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  “No, but the owner is a patient of his. So, I got the hook-up. They arranged this little get-together. It's not gonna be that long or elaborate. But the guys are gonna come out and say hello.” Her smile faded and she pouted a little in the way that only Kyla Blake could. “So please stay. Just for a little while. Please?”

  I slipped that sweater right off my shoulders. She didn't have to beg me twice. “Okay.” I let the word drag out of me. “I'll stay,” I said as if it was going to be a chore and not a pleasure.

  “Great,” Kyla said, right before one of the girls who'd come to my party--I couldn't even remember her name--called Kyla back over to the table.

  As she turned back to her friends, I headed toward the bar. So I was gonna get a chance to meet Mr. Chocolate personally? Oh, yeah.

  I edged up to the bar, glad that there was no one standing there. I knew how to work this thing. I wanted to be all alone when Mr. Chocolate moseyed into the main part of the club. Even though I always stood out, I wanted him to see me far away from the other silly women.

  Oh, yeah.

  “I'll have a ginger ale,” I told the bartender. I'd already had one glass of wine. That was enough. I wanted a clear head, for lots of reasons.

  The lights began to brighten in the club. Not too much, but enough for me to take a good glance around.

  Clearly, this was more of a club than a strip joint. Where I worked, at Foxtails, it was all about the stage and the girls. Nothing else--except for the bar--mattered.

  But here, the emphasis seemed to be on the club itself. There were cloths covering the tables, pictures hanging on the walls, and fresh flowers all around. Flowers in a place where men took off their clothes? I guess here, because they were catering to women, the atmosphere mattered as much as the dancers.

  I took a sip of my ginger ale and turned around. Most of the women had left; I guess it was just going to be our group who would have the pleasure of mixing with the strippers.

  Kyla and the rest of the girls were still giggling and cackling, even though there was not yet a dancer in sight.

  Silly women.

  But then, he came out. Mr. Chocolate. He was the first one.

  The women clapped as he stepped into their midst, but with just a smile and a nod, he made his way away from where Kyla and her friends stood and came toward the bar. It was as if he was looking for me!

  Behind him, the other dancers came out and kept the women's attention away from Mr. Chocolate. So for at least a moment, I was gonna bask in the presence of perfection all by myself.

  He didn't even look my way as he leaned against the mahogany bar and said, “Doug, get me a hit.”

  A hit? What was that? Whatever it was, I wanted to be the one to give it to him.

  One of the things that made me so good at being a stripper was that I always played it cool. I kept my feelings to myself--something I'd been doing for the last few years, ever since my mother passed away. After going through her death, there was no one and nothing that could get to me.

  But all of my cool was gone right now. Just because I was only inches away from this fine thang. I was staring and raking my brain for the right thing to say, but I couldn't think of anything. Dang! I was acting like all the other women who were here.

  Mr. Chocolate had reduced me to a silly woman.

  Maybe I needed to turn away for a moment. Maybe I needed to break my eyes away so that I could get myself together. I had never been attracted to any man so instantly. It was like I'd known Mr. Chocolate from before.

  I turned away, but only for a couple of seconds before I allowed my eyes to wander, inching down his body bit by bit, until my eyes settled on his shoes. My assessment: he wore a size thirteen, at least.

  I sighed as he turned toward me.

  “So, you're here with that party?”

  Okay Jasmine, I thought to myself. Don't lose any cool points. I took a sip of my soda and let a couple of ice chips settle onto my tongue before I responded.

  “Actually, yes,” I said, totally composed, totally faking it. “The party is in my honor.”

  “Ah!” He took a sip of the golden liquid in the screwball glass in front of him. “Well then, happy whatever to you.”

  “Thank you,” I said, glad that he hadn't asked me what kind of party I was being honored with.

  He held his hand out to me. “My name is Roman.”

  I couldn't help it. I laughed.

  “So that's funny?” he asked, though he didn't look like he was insulted. His beautiful green eyes sparkled like he wanted in on the joke.

