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  SWIRL

  M. L. Spann

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. The author makes no claims to, but instead acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the word marks mentioned in this work of fiction.

  Copyright © 2014 by M.L. Spann

  SWIRL by M.L. Spann

  All rights reserved. Published in the United States of America by Swoon Romance. Swoon Romance and its related logo are registered trademarks of Georgia McBride Media Group, LLC.

  No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

  Published by Swoon Romance

  Cover designed by The Killion Group

  Cover copyright 2015 by Swoon Romance

  Dedicated to all of the voices in my head. We've come a long way, and I'll keep writing as long as you keep talking.

  SWIRL

  M.L. Spann

  Chapter One

  “Bullshit,” I hissed, shoving the resume back across the table.

  “Brianna!” shouted Dr. Gray. “How dare you speak to me that way.” His too-round face turned bright red as his cheeks puffed out.

  I dropped my head and willed my hands to stay in my lap.

  You have no idea how bad I want to choke you right now.

  “I’m sorry,” I muttered. “But this isn’t right and you know it. I’ve taken several of your classes, and you’ve known me for years. I don’t understand why you can’t hire me to be your assistant.”

  “Listen,” he said, taking several deep breaths before placing his glasses on the table. “This isn’t my call. I need someone that has experience. You clearly have the required educational background, but it’s not enough. I’ll hold on to your info just in case something comes open that’s a better fit.”

  “Are you seriously giving me the ‘we’ll keep your application on file speech’ right now? How hard can it be to answer the phone and file a few papers?” I asked in disbelief. Suddenly the too tight pantsuit I had on was cutting off my circulation.

  “Brianna, I’m sorry.”

  Without mumbling another word, I snatched my resume off the table and stalked out of Dr. Gray’s office.

  My favorite professor won’t even hire me. What a slap in the face.

  I’d managed to get shot down for a job within the span of ten minutes.

  But I guess that’s progress, considering no one else even bothered to interview me.

  I made it home and slammed my car in park. By the time I walked into my room, most of the confining business suit was off me and on the floor. I put my pajamas back on and climbed into bed, ready to shut the world out.

  My plan was to go back to sleep and wake up knowing the interview from hell was just a dream. But I laid there wide awake, glaring at the ceiling instead. How did I end up back in my childhood bedroom? I couldn’t believe my life had taken such a dramatic turn for the worse. My post-graduation plan included grabbing life by the balls and never letting go; not contemplating my failures while the empty eyes of ‘N Sync stared at me from the posters on the wall.

  Why in the hell do I still have those things?

  I felt like success only came to those who took it. But when I tried to take it, life quickly yanked it away and punched me in the gut with unemployment, a nonexistent love life, and the stigma of moving back in with my mother.

  My hand shot out in annoyance as I slapped the clock I forgot to disable off the table. My mid-morning alarm let me know it was time to get up from my second nap. With no job to speak of, I had absolutely nowhere to go, but it was important for me to maintain a routine. The highlight of my boring existence right now was getting my favorite morning pick me up from Drip Drop Coffee Hut. I didn’t feel the need to change out of my pajamas, so the plain white T-shirt and sweatpants would just have to do. I drove through the mid-morning traffic as a fog of disappointment loomed over me.

  I knew I was close to the shop because the scent of roasted coffee beans started to permeate the air. Once inside the small café, I inhaled deeply and instantly relaxed. My legs propelled me over to my favorite seat at the bar and I hoisted myself onto the barstool. I slapped the bar twice to get the barista’s attention.

  “Barkeep!” I yelled.

  He sauntered over and wiped his towel over a nonexistent spot on the bar. “Yeah?” he drawled. “What can I get ya?”

  “The usual,” I sighed. “Make it a double.”

  The other customers were clearly confused at the playful banter exchanged between the two of us and that made it even funnier. Several coughed and a few cleared their throats, while one woman next to me took several steps to the left. Jayce and I started this little game a few months ago and it was now a part of our routine. I watched as he expertly mixed, poured, and topped my hot chocolate with whip cream.

  He gently placed the cup in front of me on a small saucer. “Danish or bagel?”

  “Danish,” I replied, taking a careful sip of the steaming drink. Lord knows I didn’t need bread, or anything sweet for that matter, but this café had the best pastries in town. Jayce returned seconds later with my food and placed it next to my cup. Flashing a toothy grin, he wiped his hands on his apron and turned to help another person at the counter.

  I don’t exactly swoon whenever I see him, at least not anymore. Perhaps it’s because I know he’s taken and, based on the Barbie doll he’s with, I wasn’t his type anyway. But still, I enjoyed taking in the sight of his body just the same. And man oh man what a body! Since he’s Samoan his skin was genetically tan and I definitely appreciated the exotic look. He’s built like a bulldozer with broad shoulders and a massive chest, but it’s obvious he’s a gentle giant. Jayce always had a smile plastered on his face even at o-dark-thirty in the morning. But honestly, his shoulder length raven hair was my favorite part about him. On more than one occasion, I had to force myself from day dreaming about running my fingers through it.

