Valentina and Her Lovers (Book 1)

“I can’t decide,” I tell Bea when I wake up Tuesday morning. “I’ve gone over all the pros and all the cons, and I just can’t choose.”

Bea laughs so hard, she nearly spits her coffee onto our laminate counter. “Little Miss Only-Date-Who-I’ll-Marry. Little Miss Only-Monogamous-Relationships-For-Me. You’re telling me that you, Valentina Rivera, have changed into Miss Polyamorous?!”

“No… I’m… Look, I don’t know. I’m just saying that all of these guys are datable. I want to see where it goes.”

“With all of them?”

I pour hot English breakfast tea into my “Dogs Are a Girl’s Best Friend” mug that I was given by an animal shelter employee after I groomed eight of their dogs in one day.

“Bea, you–of all people–are in no position to judge me. You’re always seeing guys on top of guys.”

“Yeah, but none of them seriously,” my best friend of eighteen years says. “You’re wanting these guys to be exclusive with you even though you’re not exclusive with them?”

It’s a fair question.

I met real estate agent Angelo, teacher Matt, and radiologist Jarel two weeks ago at an otherwise boring speed dating event Bea dragged me to. After each of them took me on a date that was absolutely not the cliche dinner-and-a-movie, I couldn’t easily break it off with any of them. They each have qualities that demand I give them another chance.

“That’s up to them,” I say.

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m just going to be honest. I’m going to tell them the truth, and they can decide what to do with that truth.”

I pick up my phone and begin composing an email. I refused to give any of these guys my phone number until I actually decided to date them.

“And if all of them dump you?” Bea asks. “‘Cause, ya know, that could happen.”

I look up and consider her words, then I return to my email. “They won’t.”

“Who are you? Aphrodite?” she quips.

“I mean… that’s better than Calypso, right?”

“You think you’re Calypso?!” Bea guffaws. She shakes her head and takes another sip. “Those guys are going to eat you alive.”

***

I spend a full day considering different places for this meeting.

Bars. Parks. Churches. Restaurants. Libraries. Bookstores. Even my apartment.

I don’t know where to have a conversation like this.

Or how.

Finally, I choose a privately-owned coffee house on the west side of the city, mostly hidden from the clatter of national coffee chains. It’s a maze of tiny rooms, often half-filled with writers and students.

No one who would care about a private conversation or pay attention to tense reactions.

The guys can order what they like and leave when they like, and no one can get drunk.

I arrive thirty minutes early and order a latte. I move into a room that has a view of the front door and sit on the leather loveseat.

In front of me is a handcrafted, wooden table. To either side of the table is a leather chair, and on the opposite side is a leather couch.

I imagine the discussions that must have happened around this table. Students studying late at night. Boomers discussing the current economic environment. Passive-aggressive arguments between parents and grown children.

I wonder if the table has ever witnessed a conversation like the one I’ll have in a few minutes.

I take a deep breath and rub my palms against my jeans.

Jeans. T-shirt. Sneakers. Curls pulled into a tight ponytail. No makeup.

I’ve never been this transparent with people I barely know, but the only way I can have this conversation is if I know they see me for who I really am..

Jarel arrives first–nine minutes early. He orders a cappuccino: extra shot, extra hot, extra foam.

He lazily leans against the counter as he waits for his order. He’s six foot two and spends enough time at the gym to look fantastic in a t-shirt, so even when he’s casual, he has a noticeable presence.

And yet, here he is, seemingly content to observe the world in that moment. No rush. No distractions.

He strolls into the room and sits on the couch opposite of me.

“How ya feeling?” he asks, setting his drink on the table.

“Honestly? Nervous.”

“Your email was a little cryptic, but I think I figured it out.” He winks. “It’s going to be fine, Val.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“You kidding? No matter what happens, I wouldn’t have missed this.”

The bell clinks as the door opens again, and in walks Angelo–three minutes early. He orders a large coffee with cream and strolls to join us. It’s very on-brand for sweet, uncomplicated Angelo.

