Naomi
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As the crimson liquor in my glass caught the light, casting a warm glow against the cut glass, I marveled at the symphony of flavors it held. A concoction of delight, the oak-smoked bourbon caressed my palate, with hints of spicy honey and bitters adding a complexity that demanded attention. The drink, aptly named "Forbidden Desire," was as mysterious and evocative as the hidden speakeasy that served it, and I savored the way the amber liquid swirled around the contours of my mouth.
I closed my eyes, allowing myself to become lost in the richness of the experience.
I turned my head to the side, smiling at Lila as she laughed. "I guess I do need to come out more," I conceded playfully, feeling a sense of relaxation wash over me as I took in the serene surroundings. "Yes, it's lovely," I agreed, mirroring her appreciation for the soothing atmosphere.
Intriguing paintings depicting tales of yore adorned the walls, and strategically placed vintage photographs of legendary jazz artists evoked emotions I couldn't quite put into words. It was as if I had been transported through time into a different world, where one could enjoy a slower pace away from the ceaseless frenzy life had so often become.
Overwhelmed by the beauty surrounding me, I released a sigh of wonder. "It is! How did you find this place, again?"
"It was so random; I got an invite from a complete stranger," she chuckled into her drink as she took a sip. "I guess someone from the old neighborhood owns this place, and I was on their list. I figured, why not? I get a free pass into a secret club and a chance to unwind from the daily grind. Where could I go wrong?"
As I gazed around the cozy interior, I felt a profound sense of belonging wash over me. This hidden gem had an allure that enveloped me, like a comforting embrace on a chilly evening. The atmosphere radiated a captivating warmth, drawing me deeper into its enchanting ambiance.
Maybe it was the low hum of conversation, the smoky scent of the bourbon in my glass, or the eclectic mix of patrons that filled the dimly lit space. Whatever it was, I found myself sinking deeper into the worn velvet upholstery, soaking up the atmosphere in a way I hadn't in years.
Lila leaned in, her voice hushed. "Tell me, Naomi, when was the last time you let loose, hmm? Truly given yourself permission to relax and enjoy?"
I tilted my head, considering her question. "It's been a while," I admitted, recalling the fleeting moments of happiness I had stolen from my fast-paced life back when I was in college. Several years ago.
"Too long," Lila said, shaking her head. "You need to live, baby girl. Experience more than just work. Love, passion, lust... These are things we need as much as air and water. Trust me; I know what I'm talking about."
My cheeks flushed at the suggestion, but I didn't deny it.
She was right. For too long, I had allowed my work to define me, to consume me. I had sacrificed moments of pleasure for the sake of achievement, and now, in this dimly lit establishment, I began to realize the true cost of my choices. I truly have been missing out.
I felt the weight of Lila's gaze, her eyes full of concern and love.
Lila took a slow sip of her drink, her eyes never leaving mine.
It was impossible to hide anything from her; she saw right through me, like she always had. And yet, instead of judging me, or forcing me to be the person I'd outgrown, she offered understanding and encouragement.
"Naomi, you have this incredible gift for connecting with people, for understanding what they need," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "But you never let yourself truly feel it. You keep everyone at arm's length, even me."
My heart clenched, and I looked away, my gaze settling on the swirling amber liquid in my glass.
"I know," I finally admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. I took a deep breath, steadying myself for what I was about to say. "It's hard for me to let go, to allow myself to be vulnerable. I've always been so focused on achieving my goals, on being the best I can be. I never wanted anything to get in the way of that."
Lila reached out, covering my hand with hers. "But that's just it, Naomi. Being human, being alive, isn't about being perfect. It's about being present, being open to all the beautiful, messy experiences that come our way." I knew she was right, of course. But knowing and accepting were two different things. I took another sip of my drink, letting the warmth and sweetness spread through my mouth and down my throat.
