Read Online I Love My Secret (Nicole's Erotic Romance) by Sabrina Lacey - Free Book Online
Authors: Sabrina Lacey
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calls out from twenty steps up, “Where
you going, long legs? Can we come?”
I don’t answer.
“Hey, I asked you a question. Cat got your
tongue?” he snickers, more loudly, closer now. The other two stare, slowing
their pace.
I keep my eyes forward, never meeting theirs, my
pace steady and deliberate. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.
They stop.
The leader watches me walk by and says, “Why don’t
you come party with us?” He reaches for my arm. His fingers begin to wrap
around my skin. I snatch my arm away, throwing him off balance, and flip around
to face them all.
“HEY! Don’t fucking touch me!”
The rage I feel for all the women before me who’ve
been bullied by men over the centuries, flares up and boils. My harassers back
a step away, surprised at the look on my face. Pure unadulterated rage.
I stare down the little one, the leader. “What the
fuck is wrong with you that you would touch a woman who’s walking by herself alone
at night? Do you not know what we women have to go through? How when we walk
down a street, we’re aware how we might be in danger just by being there ? That when we go into a
parking lot, we practically run to our cars in case someone is there to attack us . And here I am, walking
home and you think you’re being funny ganging up on me, because there’s three of you ? Hear me good and hear me
now, don’t you ever treat a woman the
way you just treated me, again. I guarantee that if you were just you ,”
I point to the instigator, the three of them silent. “There is no way –
NO WAY – you would have pulled that shit you just pulled with me. So, why
don’t you try a new way of impressing your friends by being a gentleman, respecting what we women have gone
through, what your mother has given you ,
and next time, do what you can to protect
us, for God’s sake.”
“Shit. I was just asking you to…” he says
nervously, chuckling and looking at his buddies in a way that’s supposed to
make me feel like I’m crazy. But it isn’t working.
“Hush. I know what you were doing. Now leave me
alone and keep walking. Hear?”
“Yeah,” the little one says, and walks off first,
in a huff of macho bravado. It seems he’s the only one with a voice. But the
taller one, still a bit shorter than me in heels, looks at me like he’s sorry.
The third is the shyest, and he just looks mortified by the whole thing. At
least they heard me. Maybe they’ll
handle things differently next time.
I wait until they’re on their way, to start
walking. A girl across the street stopped to watch. She meets my eyes as I
turn. She nods at me; a nod of understanding and sisterhood. We don’t smile.
This is no smiling matter. My heart rate is pounding and my adrenaline is still
engaged. She and I walk our separate ways, but we just bonded in the way that
all women are bonded… it’s just something we often forget. I look forward to a
time when we lift each other up more than we bring each other down.
As I make my way up the pavement another block and
a half, I hold my arms around myself. Looking up, flickering candlelight lets
me know he’s in there, painting. I pull out my keys and bring them to the lock,
but I hesitate. My hand is shaking a little from the run-in. I think it’s from
the run-in. I look up again, see the glow drifting out above me from the paned
glass. Dropping my hand, I step away from the door, walk to the other side of
the street; see if I can see him from there. For awhile, I see only the
ceiling, the walls, nothing more. I lean against a lamppost and relax. Michael,
why do you have this pull on me? I’ve never met another man who makes me feel
as alive as you do.
I see him come into view now. Walk closer to the window . Like he hears me, he walks to it, a
coffee mug in his hand, his loosely hung t-shirt resting on his broad
shoulders, a long smear of paint on it from where he wiped his hand. He looks
out the window at his eye level, at nothing
you going, long legs? Can we come?”
I don’t answer.
“Hey, I asked you a question. Cat got your
tongue?” he snickers, more loudly, closer now. The other two stare, slowing
their pace.
I keep my eyes forward, never meeting theirs, my
pace steady and deliberate. Leave me alone. Leave me alone. Leave me alone.
They stop.
The leader watches me walk by and says, “Why don’t
you come party with us?” He reaches for my arm. His fingers begin to wrap
around my skin. I snatch my arm away, throwing him off balance, and flip around
to face them all.
“HEY! Don’t fucking touch me!”
The rage I feel for all the women before me who’ve
been bullied by men over the centuries, flares up and boils. My harassers back
a step away, surprised at the look on my face. Pure unadulterated rage.
I stare down the little one, the leader. “What the
fuck is wrong with you that you would touch a woman who’s walking by herself alone
at night? Do you not know what we women have to go through? How when we walk
down a street, we’re aware how we might be in danger just by being there ? That when we go into a
parking lot, we practically run to our cars in case someone is there to attack us . And here I am, walking
home and you think you’re being funny ganging up on me, because there’s three of you ? Hear me good and hear me
now, don’t you ever treat a woman the
way you just treated me, again. I guarantee that if you were just you ,”
I point to the instigator, the three of them silent. “There is no way –
NO WAY – you would have pulled that shit you just pulled with me. So, why
don’t you try a new way of impressing your friends by being a gentleman, respecting what we women have gone
through, what your mother has given you ,
and next time, do what you can to protect
us, for God’s sake.”
“Shit. I was just asking you to…” he says
nervously, chuckling and looking at his buddies in a way that’s supposed to
make me feel like I’m crazy. But it isn’t working.
“Hush. I know what you were doing. Now leave me
alone and keep walking. Hear?”
“Yeah,” the little one says, and walks off first,
in a huff of macho bravado. It seems he’s the only one with a voice. But the
taller one, still a bit shorter than me in heels, looks at me like he’s sorry.
The third is the shyest, and he just looks mortified by the whole thing. At
least they heard me. Maybe they’ll
handle things differently next time.
I wait until they’re on their way, to start
walking. A girl across the street stopped to watch. She meets my eyes as I
turn. She nods at me; a nod of understanding and sisterhood. We don’t smile.
This is no smiling matter. My heart rate is pounding and my adrenaline is still
engaged. She and I walk our separate ways, but we just bonded in the way that
all women are bonded… it’s just something we often forget. I look forward to a
time when we lift each other up more than we bring each other down.
As I make my way up the pavement another block and
a half, I hold my arms around myself. Looking up, flickering candlelight lets
me know he’s in there, painting. I pull out my keys and bring them to the lock,
but I hesitate. My hand is shaking a little from the run-in. I think it’s from
the run-in. I look up again, see the glow drifting out above me from the paned
glass. Dropping my hand, I step away from the door, walk to the other side of
the street; see if I can see him from there. For awhile, I see only the
ceiling, the walls, nothing more. I lean against a lamppost and relax. Michael,
why do you have this pull on me? I’ve never met another man who makes me feel
as alive as you do.
I see him come into view now. Walk closer to the window . Like he hears me, he walks to it, a
coffee mug in his hand, his loosely hung t-shirt resting on his broad
shoulders, a long smear of paint on it from where he wiped his hand. He looks
out the window at his eye level, at nothing
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