Vicki Marie’s Sexy Summer Reading Series: One Chapter A Day
THE BACHELOR CHAPTERS: A THINKING WOMAN’S ROMANCE
The weather was perfect for Jason Sinclair’s party. It was one of those exceptional September days, where even the evening temperature was mild. The temperature was smoking hot for my buddy, Steve, however. There were at least five women for every man at the event, and I don’t think there was a single one who wasn’t easy on the eyes. The entire house, deck, and backyard swarmed with well-fed and well-liquored guests. I lost my bearings with Steve early on, and I lost faith in potential date opportunities as well. There were simply not enough contenders, but the crowd was particularly friendly, and I wandered in and out of conversations and locations. Whenever I saw Steve, he was animated and energized, and with a different woman. This was going to cost him, I decided, and he said as much when I caught him outside the bathroom.
“How many phone numbers?” I asked.
“Four!” he beamed back with his drop-dead smile. “I owe you!” Precisely, I thought.
Being solo at a party was not a problem for me. I talked to strangers for a living, and I had several lines that were guaranteed to get a conversation started. On the topic of self, everyone is an expert, and you can quickly gauge a person’s social skills and fun-potential by noticing how they represent themselves. Boring lifestyles and negative attitudes emerge just as quickly as zest and good humor.
“How do you know Jason?” was the line I pulled out that night, because it worked well with women, men, and small groups.
I discovered that Jason Sinclair knew an extraordinary number of smart, interesting and outgoing women. Many delivered the same response to my party line.
“Oh, we used to date.” After the fifth reply, I developed my own party game for the evening; find out how many ex-dates Jason Sinclair could fit into one fiesta. I hit the jackpot later in the night, when I inserted myself into a circle of four women. All of us were refugees of Mister Sinclair’s considerable and busy charm. That’s when it occurred to me Jason was not merely a bachelor; Jason Sinclair was a collector.
The party had been fun, but by 11:00 p.m., it had lost its luster for me. I was ready to pull the plug on Steve, when the bald beacon of a brother’s shaved head cruised in the front door, passed through the living room, and moved out the sliding door to the deck and out of my sight. Immediately, my boredom dissolved and I challenged myself to a brand new party game; get in front of that black man before another woman beat me to it.
I was on the deck in a heartbeat. The kissing booth was closed, the backyard bar was still pouring, but it was too dark to make out even a white face in the space. I knew timing was everything at that late hour; I had to find him before my highly capable competition maneuvered a pussy-block. I wound my way back upstairs through the basement, into the kitchen, and then back to the living room where I had started. Finally I spotted him, beer in hand, flashing a white smile, in a small cluster of— oh thank you, Jesus—men.
My new favorite stranger had the immortal visage and the timeless youth of the urban black male. In other words, black don’t crack, and this man could have clocked in anywhere between twenty-five and forty years. He was worth the chase; short and fit with broad shoulders, confident eyes, and a big laugh to backup that million-dollar smile. He was clearly enjoying the company of friends when I interrupted.
“Hi there.” I smiled into his eyes. “Excuse me, but I saw you come in, and I wanted to say hello, and let you know that I hope we’ll have a chance to talk later tonight.”
The stranger acted like it was the most ordinary moment on the planet—a half-drunk, green-eyed blonde in a denim miniskirt had snagged his attention with an obvious proposition.
“Sounds good,” he said, returning the smile, “Let’s do it.”
Finally, I thought, a man in the house. I took that moment to walk away and spotlight my naked white legs beneath the high rise of my skirt. I imagined his eyes as I paraded out of his view, giving him a reason to welcome me back. There were many styles of flirting, and lately I had been practicing the fine art of walking away.
When I caught up with Steve, he was ready to leave. I begged five minutes more so I could finish up my business.
“Take your time, I’ll be out front,” he said, giving me a team hug before I sauntered back to the deck and my primary objective.
“My ride is leaving, so I’ll be heading out. My name is, Vicki Marie. How do you know Jason?”
“He sells wine to my restaurant. I’m a line chef at The Palace Kitchen. I’m Shaun Madison,” and with that reply, his references were sealed. I had spent the entire evening talking to the high quality people that Jason Sinclair collected, and this man was clearly another one, an industry friend, from a four-star venue downtown.
“I can give you a ride,” he said with that brilliant smile, not bothering to ask where I lived. “That sounds perfect,” I said, struck once again by the audacity of black men.
On the way out, I passed Jason’s couch, and was reminded of how our last date had ended. I found myself amused by the current plot twist, and with it, a fresh awareness emerged. I was continuing to learn from the men in my life, and often in ways that surprised me. Not unlike Jason Sinclair, it appeared that I had become a collector as well.
TOMORROW: Chapter 38
Copyright Vicki Marie Stolsen, 2014, Forever Forty-Four Publications, Publicity Rare Bird Lit, Tyson Cornell, Tyson@rarebirdlit.com, Distribution by Ingram, Available online and in bookstores in paperback, eBook, and audio format.