  Taking another sip from my cup, I swiveled around in my seat to survey the rest of the café. At that time of the morning, most of the people hustled and bustled to get their orders so they could get to work. I grabbed my Danish to take a bite and stopped midway to my mouth.

  A demi-god from Olympus watched me with the most seductive smirk I’d ever seen. He was definitely not a regular, I was positive I would have noticed him by now. A chill raced over my skin the instant our eyes connected, and I could feel my nipples tighten under my top. My poor decision to go braless today was clearly evident for the entire coffee shop to see. I quickly turned back toward the bar to hide my headlights, but not before I noticed the smile widen across the mystery man’s face. Is he really smiling at me?

  I tried to discreetly look over in his direction and I caught him staring at me … again. He must have a case of jungle fever. Most white men were too intimidated to approach a black woman, but he didn’t seem to be that kind of guy. I closed my eyes and chuckled to myself. There was no way that blue-eyed ray of sunshine was flirting with me. I found it pretty hard to believe he saw anything attractive about me right now. Today, I looked a hot ass mess with no makeup, a frizzy ponytail, and taut nipples. I wolfed down the rest of the Danish, slurped up the semi-hot drink, left my money on the counter, and quickly made my way out the door. Tomorrow I’d put some actual effort into how I looked just in case the mystery man was there again.

  I intended to go straight home, clean the kitchen, apply for a few jobs, and do whatever else I needed to do. I managed to clean up, but a nap t
ook the place of applying for jobs. A few hours later, my eyes flew open in a panic the moment I heard the rattle of the garage door being opened. I reached over, grabbed my laptop, and attempted to look hard at work. The sensor on the door chimed as Mom came into the house with an armful of grocery bags.

  “Hey, Brianna, can you come help me?” she asked.

  I shoved the computer to the side and slid my feet into my worn house slippers. Walking toward the kitchen, I mentally prepared myself for the daily inquisition.

  “How was your day, honey?”

  I paused for a moment before grabbing a bag full of stuff to put away. “It was fine. The interview went well and I managed to submit several other applications,” I replied.

  That was lie number one in a series of lies that were sure to follow. It wasn’t that I didn’t want a job, because I desperately longed to get my own place once again and support myself. In all honesty, I lost my steam for the whole job search process. I made the biggest mistake of my life when I decided to leave work for the last semester of Grad school. I figured three months was plenty of time to really focus and finish the year strong. Besides, I had plenty of money saved to cover my bills and finding a job would be easy once I finished getting my Masters. Right? Wrong. I was SO wrong. Here I was, twenty-four years old with two degrees and no job. It seemed like I had wasted my time getting an education in the first place.

  “That’s great, honey. I’m sure something will come through soon,” said Mom. She had been saying the same thing every day for the last six months. “Leave the pasta sauce on the counter. Gram-Gram’s coming over for dinner tonight, so try to spruce yourself up a little.”

  Great, she’s the last person I want to see right now.

  Gram-Gram had a not so funny way of making a bad situation even worse. I leaned over, grabbed a cookie out of the jar next to me, wolfed it down, and reached for another.

  “Honey, do you really need all of those cookies?” Mom asked gently.

  I sighed and tossed the cookie back into the jar. My weight had been another topic of discussion lately as I plowed through food like a ravenous football team. Most people put on the freshman fifteen during school. Well, I had put on the college forty and it didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. My love of food was the main reason why none of my jeans fit, forcing me to wear duck print sweat pants most of time. I knew Mom was just trying to help, but she actually made me feel worse. She could eat cookies and anything else she wanted and not gain a single ounce. I had to admit, she definitely looked damn good for her age, and she knew it. Her favorite thing to say was “black don’t crack, it just bends a little” and she’s definitely proof of that. Being a recent divorcee encouraged her to really step her game up in terms of her appearance during her own search for love.

  I decided to vacate the area before I was forced to answer anything else. Snatching my laptop and cell phone off the couch, I made a beeline toward my bedroom.

  Plopping down on my bed, I scrolled through my recent contacts on my phone until I got to the one that was sure to put a smile on my face.

  My best friend Kirsten was one of the reasons why I was still holding on to reality. Although sometimes wallowing in depression did seem like the better option. It’s hard for us to spend any time together especially since she’s a travelling makeup artist. Luckily she was home for a few days right now.

  “Hey, girl, what’s up?” she asked.

  “Kirsten, I’m feeling so … so … blah,” I replied.

  “Blah?”

  I rolled onto my back and kicked my feet into the air. “Yes … blah. I guess it’s just one of those days where I realize my life is going in the opposite direction of awesome.”

  Kirsten released her signature laugh with the accidental snort included. “It will get better eventually. What you need is somebody to help you relieve some stress. Why don’t you call Avery?”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. “You think sex solves everything,” I chuckled.

  “No I don’t,” she said. “But it does help take the edge off. You need somebody to bend your ankles behind your head and stroke all your stress away.”