“Jarel?!” he says with raised eyebrows. “Ah, man, how are you?” He looks at me. “Wait… Dude, were you at that event?”

“I was,” Jarel says.

“How did I not see you?” Angelo asks.

“Because you were staring at your phone the whole time,” Jarel says.

“That’s cold, man. That’s cold,” Angelo chortles as he joins Jarel on the couch. “How have you been? I’m sorry we lost touch.”

“It’s been a rough few years,” Jarel says. “Maybe I can fill you in sometime. You?”

“I’m in real estate now, and my siblings’ lives are wild. We should definitely catch up.”

I lean forward. “How do you two know each other?”

“High school,” Angelo says. “Jarel here was the best shooting guard you’ve ever seen.”

“And Angelo was our starting small forward,” Jarel adds.

“We were basically the Jordan and Pippen of our team,” Angelo brags. “Seems like a million years ago now, doesn’t it?”

“It really does,” Jarel says. “Like a whole different lifetime.”

Matt enters the cafe–two minutes late–and orders a chai latte. The night I met him, he was bordering on disheveled with his hair in a mess and an equal mix of frantic and exhausted. And although he was early for our first date, I suspect this is closer to his real personality: a little late, a little rushed, a little more energy than everyone else.

He stops as soon as he enters the doorway. “You’re kidding me.”

All three of us look up.

“What’s wrong, Matt?” I ask.

Jarel furrows his eyebrows, then raises them. “Oh my god, you’re Matt Polinsky.”

“Yeah…” Matt says, tentatively sitting in the chair closest to the door and placing his drink on the table.

“Matt Polinsky,” Angelo repeats. “Gah, I haven’t seen you since–”

“High school,” Matt says, cutting him off.

I’m taken aback by this. The Matt I met when he took me to the planetarium would never cut someone off. He’s almost too thoughtful, and he’s deeply respectful.

Angelo rubs the back of his neck. “Uh, right, high school.”

“How… how are things?” Jarel asks.

I’ve never seen either of the men this nervous, especially smooth, confident Jarel.

“Great,” Matt says, slightly louder than normal. “Everything is great now.”

“Well, that’s good, man,” Angelo says. “I’m glad things worked out.”

“Someone want to fill me in?” I ask, looking between the guys.

“We were very different in high school,” Matt says. “You know how it is. They were more jock, and I was more nerd.”

“But not bullying jocks,” Angelo clarifies. “Just to be clear. We were just… in very different cliques.”

“What are you doing now, Matt?” Jarel asks, leaning forward to pick up his drink. He’s quickly returned to the Jarel I know.

“I’m a fourth grade math teacher.”

“Oh, that’s great,” Angelo says, sounding surprised. “I bet you’re really good at that.”

Matt furrows his brow. “What does that mean?”

Angelo shrugs. “Just that you would think that the guy who won all the blue ribbons in the science fairs would be good at teaching science.”

Matt relaxes a little. “I am. Thanks.”

I take a long drink. “I guess I can skip the introductions.”

“Guess so,” Jarel says in an unreadable tone.

“I asked you all here today because–” I take a deep breath and begin the monologue I’ve practiced in the mirror. “When I went to that event, I didn’t expect to find anyone. My roommate was dragging me to one event after another, each duller than the last. I expected more of the same. Then I met the three of you.”

I anticipate at least one of them to interrupt, to ask questions, to encourage me to skip to the end–but no one does.

“And I went on a date with each of you. Well, technically two with Jarel, but I’ll come back to that. And all three dates went well, which, again, surprised me. I thought it would be easy to choose one of you, or, if I’m really honest, none of you. But all three of you rose to the occasion, and I… I didn’t know what to do.

“So, I’ve decided to just be honest. And before I get to the main point, there are a couple of things you should know.

“First, I have an ex-fiance, Damon, who is a recovering alcoholic. He’ll be sober for long stretches, and during those times, I never hear from him. But when he relapses, he becomes a bit of a stalker.”

“What?!” Angelo screeches. “Are you okay?”

That’s the most emotion I’ve ever seen from Angelo.