As I lowered my glass, I caught a glimpse of movement out of the corner of my eye. A man, tall and broad-shouldered, had just entered the speakeasy, drawing the attention of several patrons as he strode purposefully toward the bar.
Under the soft glow of the vintage-inspired lighting, the man's dark hair gleamed like polished obsidian, his sharp cheekbones and strong jawline accentuated by the flickering shadows.
I watched as the man, tall and broad-shouldered, confidently made his way towards the bar. His dark hair gleamed like polished obsidian under the soft glow of the vintage-inspired lighting, drawing the attention of several patrons. His sharp cheekbones and strong jawline were accentuated by the flickering shadows, adding to his aura of mystery and intrigue. I couldn't help but feel a twinge of curiosity about who he was and what brought him here tonight. As he ordered his drink, I noticed the alertness in his gaze, a mix of casual observation and disciplined focus that hinted at a hidden purpose. I took another sip of my own drink, allowing the warmth and sweetness to wash over me, and tried to ignore the butterflies swelling in my stomach.
The man's presence sparked a strange sense of familiarity within me, a feeling of déjà vu despite knowing it was impossible. I quickly averted my gaze, slightly disoriented by my own unexpected reaction.
Lila followed my line of sight, her eyes brightening with curiosity. "Now, that's a fine specimen of a man," she murmured appreciatively.
I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in weeks.
"You were always on the lookout for a new adventure, weren't you?" I raised my glass in a mock toast, the depths of the amber liquid as mysterious and intriguing as the speakeasy itself.
Lila clinked her glass to mine, her laughter still echoing in my ears. "Absolutely. After all," Lila replied, pausing to wink and flash a coy smile, "life is too short for boring men and drab bars. You should select the choicest of companionship, and in an establishment like this," she added, gesturing to the speakeasy around us, "one could find exotic concoctions and intriguing personalities to satisfy one's every whim."
We clinked glasses again, savoring the flavors and the atmosphere, dancing in a sea of strong drink and effortless conversation.
"Hey, ladies," another man, of average height with dark skin tone and handsome features dressed like a character out of John Wick, approached. "Could I steal you for a dance?" He asked Lila in his thick Nigerian accent.
I could feel her surprised glance as she faced him, a sly smile playing on her lips. "Why, certainly," she agreed, her tone dropping a few notches, as if she couldn't resist the opportunity. Her eyes glittered with a playful challenge.
I watched them sashay toward the center of the dance floor, their bodies swaying to the rhythm of the slow, mesmerizing tune. The golden light bathed them in a warm, sultry glow, illuminating the sheer joy etched on Lila's face as she moved to the music.
The man, handsome as he was, seemed captivated by her energy, unable to resist following her lead. I kept my gaze on my best friend, watching as she embraced her element, her laughter ringing out and cutting through the smoky haze that hung over the room.
My heart swelled with affection and admiration. Lila's spirit, so unapologetically raw and radiant, inspired me to dig deeper within myself to find that same liberation. She had reveled in every moment of pleasure, finding strength in vulnerability, a lesson I struggled to learn.
"Can I buy you a drink?" A man with blonde hair, blue eyes, and the physique of a god asked, breaking my train of thought.
A blush crept up my neck as I straightened my back, "Yes, thank you."
His charming smile was wide and welcoming. The stranger took a seat to my left. "Let me guess, Old Fashioned?"
"Sure, why not," I shrugged, leaning forward, "Let me guess..." I took a moment to scan him.
His hair, a pale golden blond, had been neatly styled and combed away from his forehead. Crisp blue eyes glinted with both amusement and a hint of intrigue. His firm jawline and angular cheekbones formed a masculine symmetry. A navy-blue blazer covered his broad shoulders, with just the right amount of muscular tension underneath. The crease in his trousers was sharp, the lines clean-cut and deliberate. Everything about him seemed tailor-made to draw attention, calculated to make a lasting impression.
"A scotch whisky, possibly single malt for its distinctiveness and rich palate."
