Tempting Me: A Bad Boy Romance (11 page)

Epilogue

Aria

This last year still feels like a dream; so much has happened that I never could have predicted. The best part of it is Ryan, but it’s also knowing that I can make my own decisions about my life.

One of the best decisions I’ve made is volunteering again. I realized after helping Ryan learn how to read with his dyslexia that there are lots of adults that have similar difficulties. It is so fulfilling for me to know that I can help them to learn to read and write on their own. It’s great going to the volunteer center and knowing that I’m making a difference in the lives of these people. It’s also wonderful working with Ryan at our own club.

Ryan was able to hold a small memorial for his parents. He asked me for my help, which I gladly gave. I know it must have hit him hard to lose them, but I was with him every step of the way.

I don’t talk to my parents anymore. Not after how they acted, trying to force me into a marriage with a despicable man. I know it was because they cared more about what people in society saw our family as rather than what I cared about. I know if they come asking for forgiveness, I will have to think hard about it. It won’t be easy.

We’ve been living together since the day I came back to him from my parents’ house. I’m so proud of Ryan. That whole time he was dancing, he was saving his money and putting it aside in the bank. He told me he didn’t know what he was saving for but that he knew deep down, even if he pretended he had everything, he wanted to be more than just a dancer.

“Dancing is great,” he says. “But I only want to dance for you now.”

With the money he saved and the money from the settlement for the fire, Ryan and I opened a strip club of our own. Theresa is his assistant manager and I help with the books and had a big say in the decorating.

He had set some money aside to help open up a shelter for the homeless, which was something he always wanted to do. I am so proud of him for being so selfless. He spoke a few times about wanting to get a degree from college. We planned out when he could, since we would be busy with our club for some time, and I think it will definitely be attainable.

Our club is very chic and classy. No neon lights or cheap advertising. It is a lady’s club. Tonight is our opening night and the whole place is humming with excitement. Ryan has been so nervous all day. He left early and told me he would see me tonight at the grand opening. He said he wants me in the audience watching like a guest so that I can give him feedback on tonight’s show.

I put on a short blue silk dress that highlights my blue eyes and shows off my legs. I want tonight to be perfect for Ryan. It’s also a big night for me and Theresa, so I want to look my best.

Sitting at a table in the front, I can’t help but think of the first night I met Ryan, dancing at the club. I feel almost as nervous now as I did then. The club is packed to capacity and the ladies are already having a great time, even though the dancers haven’t come out yet.

The waiters are all wearing low slung tight black pants and are shirtless. They look hot and are doing a good job of keeping the drinks coming and getting the ladies excited for what is to come.

The lights dim and this is the sign that the show is about to start. The audience quiets but there is a hum of anticipation moving across the tables. The music comes on and it’s my favorite song that Ryan dances to. The stage is dark and I can’t tell if the dancers are on the stage yet. I hold my breath. We have so much riding on this. The spotlight turns on and reveals a sole man on the stage. He is in a suit and has a fedora on. When he starts to dance I know instantly that it is Ryan. Nobody else can move the way he does on the dance floor.

I thought he was done dancing and a twinge of disappointment hits me. I know he is anxious about the club being a success but I really believed he was finished dancing for anyone but me.

His jacket and hat come off and the women are cheering and calling for more. He catches my gaze and holds it. He is unbuttoning his shirt with his hips making love to an invisible partner to the beat of the song. He pulls his shirt off and I am as captured in the moment as I had been that first night. The sounds of the crowd disappear into the background and Ryan dances down off the stage, never breaking eye contact with me.

He is right in front of me but instead of pulling me into the dance he gets down on one knee. My heart is beating so fast I’m afraid I will faint. He pulls a small jewelry box from his pocket and flips it open. There is a ring and the diamond sparkles in the spotlight. He gets up and straddles me on the chair and whispers into my ear so only I can hear.

“Will you marry me, Aria?”

“Yes,” I say. And nod my head yes just in case he can’t hear. I know the tears are streaming down my face but I don’t care. This moment is exactly how it should be. His last dance at the club is the song we met to. And now we have the whole future to look forward to as husband and wife.

Entitled: A Bad Boy Romance

Chapter 1-Ayron
 

As a child, I used to hold my breath for fun. In a tree or in my room, under water or under a cover, I would strategically fill my lungs with as much air as possible, close my eyes, puff out my cheeks, press my lips together so tight that they burned, and begin to count. I made it to thirty once in my room. Back then it was fun. Today, it is a necessity, and age has lessened my skill.

I gulp in the fresh, crisp air, snap on a face mask, and head into the home of Norma Jean, a chronic hoarder of clothing, food, and cats.

“It’s all right,” I explain to Norma, breathing through my mouth as much as possible. “We are going to take this one step at a time.”

“I just can’t, Miss Ayron,” she sobs, letting her head fall against my shoulder.

Norma doesn’t want to let go of anything. I have been working with her for the past two months in an attempt to help her clean her home before the city condemns it. Twice a week, I come to her home and we work together to uncover it, along with whatever feelings that triggered her actions.

“You have to let go of some of the emotion that you are gripping in order to let go of some of these physical things gripping you,” I tell her with genuine empathy. My mother and father passed away when I was young, and for a while, I found it hard to let go of anything that they had ever touched or smelled or seen. I was able to work past those issues with the help of my grandmother—and Norma will, too, because she has me.

I smile under the cover of the mask in hopes that she can feel my understanding. As a therapist and life coach, I work with people at points of crisis in their lives, when failure is not an option and judgment can’t exist.

I hug the small aging woman and set to task with her on the pile of things stacked in the left corner.