“I’m fine,” I say. “He did crash my first date with Jarel, but I’m hoping that will be the end of it. Of course, there are no guarantees, so if you date me, there’s a chance you’ll have to deal with that or even that you’d be in danger. I don’t want to put anyone in that position without them knowing the risk.

“Second, my childhood wasn’t great, and because of that, I have trouble letting people in, as you all could probably tell. If you’re looking for an open book and someone who will tell you all of their secrets, I’m not the girl for you.”

I had expected at least one of them to leave at this point. Crazy stalker ex and a somewhat emotionally unavailable person? Who wants that in a girlfriend?

But no one moves.

“Third,” I say, forcing myself to power through, “I crave stability, so I can easily make the things I love to do into a routine. But I’m also easily bored. I like having new experiences, and I’ll do almost anything twice. If you’re wanting someone who will just snuggle on the couch and watch movies all weekend, that’s not me, at least not right now.

“I’ll never force you to do something that you hate–like, for example, if you’re afraid of heights, I wouldn’t ask you to go skydiving–but I will expect companionship on adventures. All of your dates were great because they were all atypical. That’s what I’m looking for in a relationship right now. Creativity and novelty.”

I finally take a breath and lean back. “Questions so far?”

The men glance at each other, then shake their heads.

I take another long drink and realize that my hand is shaking; hopefully, the guys don’t notice. “I want to date all three of you,” I finally say.

Matt clears his throat. “All three of us? Together?”

“No, well, yes, but… I want to go on more dates with each of you and see where it goes. Bea, my roommate, thinks that after a few more dates, I’ll find that I’m not compatible with at least two of you, and the decision will be easier, but I–” I sigh. “I’m not convinced of that. I’d like to tell you that I’ll go on one date with each of you and then make a decision, but I can’t promise that.

“I have a few rules for this,” I tell them, hoping that makes this easier for them. “One, when I am on a date with one of you, I will not be texting another one of you. Two, I will give you all the same amount of time for the next dates. Three, I will not sleep with any of you.”

Jarel smiles and maintains eye contact as he takes another sip, and I know he’s remembering our conversation about Nelly Furtado’s “Promiscuous Girl” on our first date.

I swallow. “Okay, so, there it is. Thoughts? Questions?”

Matt raises his hand slightly. “So, we would all be in a relationship?”

“Well, you’d all be in a relationship with me,” I say. “That doesn’t mean you’d be in a relationship with each other.”

“Are we allowed to date other people?” Angelo asks.

An unexpected flame of jealousy flickers in my gut. I knew the question was a possibility, and yet, I still feel strangely offended. I take a breath and remind myself that I’ve known these guys for less than a month.

“That’s up to you. If I’m dating the three of you, I can’t expect you all to commit to just me.”

“All I want is you,” Jarel says.

Chills run up my spine; it’s not the first time Jarel has said something direct, blunt, and romantic.

Angelo and Matt look at him before returning to their drinks.

“If anyone doesn’t want to do this,” I say, “I’ll understand. I know it’s asking a lot. Basically infinite patience.”

“But you will eventually choose one of us, right?” Matt asks.

Matt feels everything. He wears his heart on his sleeve and he goes through life seeing the emotions of the world. I should have expected that this question would come from him.

“A week ago, I would’ve said ‘absolutely,’ but these dates… I don’t know.” I shake my head. “Look, I’ve never done anything like this before. All I know is that I had a great time with all of you, and I want to be honest.”

“Which I think we all appreciate,” Angelo says.

“So?” I say, looking at each man. “What do you think?”

“I’m in,” Jarel says without hesitation. “Whether or not I have to share you, I still want you. I’m all in.”

“Me too,” Angelo says. “Let’s give it a try.”

All three of us turn our attention to Matt.

“I need some time to think about it,” he says as he puts down his drink. “I’ll email you.”

“I understand,” I say.

“It was good seeing you, Matt,” Angelo says.

“Sure,” Matt says before pivoting and walking out of the cafe.