  “No…not funny. It's just that I'm not surprised.” I paused. “Roman…as in a Roman god?”

  He took a longer sip of his drink before he said, “No, Roman as in empire!”

  I laughed louder this time. This was my kind of man, 'cause I was all about being on top of everything.

  “So,” he said. “What's the occasion? What are y'all celebrating?”

  It took me a couple of seconds to calculate my answer. I'd already made the mistake of telling him the party was in my honor, but I could easily say I was celebrating a birthday. The problem with that, though, was that there were too many witnesses here, which meant there were too many chances that he'd speak to someone who would tell him different. So, the truth--which didn't always work out so well for me--was what I was left with.

  “It's a bachelorette party.”

  His eyebrows arched upwards as if he couldn't believe it. And then, he did what so many men did: he assessed me, inch by inch, just like I'd done to him a couple of minutes ago. I was glad I'd worn this black Tadashi dress. The spandex told anyone who was looking that I was all woman.

  “You're getting married?” he finally asked.

  “You say that like you can't believe someone would marry me.”

  He chuckled. “No, sweetheart, that's not it at all.” He took a final swig of his drink before he said, “I know there would be plenty of men who'd want to marry you. I just can't believe that one of them actually caught you.” He slid his glass across the bar then stepped closer to me.

  My mouth became instantly dry.

  There were just a few inches between us when Roman said, “So, Miss…I'm Getting Married. Were you caught? Were you caught, for real?”

  In forty-eight hours, I'm getting married. I'm getting married, in forty-eight hours.

  My plan was to say that over and over. But the problem was when my eyes focused in on Mr. Chocolate's plump bottom lip, I couldn't get those words to make any kind of sense in my mind.

  “So, what do you say?” His voice sounded a little like he had gravel in his mouth. “Are you really gonna get married?”

  Then, the tip of his tongue traveled slowly, slowly, slowly across that juicy lip of his.

  I was completely done.

  Chapter 2

  We were at my favorite restaurant--Crustacean's--me and Mr. Chocolate. But we were only there for a few moments before I heard the sound of water, and now the two of us were walking shoulder-to-shoulder, hand-in-hand on the edge of the Pacific. It didn't make a lot of sense, but that was okay with me because I understood where I was: in the nonsensical realm of a dream. And I wasn't about to rush toward consciousness. No, I was too busy enjoying the presence of the man who had been here in my constant state of fantasy for the last ten hours.

  Roman had been on and in my mind since I'd left the club last night. At first, my attraction to him had been all about the physical: those green eyes against the palette of his dark skin, and those plump lips that looked like they had been ripened purposely to mate with mine. Usually, that was all that I needed--the fine body of a man. But then Roman and I had talked. And that was when he truly made his way to my…let's just say, my heart.

  It was weird the way it happened. The way the two of us stood at that bar together, as if no one else existed. And it was even stranger the way everyone left us alone; the women who'd come to my bachelorette party had forgotten all about me. Thei
r focus was on the other twelve men who had entertained us.

  Like I said, that was weird because Roman was the only one who was worth spending any time with, but as was always the case, I had more sense than most females. So I kept Roman to myself and for the minutes that we were together, I fantasized that he was truly all mine. And, then I came home and took that fantasy straight into my dreams. Over and over, I dreamt about our time together at the bar and the perfect way my bachelorette party had ended.

  “So, are you going to answer my question?” Roman had said.

  “What?” I understood what he was asking me, but I needed to give myself time to come up with the right answer.

  He smiled as if he knew that I was stalling and then he stepped even closer to me as if he wanted me to know that he was willing to play my game. “You heard me. Were you caught? Are you trying to tell me that some man truly caught you and now you're his?”

  I tried to think about Kenny, I really did. But it was hard to get my mind to focus on my fiancé when all of this fine chocolate was all up in my space! And then, when he leaned back a bit and looked me up and down, like I was a piece…of chocolate, I compromised: I didn't say a thing. Just smiled wide enough to show him that the dimple in my left cheek was as cute as the rest of me, and then sipped the last of my ginger ale.