“It’s such a shame that you aren’t married, Ayron, or have any kids. You would make a great mother,” she says.

I nod and don’t say anything.

Being alone is better; that way no one can leave you.

***

“The Rhonda Raven Show called about your flight reservations for the taping of the show,” my assistant Agnes explains cheerfully when I walk into the office. “I can’t believe you’re going to be a part of their expert panel. I made a one-month countdown calendar for the wall and added reminders on your digital calendar.”

Ms. Agnes may be old enough to be my grandmother, but she keeps my office and my life running in tip-top shape.

“Dr. Tirash also called and asked if you would work for him both Saturday and Sunday at the hospital this weekend,” she says, with attitude. “I told him that you do have a life and were only available Sunday as agreed.”

I laugh because my business is my life. I didn’t make it this far by hanging out every weekend. Many of my first patients and clients were ones that came from my work at the hospital.

“Thank you, Ms. Agnes, but I’ll call him back and work both nights. I actually don’t have anything planned,” I tell her before walking into my grey colored office and taking a seat behind my desk in the high-back leather chair.

I look at the clock and get ready for my next patient.

***

The workday flows by in a flash. Patients come in, we talk, and they leave. Although each patient is unique, the day follows the same pattern as every other.

“It is five o’clock. You need to go home,” Agnes says with disapproving eyes. “You are here entirely too much for a woman barely twenty-eight,” she insists. “Go out and have some fun.”

I smile at her.

Agnes has worked with me since I opened my counseling and consulting firm three years ago in the back of the community center. The city had a grant to allow approved small businesses to use government-owned properties to work out of for five years at a severely discounted rate. I chose the community center because I felt like it would allow me access to do the most good. Many of my clients come from this very same burgeoning neighborhood that I love.

“As a matter of fact, Ms. Agnes, I am headed out with Monique tonight,” I tell her with a grin while shuffling around some notes from today’s visits. My very best friend has been trying to get me to go out with her for the last month. In the past, work has gotten in the way.

“Well, is she going to help you get a man, finally?” Miss Agnes says without remorse, plopping a hand on her hip.

One of the reasons that I enjoy working with people of a certain age is that they cut straight through the nonsense and get to the heart of the matter.

“Girl, when I was your age, you couldn’t tell me nothing about the nighttime that I couldn’t tell you a book about,” she says, shaking her hips a little.

“No ma’am, Ms. Agnes. I’m scared of you.” I giggle. “There’s nothing in those streets for me. I like being here. I like what I do.”

“Get someone to do you and then tell me what you like more,” she smarts before turning to leave.

“See you in the morning,” I respond, shaking my head. She is something else.

I don’t know what I would have done without her and the circle of older women who frequented the community center when my grandmother passed away last year. My grandmother, Sheryl, had been the one who helped me become the person that I am today. Had she not cleaned houses and hotels and office buildings day and night, I wouldn’t have been able to finish college without a single loan, or buy a car in cash, or start my own business. What I know about life came from her and sitting on the living room floor listening to her and the quilters talk about the world as it was and could be.

I pick up the picture of my grandmother and smile before putting my things away for the night. I know she would want me to live life, get out there and have fun. Ms. Agnes is right, I haven’t done the “do” in a few, and it’s made for some very frustrating nights.

***

“I have never met a man in a nightclub worth my words, not to mention a date,” I explain to Monique, disappointed in her selection of venue for our one night out in ages. There is a cable movie and a marathon of “A Different World” calling my name right now.

“When’s the last time that you even went to a club, Sticky?” she asks.

I had been extremely thin as a kid, but my later years growing up with my Southern-born granny and her grits in the morning and greens with cornbread at night put some meat on my bones real quick. Now, when Monique calls me Sticky, it’s because she thinks I’m being a stick in the mud or stubborn.

“I can’t help who I am, Mo,” I tell her, taking a sip of my drink. “There has to be some kind of connection, some kind of chivalry, and these dudes in here all think this bump and grind music is romantic. Please.”

“How old are you, Ayron, really? I feel like you and Ms. Agnes went to school together instead of me and you,” she says, but I can barely hear her over the sound of my breathing and trumpets in my head announcing the arrival of the sexiest man I’ve ever had the blessing to set my eyes on.

“Damn,” I say in a whisper. His body was like something out of an Armani advertisement. His cheek bones were prominent with a
very
masculine, square jawline.

“See, I told you there are some quality men in this spot,” she says, bobbing her head to the music. “You have to have faith in your girl. I know what I am doing.”

It is true. Monique always has a man and usually whatever kind she’s seeking. If she were looking for someone to ring her bell, pay her bills, or carry on her arm, she’d find him. I prefer not to be bothered with the hassle of it all. There’s no reason to fall in love with someone if that someone can fall out of love with you.

The man with mesmerizing caramel eyes makes me close mine. His cologne, which smelled of musk, lingers as he walks past with several scantily dressed women conspicuously trailing behind him.

I sigh. Men like that don’t pick girls like me. The girls with manufactured and sculpted-to-perfection body parts and accessories usually win out over my kind. The normal girl. The sensible one.

I look back at the caramel-eyed guy and the hulky friend he had met with at a table.

When he smiles in my direction, I quickly turn away.

“Come dance with me, Mo,” I insist, downing the last of my drink and dropping the empty glass on a table. I’m glad I let her talk me into wearing her body-hugging purple dress and strappy heels.

I can feel his eyes on me as Monique and I move shoulder-to-shoulder across the dance floor.

“He’s watching you,” my friend whispers.

I nod, but I don’t look back, just dance a little slower, push my lips out and roll my hips to the music like I’m in a bed—his bed.