Angelo leans back into the couch. “That dude,” he says. “I mean, he was–”

“Matt should be the one to tell Val,” Jarel interjects, “if he wants her to know. None of us want to tell each other’s secrets.”

“You’re right; you’re right,” Angelo says. “I’ll drop it.”

I take a memo pad and pen from my purse, click the pen, and scribble quickly. “Since you’ve both decided to be patient, here’s my number.”

“We’ve been upgraded!” Angelo says as he takes his phone from his pocket.

“It’s like passing Gollum’s riddles,” Jarel teases.

Both men enter the numbers, and my phone vibrates.

“Thanks for giving me a shot – Angelo”

“I feel honored – Jarel”

I add them into my phone before tossing it into my purse.

“I’m getting another drink,” Jarel says as he stands up. “Val, what are you having?”

“Latte.”

“Angelo?”

“Coffee with cream.”

“You got it,” Jarel says before strolling out of the room.

“How are you at basketball?” Angelo asks me.

“I know how to dribble,” I say, “and I know how to shoot baskets in theory. I’ve never been very successful though. The last time I tried to play, the ball bounced off the backboard and hit me in the forehead.”

“Oh, damn,” he says, rubbing his own forehead. “That must’ve sucked… How would you feel about me teaching you basketball for our next date?”

Athletics have never been something I’ve cared about, but I do appreciate that he’s trying to be original and personal. Plus, guarding each other seems like it could lead to some nice, heated moments…

“I’d be down for that,” I say. “When do we go?”

“Tomorrow morning? The courts at Wilson Park should be free. Maybe nine o’clock.”

“Let’s do it.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing you dribble.”

“Afraid I’ll be completely helpless?” I ask.

“You? Helpless? No way. You’ll make me earn back my high school nickname.”

My phone vibrates, and I retrieve it from my purse.

Jarel: You may not be an open book, but I’m enjoying what I’m allowed to read. I was right in my interpretation of your email. Maybe I already know you better than you think.

Maybe he does, but it’s not because I was naturally more transparent with him. Circumstance–or the universe–decided to let him in more quickly.

And that just further complicates my feelings for all three of these charming, kind men.

I take a cab home from the coffee house, and I’m still thinking about Jarel’s text.

And as the cab driver expertly maneuvers through traffic, I remember our first date.

It was certainly one to remember.

***

The afternoon is cool and breezy, and I’m dressed in a black sleeveless turtleneck, translucent, orange shawl, jeans, and Converse low tops. When I step out of the cab, Jarel is already waiting in front of the record store.

He’s wearing khakis and a long-sleeved polo with the sleeves pushed up, and we eye each other without comment.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he greets in his baritone voice.

“Thanks for the invite.”

He opens the door for me and protectively places his hand behind my back, but he doesn’t actually touch me.

“Afternoon, Jarel,” says an old man behind a counter. “What’s happening?”

“Not much, Mr. Z,” Jarel replies. “This is Val. She’s never been here before?”

It’s a question–asking for clarification. “Nope,” I respond before looking at the shopkeeper. “First time.”

“Well, take a look around. There’s a listening station in the back, or I can play something over the speaker. Jarel’s been coming here for nearly a decade; he can show you around.”

I raise her eyebrows. “Nearly a decade?” I ask, turning my attention back to Jarel.

“Ever since I moved to the neighborhood,” he says.

“You must have quite a collection.”

“I do. A lot of jazz but plenty of soul, rhythm and blues, and hip hop too.” He gestures to the far right row. “Let’s start with new arrivals.”

I follow him and stand in front of the first stack, my fingers nimbly moving the records.

He stands next to me, and I can feel his body heat on my arm.

“How often do you come here?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.

“Most Sundays,” he replies. “Sometimes, I–”

“Oh my god,” I interrupt, then immediately feel bad. “Sorry, continue.”

“What is it?” he asks, turning his entire body toward me.

“It’s Ella Loves Cole,” I squeak, picking up the record from the collection.

When Jarel touches the album cover, he grazes my fingers, and I feel a bolt of electricity shoot through me. The chemistry is noticeable, and I wonder if he feels what I feel.