  He laughed as if he got my message and took another swig of his own drink. “We should get to know one another a little bit better. What are you doing this weekend?”

  My first thought was to ask why we had to wait for the weekend. It was just nine o'clock; we had the whole night. But I didn't want to look like the hoochie that everyone said I was. Plus, I was about to get married.

  So that's what I told Roman. “This weekend…Saturday…I'm getting married.”

  His eyes widened. “You're getting married this weekend?”

  “Yeah.” I frowned. “What? You didn't believe me?”

  “Nah…nah, it's not that. It's just…I didn't expect that it was gonna be so soon.” He paused and his eyes took a journey once again all over me. And this time, I wished it was his mouth taking that trip. “So, Saturday, huh? Can I get an invite?”

  I chuckled. “I just met you.”

  “I know, but it doesn't feel that way, does it?”

  Was this one of the best come-ons, or was he for real? I wasn't sure at first, but then I remembered where I was, and who Roman was. He was just like me--we were strippers. This conversation was all part of the game: create an amazing fantasy for our customers to get the biggest tip possible.

  Even though Mr. Chocolate wasn't about to get any more money out of me, I played along. “You're right. I feel like I've known you for a long time.” I lowered my voice, really getting into my part. “Like maybe even from before I was born.”

  I'd expected him to laugh, chuckle, smile, or something to let me know that he found my words amusing. But he just nodded as if he thought I was serious. Dang, he was really into this role-playing. And for some reason, that only made me want him more.

  Too bad.

  But then he said, “Well, your wedding is Saturday…what are you doing tomorrow?”

  Okay, until this point, this was just a flirtation. But now it felt as if Roman wanted to make this fantasy real. A one night stand the night before my wedding? I'd be lying if I said that wasn't a tempting thought. Especially since I hadn't had any in three weeks. But the point of my short-term celibacy was to be ready for my husband, so this encounter would have to stay in the flirt a little, fantasize a lot category.

  Anything else would be purely scandalous!

  “Tomorrow,” I said, “I'm going to be getting ready to become a wife.”

  “Does that take special preparation?”

  “For me, it does. I want to be perfect for my husband.”

  “You look pretty perfect to me.”

  This time when his eyes wandered over me, I felt as if I'd been caressed--and that was when I knew it was time to stop, before I lost the ability to just say no. I hoisted the strap of my bag onto my shoulder, a clear sign that I was about to make my move and get up out of this joint before trouble swept me away.

  “It was really nice to meet you, Roman,” I said, holding out my hand to him.

  He looked down at my hand and frowned. “Did I say something wrong?”

  “No. It's just late and I have to get home,” then I paused so that I could make my point, “to my fiancé.”

  “You live together?”

  That question surprised me. Not only was it none of his business, but it went beyond the fantasy. Who cared who lived with whom when you were playing a game?

  But maybe male strippers did it differently. So, I answered, “Yeah, and I don't want to keep him up and waiting.”

  He nodded, but his face drooped a bit, as if he was sad to see me go.

  As I tried to saunter past him, he caught my fingers inside his hand and held me there close to him. The heat of his breath warmed my neck when he whispered, “It's too bad we didn't meet sooner. Before now.”

  Wow! Male strippers took the game all the way to the end. If Roman had still been on the stage and still been naked, I would've been tossing dollars until he had all my money.

  Then he added, “You should come and see me sometime…but not here. Down at the beach.”

  He didn't have to explain anymore. With the way his muscles bulged through his skin and the mention of the beach, I knew what he was talking about. Venice Beach. Muscle Beach--the one that Arnold Schwarzenegger, among others, made famous. I didn't get a chance to get down to the beach too often, but whenever I did that was the first place I stopped. I mean, really. Fine, half-naked men with skin that glistened beneath the baking Southern Cali sun? What self-respecting, men-loving woman wouldn't stop there?