He looked quite shocked. "Yeah, how did you know?" His initial surprise soon morphed into amusement, and the genuine smile that graced his features was disarming.
Across the dimly lit venue, Lila, a picture of joy and freedom, was enjoying the stranger's company. Between the heady mix of their laughter and the crowd's whispers and murmurs, a harmonious symphony played, engaging all my senses.
"I'm very observant," I said honestly. The bartender placing the whiskey in front of me was a class act on its own, a potent blend of toasted oak, honey, and a hint of citrus. In the reflection behind the bar, I caught a glimpse of the mysterious man from earlier.
Our eyes locked.
My chest grew tighter.
I forced myself to look away and turn to the blonde, focusing my attention on him. "So, tell me about yourself."
His expression shifted into a knowing smile. "A classic attempt to change the subject," he said smoothly, his voice betraying no annoyance. Instead, he was intrigued by the challenge I presented to him, a small victory to undermine his confidence.
Shrugging, I allowed myself a slight laugh.
"I suppose it is, but I genuinely want to know. Tell me about your favorite hobby, or a book that resonated with you recently." I picked up my drink, the cold glass prickling against my fingers as I took a sip, the sharpness of the whiskey seeping into my tongue, warming me from the inside out.
The man seemed unsurprised but appreciative of my conversational pivot.
He took a moment to gather his thoughts, his sky-colored gaze wandering briefly to the dance floor where Lila and her mysterious partner remained captivated by the rhythm. He took a long, unhurried sip of his drink before speaking again.
"You asked for a hobby or a book, and I must admit I struggle to set aside adequate time for either one. However, there is a particular novel that comes to mind before bed each evening, urging me to turn its pages"The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas. It's an enthralling tale of love, vengeance, and redemption, a man's journey through misunderstood trials and tribulations, enabling him to exact poetic justice in a bitter world."
"Ah, I see another classic," I uttered, feigning interest as he continued.
He drew in closer, his leg brushing against mine. As much as I tried to ignore the proximity, my senses perked up and the heat intensified within the confined space we shared.
The music shifted and the seductive bassline resonated with the throbbing, vibrant atmosphere of the secret venue, the welcoming clamor of spirited conversations.
I eased my gaze from the blonde, noting his preoccupation in the story he shared, navigating the maze of malty notes that lingered in my now empty tumbler.
Every so often, I returned Lila's glance. We always checked in on each other. It was rare for us to leave one another alone for too long. A lesson I learned the hard way.
"Would you excuse me, I have to use the ladies' room," I said politely to the handsome gentleman.
He nodded in understanding, but his gaze lingered as I stood, smoothing my dress as I walked away.
In the dimly-lit corners, couples danced fervently to the sultry rhythm of the music, their limbs intertwining with an elegant sensuality that spoke of a familiarity I yearned for.
Making my way toward the restroom, I passed the private lounge, where Lila was engrossed in an animated conversation with her dance partner.
Her warm laughter bubbled through the air, and I felt a surge of gratitude. I couldn't imagine my life without her.
The intimacy and glow from the room cast a veil of privacy, compelling me to pause and admire the scene. The hushed murmur of their voices and the earthy scent of tobacco tinged the air.
Not wanting to break up this intimate moment, I retreated, taking out my phone to text Lila instead.
My nerves were on edge as I typed the words, "Bathroom." After slipping my phone back into my purse, I made my way to the side doors to take a quick smoke break.
I'd only recently taken up the habit, but there was something about the quiet solitude it offered amidst the chaos of my life that drew me in.
I opened the door and stepped outside, greeted by the cool, crisp October air. Nestled behind the building lies an enchanting secret garden, a hidden gem discreetly tucked away behind the buzz and clink of glasses. I took a deep breath, savoring the moment of stillness before lighting up a cigarette and taking a slow drag.
I relished the sensation, the slight burn in my throat and the nicotine that coursed through my veins, temporarily calming my racing mind.
