To Hold and to Heal (BWWM Interracial Romance)

To Hold and To Heal

Copyright 2013 Naomi Lecroy

Chapter One

             
The music in the club was a little too loud, but Nice had drunk just enough not to care. Instead she found herself whooping and screeching with laughter right along with her best friend Peggy who had dragged her to the club in the first place. The air was hot and tight on the dance floor as she swung her hips with reckless abandon to the beat pounding from the speakers.

             
Sweat pooled between her breasts and ran down her back where her loose hair stuck to it. The synthetic material of her short gold dress hugged her curves, but didn't breathe at all.  She liked it because it complimented the caramel color of her skin. Even though it made her look like a delicious candy package, she was confident in the fact that no one in this bar was looking at her. Attractive as she was, the guys in this scene were more interested in each other.

             
“I told you we would have fun!” yelled Peggy, grabbing her shoulder to shout directly into her ear. Even so, Nice barely heard over the crash of the music.

             
“Yeah! I guess you were right!” Nice shouted back. “I'm burning up though. I’m going to get something to drink!”

             
Peggy nodded her head in confirmation as Nice twisted off the dance floor, snaking through bodies. Finally free of their crush she took a deep breath. The air was instantly cooler. She smiled and pushed her hair back. Tonight wasn't so bad after all.

             
The day had started out disastrous when she'd received a notice from the bank that they were foreclosing on her father's bar so when Peg called to beg her to come out dancing she wasn't exactly in the mood for bar-hopping.

“Besides,” she’d argued. “Who goes dancing on a Wednesday night? And where?”

             
“First off, stop being all strong black woman and live a little,” Peggy replied. “You need this. Secondly, there's a club just outside of town open tonight.”

             
Nice rolled her eyes which Peggy couldn't see over the phone. “I don't think so. I'm not in the mood to be eye fucked by every guy I pass. I get enough of that at work.”

             
Peggy sighed. “Look, you're going. This is the only night you have off until next week. I'm not going to take no for answer. It's the perfect place. Trust me, no one will be even remotely interested in you. I'll be at your door at nine to pick you up. Wear something slutty, tramp!”

             
Before Nice could respond, Peggy had already hung up the phone. She hated to admit it, but Peggy was right. Staying home wouldn't solve her problems and besides, what could one night hurt? She caked her face with makeup and poured her body into the gold halter dress. It was the only thing she owned that would qualify as club worthy. She was curling her hair when Peg arrived ten minutes after nine to pick her up.

             
It didn't take long for Nice to realize what kind of club they were going to. Or at least what kind of place it was on Wednesday nights. From the doorman in drag to the wealth of handsome men that didn't bat an eye at her, it was clear that this was the gayest place in town and Nice was just fine with that.

             
Now, hours later she was happy she’d come.  As she approached the bar, she became aware of a dull ache in her feet. Maybe she should have worn flats. The stiletto heels were killing her!

             
She smiled at the bartender.  He was an attractive black man with ink black hair cut short in perfect tight little curls, dressed in jeans and a too tight t-shirt. He smiled back when she slid onto one of the empty stools. 

“Oh honey, where did you get your work done? You look positively passable!”

             
Nice swallowed the angry remark, remembering where she was. Truth was, she
had
gone a little overboard with the make up. With all her curls no doubt sweated out and her make up probably streaky she supposed she might look a little queen-y.

“Um, sorry blue fairy I'm already a real girl,” she finally said with a smile on her face.

             
The bartender's eyes widened and for a moment she thought she had offended him. She felt her stomach drop, but then he laughed. “Bitch got jokes! What will it be honey?”

             
“I'll just have a beer,” she said, returning his laughter with a chuckle.

             
The bartender gasped “A beer? Not at my bar, darling! Look, we gonna hook you up good.”

             
She thought to protest but then, why bother? She placed her small clutch purse on the bar while the bartender went about the business of making her something special to drink. She heard a deep throaty chuckle to her left. Nice looked out the corner of her eye at a man she hadn't seen before.

             
His green eyes were locked on her and she wondered how the hell she hadn't noticed him. He was drop dead gorgeous. Strawberry blonde hair fell over his forehead framing his eyes. His nose was slightly crooked as if it had been broken at some point but that didn't distract from the strong line of his jaw. His lips were pulled into a half smile. He sat with his chin cupped in his hand, the other curled around a tumbler full of ice and amber liquid.

             
Nice blinked, regaining her composure. “What's so damn funny over there chuckles?” she asked letting an edge creep into her voice. It was clear that this guy wasn't one of the boys.

             
He ignored it. “Well, your retort there was pretty clever for one. And for two, I find it hilarious that he could mistake such a beautiful woman for a man. Let me buy you that fancy drink he’s taking so much time to blend up.”

             
“Ha! Nice try cowboy. But no, not interested. Retort? What kind of a word is that?” She rolled her eyes, turning away as the bartender placed a milky off white concoction on the napkin in front of her. “What’s this?”

             
“Hey bartender! I'll buy that drink for her,” the man offered.

             
“No! No he won't,” Nice shot back. “I can buy my own drink, thank you.”

