Ink & Lust

Prologue

"I can't do this," Amila whined in the phone as she recovered from stumbling on the bustling New York sidewalk.

She sought out a piece of the concrete that was free of snow, ice, and busy feet attached to annoyed faces fed up with her slow, wobbling steps. High heels were the wrong choice. A choice her Ballet Mistress would forbid and a choice she was now regretting. She was beginning to regret a lot of choices as she pulled her peacoat tighter around her body. The windchill was even more vicious as the night grew older. She turned her back to the street but that didn't help, either. The red sweater dress that sheathed her lean curves did nothing to help her body maintain its heat nor did the makeup on her face or the pounds of curls cascading from her scalp to the dip of her shoulders.

"LaLa." The voice on the other side of the phone called out her nickname with the ease of someone that had uttered a million and one times because she had. She was the creator of the moniker and the only other thing that Amila loved more than ballet. "Don't let heels and winter defeat you. Stop giving up so fast. Don't be a quitter."

"I'm not a quitter, Akeela." She hissed through chattering teeth. "Take it back."

Akeela's laughter filled her eardrum and her shivering lips curved up. "I shouldn't be out here. I have a performance tomorrow that's half my grade." 

She glanced over her shoulder, out of all the lights burning brightly down the boisterous street it was the one that shined from the restaurant on the corner across from her that attracted her eyes like a moth to a flame. She wrestled her gloved hand out the pocket of her coat to read the time on her watch.

Yes, she was still early but did she have enough time to cancel. Was fifteen minutes before a date, too late to cancel? She sighed to herself wishing she hadn't gone along with her sister's little scheme and stayed on her path of routine, practice, and studying. She knew how to do those things. She didn't have any experience with what she was about to do. Dating and men weren't her forte.

"Baby sister," Akeela started softly. "Get out of your head. Stop over-scrutinizing life. Just live it. It's December in New York. You have a handsome man waiting on you and I know you look stunning because you're wearing the outfit I picked out for you...so enjoy yourself."

A white cloud plume from Amila's mouth as she chuckled. "I do look rather stunning." She confidently flicked her hair over her shoulder and a passerby eyed her suspiciously but she didn't mind him. "If you were here I wouldn't be such a cluster of nerves? Do you really have to go home early?"

"Mama needs help getting the house ready for the Christmas party." Akeela raised her tone but the voice that sounded over the speaker still made it through the phone. "Hey, I have to board but just remember to relax; have fun and do all the things that I would do and then some. You know you want to."

She grinned to herself peering back at the restaurant with minutes to spare. There were a lot of things she wanted. Some of those things people knew because she spoke about it regularly and made up most of the posts she published on social media but some of the things she wanted were secret. A secret that was only shared with her womb mate and favorite person on planet Earth.

"You love ballet but romance is what you crave." Akeela rushed out. "So, go get both, baby sister."

"You're a minute older than me."

"And it still counts." Akeela laughed and she echoed her. "See you later, LaLa."

Amila rushed out a 'love ya, KeKe' before her sister ended the call and she tucked her phone back in her pocket casting her sight back to the restaurant.

She took another breath and drew in her stomach stabilizing her balance before taking a step. 'You can do this. You mastered pirouettes and fouettes. You can have dinner with a man.' She repeated the words on a loop as she crossed the street and entered the restaurant.

The heat that greeted her as she gave her name to the hostess was welcomed and the eyes that followed her as she strutted behind the chipper woman warmed her cheeks but it was the gaze of the man that greeted at the table in the corner that set her on fire.

He smoothly stood in a butterscotch suit that complimented his rich brown skin and extended his hand effortlessly. "Dominic James." He paused, shaking her hand and ticking his eyes along her body and along her face as if he was committing it to memory. "And I've never seen anyone work red and gold as well as you."

"Thank-you." She took a quick glance away as her smile grew. "They are my favorite."

"And now, they're mine." He kissed her hand delicately. "Join me?"

"Yes." She claimed the seat he gestured to and got lost in conversation. A conversation that went well into the night with a promise of so much more. 

What do you think they talked about that kept them up all night? 

Why do you think Amila glanced away after Dominic compliment her choice of colors and outfit?