“A fan of Ella?” he asks.

“Not me as much as my mom,” I say. “She was obsessed with Ella, and when she and my dad were in an especially good mood, he’d put on Ella Loves Cole, and they’d dance and laugh.”

I rub my fingers against the cover. “The living room would transform into a ballroom, and they’d be transported to their younger selves in a simpler time.”

“That sounds nice,” Jarel says softly.

“It was.”

“Your folks still around?” he asks.

I continue to graze the cover. “No. Mom died when I was 17, and my father died last year.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“Don’t be,” I say brusquely, coming back to the present. “We weren’t close.”

I start to return the record, but Jarel touches my hand. “How about I buy it for you?”

“The record?”

“Yeah.”

“We don’t have a record player.”

“We?” he asks with raised eyebrows.

“Bea and I. You met her Friday. She was the woman sitting next to me.”

“Ah. And you all are…”

“Roommates,” I clarify.

He exhales. “Got it. Well, what if I bought the record and–”

“Oh, what the shit?” I whisper.

Jarel follows my gaze to find a short, russet-skinned man entering the store. “You know him?”

I sigh loudly. “He’s my ex.” I return the record to the bin and touch Jarel’s muscular arm. “I’m sorry about this.”

“Why should you be sorry?” Jarel asks, looking down at me.

I haven’t moved my hand, and there’s part of me that wants to block out everything around us and only focus on his dark eyes, ochre face, and full lips.

“Can I help you?” I hear Mr. Z ask.

“What I’m looking for,” the man slurs, “you can’t help me find.”

I’m already exhausted by this situation.

I shake my head and walk to the front of the store. “Damon, what the hell? Why are you here?”

“I waited for you, but when you didn’t come out, I thought you must be in here with that piece of shit,” Damon says, pointing at Jarel.

Jarel stands next to me. “Do we know each other?”

“I don’t have to know you to know that you’re not good enough for my Valentina,” Damon says while shifting his weight. “She don’t need no new friends, understand?”

“Damon, we’ve talked about this,” I say. “You can’t follow me places. It’s stalking.”

“It ain’t stalking!” Damon yells. “You’re my girl! We’re in love.”

I take a step forward. “It’s over, Damon,” I say firmly, “and it’s been over for a long time. Now, you need to get a cab, call your sponsor, and go to a meeting.”

“The only way I’m gettin’ in a cab is if you c-come with me,” Damon slurs.

I roll my eyes. “Damon, c’mon! You don’t have to be like this. Stop making a scene in this nice man’s store.”

“I’m not leaving here without you!” Damon barks, staggering closer. “Now get over here!”

His demanding words pull me back to the memory of our last real fight.

Of the broken dishes.

Of the screams.

Of Bea calling the police.

Of the slow-healing bruises.

My confidence in neutralizing this situation wilts.

I step back. “No, leave me alone. I’m not going with you.”

“The hell you’re not!”

Jarel steps in front of me. “The lady made it very clear she’s not going with you. Either see yourself out, or you and I are going to have a problem.”

“I ain’t scared of you!” Damon spits. “Get the fuck outta my way!”

Jarel forcefully wraps his arm around Damon’s shoulders and grips his sleeves with both hands. “Time to go.”

Barely able to walk, inebriated Damon is powerless against Jarel’s strong grip, and I watch as Jarel leads my ex-fiance out of the store and hails him a cab. After Damon gets in, Jarel speaks briefly to the driver before reentering the store.

“Sorry about that, Mr. Z,” Jarel says as he walks by the counter.

“Hey, no one got hurt, and nothin’ got broken. It’s all good.”

Jarel stops two feet from me, places his hands in his pockets, and sighs. “How ya feeling?”

I shake my head. “I think I’m just going to go home.”

“I don’t know if it’s wise for you to be in a cab with a stranger right now,” he says, pointing at my hand. “If you’ll let me, I’ll drive you.”

I clench my hand into a fist, but it doesn’t help. Both hands noticeably shake.

I nod. “Yeah, thanks.”