I leaned my back against the cool brick of the building, taking in the view of the hidden garden. Walls, softened by climbing ivy and vibrant murals, enclose the space, offering an intimate retreat from the city. The garden's layout is organic, paths winding between reclaimed wooden tables and benches, and eclectic seating areas that invite intimate conversations and communal gatherings. Edison bulbs, strung from above, cast a warm, inviting glow, illuminating the space with a gentle light that complements the moon's natural luminescence.
As I stood there, I thought about Lila and how she embodied a kind of freedom that I admired. She never shied away from her desires, never hesitated to explore life's possibilities. She was an open book, beautifully complex and utterly fearless, and I couldn't help but be envious of her ability to embrace herself fully.
A faint murmuring broke me out of my reverie, and I turned my head toward the source of the sound.
My pulse instantly quickened as the mysterious man who seemed to have turned everyone's head emerged from behind an archway, a lit cigarette resting between his fingers. The warm glow of the ember cast an eerie luminescence upon his chiseled features as he locked eyes with me.
"I couldn't help but notice you watching me earlier," he said in a low, confident voice, his hazel eyes glinting mischievously.
I swallowed hard, attempting to conceal my surprise, before managing a reply. "Excuse me?"
The man took a single, tentative step closer, his presence both alluring and unsettling. The aroma of pine and sandalwood hung heavy in the air as he took a drag from his cigarette again. "Earlier, at the bar," he began, his voice a low murmur, "I saw you looking my way. It wasn't subtle, but it was... intriguing." His voice deepened, sending a shiver down my spine as the cool night breeze swirled around us.
"Well," I started, searching for a plausible explanation, "I was merely admiring the view," I muttered, crossing my arms as I watched him.
Suddenly, I was acutely aware of the cold night breeze, causing my dress to cling to my damp skin, as the wisps of smoke escaped through my lips.
My thoughts were interrupted by his alluring chuckle, the sound sparking a dormant pulse deep within me. "Well, I must admit, I found it refreshing to have such a lovely woman admiring me from afar. I'm Zachariah Blackwell, but you can call me Zach."
His hazel eyes gleamed in the dim light, and I detected a note of genuine curiosity as he extended his hand, an invitation to bridge the gap between us.
I waivered uncertainly, wavering between embracing the opportunity and holding back.
"Naomi," I finally said, grasping his hand firmly.
I was engrossed in the intensity of the moment, our hands locked together in a silent, yet profound connection. The air around us seemed to shimmer with unspoken words, a testament to the chemistry that pulsed between us. It was as if time itself had slowed down, giving us the space to truly feel the magnitude of the connection we shared. His grip was firm, yet comforting, a reminder of the safety and security he offered. I knew then that there was something more to this man, something that extended beyond the surface of his tough exterior.
"Naomi," he repeated as if committing my name to memory. "It's a pleasure."
I forced a smile, trying to suppress an irrational fear that bloomed in my chest.
"A-and you," I stammered, lowering my hand.
I searched for something anything to shift the conversation from the silence that enveloped us and attempted to regain my composure. "So, you come here often then, Mr. Blackwell?"
Zach's eyes twinkled with amusement, his firm mouth spreading into an easy, disarming grin as he took another deep drag. "I do, on occasion, find myself in need of an escape from the city's chaos," he said cryptically.
I couldn't help but feel a strange pull towards this mysterious man. His intense gaze seemed to reach right into my soul, awakening a dormant hunger within me. As I tried to keep my curiosity in check, I was acutely aware of my vulnerability.
As my gaze drifted to the glowing ember at the end of his cigarette, he caught my inquisitive stare. With a knowing smirk, he extended his hand, the cigarette dangling between his fingers – an unspoken invitation to indulge.
I found myself standing quite close to him, the air thick with an undeniable tension. Our eyes locked, his steady stare sending shivers down my spine.