             
The bartender looked back and forth between the two. His gaze settled on the man sitting across from Nice. “You’ll love the drink honey. It's a
Screaming Orgasm
and,” he turned to Nice smiling wickedly, “it's on the house.” He winked knowingly before sashaying down the bar to help the next customer.

             
This is what happens at clubs
, she reminded herself. Turning to the man next to her, she gave him a tired smile and tried to explain. “Look, I'm just not interested. I came out here to dance with my friend. I'm not trying to hook up. We’re only here to have some fun. Nothing personal.”

             
The man's eyes widened, his demeanor changed from casual to embarrassed. “I'm sorry, ma'am! I didn't mean to make it seem like I was trying to take you home! I just thought we could talk for a bit. That's all. While you finished drinking whatever you’re having.” He waved a hand at her glass.

             
“Talk? Really? You expect me to believe that? What are you even doing here? The only straight guys who come to gay clubs are vultures for the hags.”

             
He shrugged. “I'm from out of town. I'm only here for the night. I didn't know where else to go to get a drink. And I could be gay. How do you know I’m not?”

             
Nice looked him up and down. “Oh, I know for damn sure you’re not gay. I already caught you checking out my tits. If you only needed a drink, I think the mini bar in your hotel might’ve been a better option.”

             
A blush rose to his cheeks. He stammered. “I apologize for checking you out. You’re a very pretty girl.”

             
Nice waved her hand, dismissing it. “Whatever. So what was wrong with the mini bar then?”

             
He smiled and cleared his throat trying to regain his composure. “One, they charge $18 for a beer and two, I don't particularly like beer.”

             
Nice lifted her eyebrows at him.  “A man who doesn't like beer? Definitely not from around here.” She picked up her drink and sucked on the straw letting the liquor fill her belly.
A little too much vodka
, she thought to herself but still, not bad.

             
“Yes ma’am, I'm from Maine originally,” he said casually, picking up his drink and finishing it off.

             
“Oh, they extra polite up there? Ma'am? I don't think anyone's ever called me that before. Do I look that old?”

             
He thought for a moment. “No, I guess that's something I picked up in the Army.”

             
“What the fuck are you doing down here in Florida then? One night business trip in Tampa? How mysterious!”

             
He shook his head. “No, I've got to take care of something in a small town nearby. Basket Carry. You know it?”

             
Nice laughed. “Nobody comes to this part of Florida for anything. Let alone Basket Carry. It's halfway between armpit and ass crack.”

             
He frowned. “Well I do. I've got some personal business to see to and you've got quite a mouth on you for such a pretty lady.”

             
“Oh, I'm sorry, is that a fucking problem for you? Oh shit, I'm sorry, I fucking did it again.” She rolled her eyes and stuck her tongue out at him. The alcohol was already getting to her, she'd always been a light weight. She started to put the drink down, but then changed her mind. It wasn't as if this was going anywhere.

             
He laughed. “I've heard worst. I'm Al,” he said, holding out his hand.

             
She laughed and took it. His hand was hot and dry against hers, dwarfing her own. Her heart skipped a beat and her breath stilled. His green eyes were locked onto hers, for a moment, questioning. His thumb stroked her knuckles. Heat rose to her cheeks as butterflies began in her stomach. She pulled her hand away slowly already missing the heat of him. “Ann,” she stumbled out.

             
He nodded. “Ann,” he repeated as if tasting the name.

             
His eyes were still locked on hers. She felt exposed and vulnerable. Turning away quickly she picked up her drink. “So, what's this business you're here about?” she asked, trying to break the uncomfortable silence between them.

             
He shook his head and looked away. “Just something I need to do for an old friend.”

             
“Sounds like you're putting flowers on a grave or something,” she said absentmindedly.

             
“Something like that.”

             
The intensity in his eyes shattered her. This was not what she came out for. “Well, I should get back to my friend. It was nice talking to you Al.”

             
He looked regretful for a moment and then it faded. “You're not going to finish your drink?” he asked, pointing at the half empty glass.

             
“No. I think I've had enough as it is,” she said, pushing it away. “Never been much of a drinker.”

             
He nodded and stood awkwardly. For the first time she noticed the silver tipped cane hanging from the bar.

“Oh you don't have to get up!”

             
He smiled. “A gentleman always stands up when a lady leaves.” He grasped her hand in his. “It was nice talking to you, Ann.”

             
There was a small smile playing around his lips. The heat from his hands radiated up her arm. He made no move to release her hand.

She motioned toward his leg. “What happened?”

             
He shrugged, half dismissing the question. “An accident while I was in the Army. It's nothing.”

             
A rowdy crowd left the dance floor and surged towards the bar. Someone’s elbow pushed into Nice's back. Losing her balance on the tiny bar stool, she tripped forward into him. He let go of her hand to catch her with both arms.

Letting out a soft sound as she landed against him, she felt him shift and compensate for her added weight on his good leg. His arms wrapped around her back and she could hear her heart beat in her ears.

             
His scent filled her nostrils. He smelled of soap and aftershave with a hint of sweat underneath, not unpleasant. Placing her hands on his chest with the intention of pushing away she was stilled by the feeling of hard muscle under the soft fabric of his t-shirt. The heat of him engulfed her, rushing through her blood stream.