Page 3 of Own Me

“So, what’s been—” I start to say when a buzzing sound comes from her handbag.

“Hold your thoughts.” Shayla digs into her purse to retrieve her cell phone. When she finds it, she frowns at the phone and answers, “Hey, mom, is anything wrong?”

I can’t hear what Mama Darlene is saying, but from the frown on Shayla’s face, it doesn’t look good.

“Okay, I’m leaving now, and please don’t do anything rash,” she says, ending the call.

“What’s wrong?” I ask as Shayla stands to her feet.

“Dad has shown up at my apartment, but Mom won’t let him in. He’s threatening to kick in the door. I need to go to calm the waters. I don’t want the neighbors to call the police. I’ll call Dad and tell him I’m coming home so he can stop his antics.”

“Okay, but I’m leaving too.”

“Oh, no. I would hate to ruin the night for both of us. You stay here and finish your drink,” she says, pulling out some cash and leaving it on the countertop. "Drinks are on me tonight. I will call you tomorrow, okay?”

“I don’t—” I start to stand, but Shayla pushes me back down on the barstool. “Stay, and that’s an order,” she says, then walks away.

I decide to stay and at least finish my drink, call a taxi and get out of here.

“Is this seat taken?” I’m caught off guard by the low timbre of the male voice behind me. The sound sends a tremble throughout my body.

I clasp the nearly empty glass in my hand and glance up into the most startling blue eyes I've ever seen. I open my mouth and then close it as I take in the total package of the man standing before me.Oh … My … God.

In front of me stands a Greek-God-like man who looked as if he strutted straight off the pages of a magazine. He is all of six feet and maybe around three inches of rugged male body with muscles that can't be hidden behind a suit jacket and white dress shirt.

His stare is riveting; his lips hold a tilted smile on a face that is all angles and planes. His dark hair is full and wavy.I bet it would feel magnificent against my fingertips. Wait, where did that thought come from? Sexual tension is where it came from,my inner thoughts supply.

“Ahem,” I clear my throat to speak. “It's available.”

His smile deepens, and he extends his huge hand with long, tapering fingers. “Hello, my name is Sterling.”

“I'm Ayana.” I take his hand in mine and tremble. His grip is firm and warm, so much so that it sends warmth through my body and causes a shiver to run down my spine.

“You have a lovely name. May I buy you another drink, Ayana?” Sterling gestures to my empty glass as he eases onto the vacant barstool beside me. “What are you drinking?”

“Strawberry Vodka Lemonade, and yes, you can get me another one.” I'm already feeling a bit tipsy since this is my third drink of the night, but I throw caution to the wind and allow this sexy Adonis to buy me another drink.

Sterling signals to the bartender, who just finished serving another customer. “I’ll have a strawberry vodka lemonade for the lady and a whiskey on the rocks for myself.”

With a nod, the bartender turns and starts making our drinks.

I cross my legs and gaze out toward the dance floor, but I cannot resist glancing at Sterling whenever I sense he isn't looking. He's not the type of man I've ever gone for in the past or the kind of man that ever came on to me. Although he is dream worthy, I've only been attracted to black men.

I become bolder in checking him out and wonder what it would be like to strip off his suit jacket and shirt. I crave a good look at the muscles beneath his expensive business attire. I imagine my fingertips trailing over his taut abs, his lean hips, and wrapping my thick thighs around his slender waist.

I let loose a small gasp at my scintillating thoughts and meet Sterling's gaze. A fire in his eyes causes the color in his orbs to darken.

I feel a flush come to my cheeks at being caught staring. Thank God my dark skin hides my embarrassment.

“What are you thinking about, Ayana?”

The sexy timbre of his voice sounds like buttery caramel melding into chocolate. It reminds me of silk sheets and two slick naked bodies pumping and grinding to a rhythm of their own making.

My breath lodges in my throat. I can't divulge my tantalizing thoughts, so I remain speechless, trying to gather my wits. I look down and pick at imaginary lint on my lap, shaking my head. It was all I could do.

My breath releases when the bartender sets our drinks before us.

“Let me know if you need anything else,” the bartender says before walking away down the bar and leaning over it, lifting his ear to other customers.

---