“C’mon, lady,” Jarel says softly. He looks at Mr. Z. “I’ll be back Sunday.”

“You bet,” Mr. Z says.

Jarel opens the door and we step outside. “I’m parked on the next block.”

I follow him to a black Camry, step inside, and buckled my seatbelt. “I’m across town,” I finally say.

“No problem,” he says, starting the car.

“3691 Broadway.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He pulls into traffic, and checks his mirrors before turning onto Tucker Road.

I rub my eyes. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Everyone has a crazy ex,” Jarel says evenly.

“When he’s sober, everything’s fine,” I tell him. “He doesn’t call, text, or show up, and he certainly doesn’t stalk me. But if he’s been drinking… man, all bets are off.”

“How long you two been split?” Jarel asks, merging into the left lane.

“Almost two years.”

Jarel glances at me before looking back at the road. “Two years? Damn, lady. I thought this was recent. He’s still stalking you two years later? When was the last time you saw him?”

“A little over six months ago.” I lean back and sigh. “I really thought it was over this time.”

“Considered a restraining order?”

“Several times. But every time I get serious, he disappears, and I think he’s sober again. Maybe this time I should follow through.”

“Maybe,” Jarel says.

“I can’t believe… Busting up a date? That’s a first for him.”

“Is that what this was?” Jarel chuckles. “One of the shortest dates I’ve ever had, but definitely the most eventful.”

I almost smile. “Well, maybe it wasn’t a date, because this is the first time I’ve ever let a guy drive me home on the first date.”

Jarel glances at me and raises his eyebrows. “Really?”

I try to mimic Nelly Furtado. “What kind of girl do you take me for?”

He smiles. “They call me Thomas. Last name Crown.”

I chortle. “Very nice.”

“Thanks.”

“So… that experience…” I bite my lip, looking for a way to diffuse the embarrassment and awkwardness. “Am I throwin’ you off?”

“Nope.”

“Didn’t think so.”

Jarel laughs. “Seriously, it’s fine. Chalk it up to crazy first date drama.”

“You’re willing to try again?” I ask. “A second date?”

“I’ll be the first to admit it. I’m curious about you. You seem so innocent.”

“You wanna get in my world, get lost in it?”

Jarel glances at me. “You have no idea.”

My stomach flips, and my ears burn. “Okay then,” I say, hoping I’m not revealing my adrenaline rush.

“How about Saturday afternoon?” Jarel asks. “I have an idea, but it’ll take me a few days to set up. You cool with that?”

“Hundred percent.”

We ride for several minutes before I break the silence. “I’m glad you were there,” I say softly, looking out the window.

“At the record store?”

“Yeah.”

“Me too.”

“I think that situation could have gone much differently, much… worse.”

“I suspect you’re a strong, highly-capable woman,” he says. “You just got caught off guard. It happens.”

“I appreciate you saying that.”

He slows as he approaches Broadway. “Your neighborhood?”

“Yup.”

“I haven’t spent a lot of time down here. What’s good?”

“Farmer’s market,” I say offhandedly. “A couple of restaurants. A handful of other places.”

“I’d love a tour sometime.”

“Well, let’s see how the second date goes.”

“How are the hands?” he asks.

“Recovering.”

“Good,” he says as he pulls next to my townhome.

“I wasn’t planning on inviting you in,” I say, unbuckling my seatbelt. “You cool with that?”

“As long as you’re feeling okay by yourself,” he says.

“I’ll be fine,” I say, turning toward him. Our eyes meet, and I can’t help but smile. “I really do appreciate what you did for me today.”

“I’m glad I could help.”

I could get swept away in this. I could lean over right now and kiss him. I know it’d be incredible. I’d wrap my arms around his neck, his hands would be lost in the sea of my curls, and his lips…

I bite the inside of my lip and try to convince myself that it’s just the adrenaline.

“So, we’ll get together on Saturday,” I say.

“I’ll email you when I finish making the arrangements.”

I open the car door. “And if that goes well, I’ll give you my number.”

He winks. “Deal.”