  “Well it certainly won’t happen with Avery. You remember what happened the last time,” I muttered.

  “Oh yeah,” she replied after a brief pause. She then took several minutes to laugh hysterically.

  I could look back and laugh about it now, but it wasn’t the least bit funny at the time. Avery had been my high school sweetheart, the love of my life all through school. He moved away, we broke up, but remained good friends over the years. When he moved back home last year it only seemed right we meet for drinks. Well, those potent margaritas led to a late night rendezvous back at my place. As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, he immediately started devouring my face like a psycho on bath salts. His sloppy kisses were everywhere as I tried and failed at dodging his wet advances. With absolutely zero foreplay involved, he snatched off our clothes and commenced to fucking me like we were still in high school, and that’s no compliment.

  Apparently, life and his girlfriends after me had taught him nothing about learning to finesse a woman and listen to her body. He poked me for a good five minutes and collapsed onto my chest in a sweaty heap. I tried to blink the salty droplets of sweat out of my eyes as I wiggled my way from underneath him. I quickly made up some lame excuse and escorted him to the door. In fact that’s the last time I had sex, if you could even call it that. Kirsten’s right, I was long overdue for some good loving.

  “Speaking of stress relievers, I saw a delicious specimen of a man at the coffee shop this morning,” I said after Kirsten quieted her guffaws down to a few light chuckles.

  “Oh really? Tell me more. Did you give him your number?”

  “No,” I replied. “Nobody exchanged numbers or anything. He looked tall, but I can’t be positive though since he was sitting down. Blond hair, spiked with gel. And he has blue eyes and a very nice smile.”

  “Well why didn’t you give him your number, crazy woman?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am, I wasn’t about to embarrass myself,” I said. “Hopefully I’ll see him again and he’ll ask for the digits if he’s really interested.”

  “You need to take the initiative, Bri. I’m pretty sure the people at the Stop-n-Shop are tired of you coming in there hoarding all of the batteries. One of these days you’re going to electrocute yourself. You need a man, not a vibrator,” said Kirsten.

  I laughed, but she was right. Every time I shopped for new, longer lasting batteries, I did fear the cashier ringing me up knew what I planned to do with said batteries.

  “Brianna!” shouted Mom. “Come down for dinner!”

  “I have to go. Gram-Gram is here for dinner so you know I will be calling you back,” I grumbled.

  “Oh shit … yeah, good luck,” Kirsten muttered.

  I pressed END, changed into a pair of black yoga pants, and raced down the stairs.

  Chapter Two

  Don’t get me wrong, I loved Gram-Gram to death, but she got on my last good nerve. She has an old school charm about her I enjoy at times, and at other times it makes me wish we had her locked away in a retirement home. Ever the diva, she always looks like she has somewhere to go with her full face makeup and French rolled hair. She honestly feels like a woman’s role in life includes finding a husband and having kids. So it absolutely baffled her that I managed to graduate without landing a husband. Although, I was engaged at one point and planned to head down the road to matrimony, but my fiancé abruptly decided he wasn’t ready and called the whole thing off. I thought Gram-Gram was going to declare me a witch and burn me at the stake for letting a man slip through my fingers like that.

  “Oh, Brianna, are you wearing a bra?” she asked with the same finesse used to ask someone if they’ve killed a kitten.

  I glanced down and dropped my shoulders. I knew I was forgetting something. One would think that after my little faux pas earlier I would have pr
operly covered my breasts.

  “How many times do I have to tell you to wear a bra? You’re going to end up with breasts sagging down to your belly button. No man wants to see that. You won’t catch a husband with breasts that slide off into your armpits when you’re on your back,” she snapped.

  “Mom!” hissed my own mother.

  “What?” asked Gram-Gram. “I taught these same lessons to you. I don’t know why you won’t teach Brianna. It’s just not lady-like at all.”

  “I’m sorry. Do you want me to go put on a bra?” I asked, praying the vein in my neck wasn’t pulsating.

  “No,” she replied. “There’s no point now, you’re already at the table.”

  I shook my head and rubbed my palm down my face in an attempt to erase the scowl on it. I tried to eat my food and stay off Gram-Gram’s radar, but there was zero chance of that happening.

  “So, Brianna, have you found a job yet?” she asked.

  “No, ma’am, the search continues,” I mumbled.

  Gram-Gram narrowed her eyes in my direction as she speared the pasta with her fork. Mom tried to lighten the mood by intervening on my behalf.

  “The job market is a little slow right now. Brianna is a smart girl, something will come through eventually,” she said.

  “Evelyn, you’re always coddling her. You need to show Brianna some tough love and force her to grow up. A girl her age should be married and working on baby number two by now. But oh no, she wanted to join the club of working women, which wouldn’t be much of a problem if she actually worked.”

  My mouth flapped open in response to the imaginary slap to the face I was just issued. Mom appeared equally as shocked as she dropped her fork onto the plate, causing the loud clang to resonate throughout the room. If I were a hermit crab, now would be the perfect time for me to retreat into my shell.