I gazed at the stub of my cigarette, the glowing ember fading to gray ash. With a gentle nod, I agreed, reaching out to take the offered cigarette. I brought it to my lips, drawing in the rich aroma as I inhaled. As I slowly exhaled, I felt an unexpected rush of excitement.
We basically just kissed, I thought to myself.
My cheeks flushed, and my heart pounded heavily in my chest.
Releasing the breath I was holding, I returned the cigarette to Zachariah with a strained, awkward smile. I was acutely aware of every inch of space between us, his presence almost magnetic to mine.
"You carry yourself well, Naomi," he said.
My gaze searched his. I could see the admiration in his eyes as they scrutinized me. The look on his face was a mixture of respect and curiosity, pulling at his otherwise stoic features.
A nervous giggle escaped my lips, awkwardly attempting to wipe away the lipstick stained on the cigarette. "Thank you. I, um, I can thank my strict parents for that, I guess." I stammered, caught off guard by his sudden compliment. My hand involuntarily reached up to push a curl out of my face, my mind suddenly blank and my heart fluttering from the intensity in his gaze.
I tilted my head slightly, meeting his gaze as he scrutinized me. The warmth in his eyes made my insides flutter. "It's fine," he said, his smile putting me at ease. It was as if he knew exactly what I needed to hear.
We stood there in comfortable silence. The soft lull of conversation from inside the bar felt a million miles away.
I couldn't shake the goosebumps that covered my skin and burning need to close the space between us.
Most times, if someone tried to hit on me, in this way, I'd quickly leave, but with Zach it was different.
He seemed to get me.
Though strange, it felt good to be seen.
Clearing my throat, I shake the liquor-induced brain fog away, forcing my better judgment to the forefront. "I should go-"
Just as I took a step forward, an odd and sudden gust of wind blew around me. It whipped my hair around my face, blinding me. Zach's hazel eyes met mine again, a sly smile playing on his lips. "Seems like the universe doesn't want you to go either."
Either.
A shiver ran down my spine, creating goosebumps once more, but this time they were not from the excitement of meeting a captivating stranger. Something was wrong.
Squinting my eyes in slight confusion, I ask, "Why do I feel like we've met before?"
I saw Zach's body tense up almost imperceptibly. It was a quick reaction, but I caught it.
My gut tightened.
He took a long drag from his cigarette, hazel eyes locked on mine. "I'm sure you've seen me around," he said, shrugging passively.
I knew he was lying. But, why?
Before I could reply, Lily's voice broke the silence. "There you are!"
"Excuse me," Zachariah uttered, throwing his cigarette to the side and retreating through the door Lily just came out of.
I blinked, taken aback by his swift exit. Lily glanced between the closing door and me, her brow furrowed. "What was that all about?"
"I'm not sure," I murmured, shaking off the unsettling encounter. I took a deep breath, struggling to return to the comfortable, familiar sense of self I'd cultivated over years of pushing past uncomfortable moments.
"But I'm glad you're here," I added, smiling gratefully at my best friend.
Lila smiled as her vibrant personality lit up the cool evening.
"Well, I was looking for you," she replied, studying my face. "You've been lost in thought lately, and I wanted to check to make sure you didn't get lost in the toilet."
My best friend's worry reminded me why I valued her unwavering support and genuine concern. "I'm okay," I assured her, rubbing my arms against the chill left by Zach's sudden departure. "So, how was it?"
Gesturing toward the door, I appreciated that she sensed I didn't want to talk about it.
Together, we slipped back into the speakeasy, welcomed by the symphony of laughter and the familiar vibrations of conversations dancing on waves of sultry jazz music.
I couldn't shake the lingering thoughts from my encounter with Zach.
Where did I know him from? My mind wandered as I walked alongside Lily, struggling to regain my focus on the present moment.
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Thank you for reading!
Zachariah and Naomi finally meet 👏🏾 What do you think so far?