  “That's where you work out.” It was a statement more than a question.

  “Where I work out and where I work. I'm a trainer for the bodybuilders.”

  I nodded; it figured.

  “So, you think you'll come by?”

  “Yeah,” I said.

  He grinned.

  I added, “Maybe me and my fiancé will come and check you out.” My words were meant to push a stake through the heart of this fantasy--for Roman and for me. It had been fun, but it was over.

  “He'll be your husband by then.” I guess that was Roman's way of letting me know that the game was over for him, too.

  I nodded, smiled, and uncurled my fingers from his grasp. As I made my way over to where Kyla and her silly friends still gathered, I knew Roman's eyes were on me. I could say that I felt them, but I didn't--I just knew. Men were always happy to see me coming, but they were just as thrilled to see me go. It was what I carried in my trunk that had made me all that money as a stripper. That's not conceit; that's just a fact.

  “Wow, you were over there talking to him for a long time,” Kyla said to me, then giggled.

  I wasn't about to explain it to her; I just said, “Turns out we have a few friends in common.”

  “Really!” Kyla exclaimed. She glanced over to where Roman still stood at the bar. “Who could you two possibly have in common?”

  I shook my head. I wasn’t offended in any way, though. That was my girl, Kyla. She was bourgie from way back. It was in her genes, from her mother's side of the family, and now that Kyla was a doctor's wife, her head was way up in the sky.

  Still, I loved her. How could I not? Kyla was what I called a Big F Friend. Even though her friends didn't like me, that didn't matter to Kyla. She loved me, period. And I had a feeling that if she had to give up all of her friends to stay friends with me, she would do just that.

  “Yeah, we do know some of the same people,” I said. “He knows a couple of people at my job.” Then, because I didn't want to explain or lie any further, I added, “Anyway, let me get out of here. I still have a lot to do before Saturday.”

  Those words brought out the pout from Kyla that I expected.

  “I really wish y
ou would let me stay with you tomorrow. That's what a matron-of-honor is supposed to do. That's what you did when you were my maid-of-honor.”

  “Yeah, but we're different,” I said, stating the obvious. “You wanted company and I want to spend my last night as a single woman by myself to reflect on everything.”

  “But we can do that together?”

  I shook my head then hugged her. “I'm not gonna talk about this anymore. I'm gonna be fine.”

  “I know you are,” Kyla said as she pulled away from our embrace. “Anyway, you wanna wait for a couple of minutes and we'll walk out together? I'm just waiting for Alexis to come out of the bathroom.”

  I rolled my eyes and that was enough to get my message across.

  “Stop it,” Kyla said. “I don't know why you and Alexis can't be friends.”

  “Because I could never befriend anyone who shares the name and characteristics of a female dog.”

  “Stop it,” Kyla said again, but this time, she couldn't hold back her laughter. She may have thought what I'd said was funny, but to me, it was nothing but the truth. I didn't like Alexis. She'd gone to college with Kyla and when she moved to Los Angeles from her native South Carolina, I'd wanted to buy her a one-way ticket back.

  I don't know what it was, but from the moment I met Alexis I knew we'd be the best of enemies. Someone looking at me from the outside might say that I was jealous. But you need to know that I wasn't. Just because she was a leggy, model-type brainiac who owned a successful business didn't mean that she had a thing on me. I had it going on, too. Just as many men were sniffin' around me as were sniffin' around her.

  Really, to me, the problem was that Alexis was jealous--and scared--of me. She knew that if she ever got a man ('cause as much as she had it going on, she didn't have one), she was afraid that if he got one look at me…well, then.

  Just the thought of that made me laugh. “Look,” I said to Kyla. “Let me get out of here. I'll see you Saturday.”

  Kyla hugged me again. “I can't believe you're about to be an old married lady like me.”

  Like her? Please! No matter how much Kyla wanted us to be alike, we were so far from it.