across the park with a friend. It was a full clock.
The weather and spring fever had coaxed me into a pair of skin-tight beige, cropped pants and leather platform sandals. He later told me I’d been strutting, which is not unusual for me. But it was his unrepentant pimp roll and flawless half-naked body that caught my eye: one not necessarily more potent than the other. I thought, my eyes were watching God.
A Leo—from his mane of drop-dead dreadlocks, and fuck me swagger to the lick-me-look he gave me—I knew it as soon as I saw him. He was hot. And I felt his heat the minute he turned it on me. I watched him a bit through my shades, but wanted to give him shit for his bravado, for the look he’d given me. So I kept going. I passed him, ignoring his vibe, but at the last minute I turned and looked long enough for him to see me looking. I smiled. He smiled. When I saw him put his arm on his friend’s elbow, I turned away. It wouldn’t be long now. I was feeling him and he was feeling me. It can often be as simple as that. And it was.
"Hello."
I turned to find a smile, almost as beautiful as the day, on a face that was just as perfect up close and a body that made me want to stop and talk. He was a deep chocolate dream; his slanted cat eyes and sloping cheekbones set off by full luscious lips. I was in lust.
"Hi," I breathed. Giving away nothing but my time.
"I saw you walking." He said stating the obvious while making eyes.
Uh-oh, not the sharpest knife in the drawer.
"Yeah, I saw you see me." I turned to him and took off my shades.
"You’ve got pretty eyes." He said on cue.
"Thanks. So do you." Hey I knew the script. I knew that he knew I thought he was hot and I knew that he knew that he thought so of me too. But we were drawing a crowd of stares standing in the middle of the market trying desperately to keep our clothes on.
"My name is Trevor."
"I’m Carol."
"All right."
Then silence. And more silence.
He just stood there smiling stupidly, beautifully. The sun was going down on my brilliant day. I was about done I told myself. Nothing to offer, a waste of time. A candy-coated cutie more delicious than satisfying.
I smiled distractedly, already walking away in my mind.
He snapped out of it. "You’ve worn braces, right?"
"No. Not that I know of."
My sarcasm was lost on him. I sighed.
"Oh. You’ve got perfect teeth."
He was a face man, all right. Model/Actor/Dancer.
"And you’ve got a perfect body." I replied speaking his language.
He smiled, used to it. He moved around a lot on the balls of his feet gauging things about me. My body had been what had gotten him over to me. My height: the same as him, but I was wearing four inches of platforms. Good. My face: He liked it, I could tell. I was lighter than he was, always a good thing. Should we have children they’d be milk chocolate and not bittersweet. My eyes: Check. We’d already gone there. My face: I knew was good—Check.
I cut to the chase.
"How old are you?"
"25." Silence.
"How old are you?" He asked.
"A lot more than that." I answered. Silence.
More silence. Then.
"You got a man?"
"Yes I do." I lied smiling, covering my ass.
Trevor looked at me returning my smile. "Is he here?" he asked, arms spread wide to encompass the market.
"Nope." We had an understanding.
"Can I get your number?" He was already going through his pockets.
I reached into my bag and pulled out my wallet.
"Why don’t you take my card."
"Your card?" He looked quizzically at the small cream square I offered to him.
"Yeah. My card. It has my phone number on it." I didn’t know how much farther I could keep my brain on pause. Not only was I a baby snatcher, I was a snatching them from remedial school.
"OK. Cool."
A breakthrough.
"All right," he said, fingering the card. Carol Taylor. Editorial Consultant. He looked up at me.
"E-di-torial Consul-tant huh?"
I was getting a headache. I didn't have much to work with.
But at that moment he stepped back and folded his arms under his biceps and gave me a look all over that made me so hot that I knew I had to have him. I weighed my options; he was hot but slow. But that was OK, cause I was fast enough for both of us. He was more gym than library, more diner than restaurant and I knew he’d take almost as long as I would to get ready, probably longer. What the hell, a guilty pleasure. A spring fling and I certainly deserved one. I decided to go with the flow but I would keep a low pro. I put my hand on his arm and smiled. "Yeah. Editorial consultant, call me and I’ll tell you what it means." Then I turned on my sizable heel, put one foot in front of the other and strutted away.
Careful what you wish for."
Read the rest in Brown Sugar!
