Love Over Envy: BWWM Pregnancy Romance Novel Read online

  It was still early in the night, but the smell of sweat was already starting to permeate the room. Dancing salsa was a workout no doubt. Genevieve couldn’t help but wonder why on earth Greta brought her here. Genevieve didn’t know much salsa. She had taken one class and she was absolutely terrible. Despite all her years of childhood ballet, when she got on the dance floor with an instructor who expected her body to know movement intuitively, she had two left feet. Genevieve wanted nothing more than to plaster herself against the walls and not move until Greta decided was time for them to go home.

  Genevieve looked over the dance floor at the scene before her…

  The men populating the club seemed confident to the point of arrogance and had no qualms about feeling up every woman they danced with. Their hands wandered over hips and cupped butt cheeks confidently. Each man knew that once a woman agreed to dance with him, it would be far too difficult for her to get away. They touched and felt their curves as if the women were their property. At least that’s how Genevieve saw it.

  Genevieve wasn’t a prude (in her mind), but she considered herself to be too classy to be felt up by a guy who’d spent the entire night feeling up ten other girls just like her. She didn’t want to be a notch in some guy’s belt. Greta ordered them both cosmopolitans and they sat at the bar. Genevieve didn’t like cosmpolitans as much as she liked a simple rum and coke but she didn’t want to piss Greta off. After all, she was already being a party pooper and she could tell Greta was getting tired of babysitting her.

  Greta decided to stimulate Genevieve into action. She wanted that girl to get some dick! “Look at that guy damn he’s so fucking hot!” Greta yelled loud enough for the guy to hear her if he’d been listening. It was amazing how her raspy voice seemed to carry even over blaring speakers. Genevieve looked over at the man Greta was trying to point out to her. Meh. Sure on the outside he was pretty attractive. He was taller than average and oozed sensuality which Genevieve interpreted as being sleazy. She hated guys that walked around thinking they were God’s gift to earth. Whatever happened to a little humility?

  “Looks like kind of a sleaze ball,” Genevieve mumbled dismissively. But Greta wasn’t listening to her. She was just staring at the man making his way around the dancefloor like a pro. The suave gentleman's name was Sam Andover. He was tall, tanned lightly with green eyes that seemed to gleam even in the dimness of the bar. He was clearly muscular and athletic, an all around gorgeous guy. Sam Andover had been coming to this club for over 10 years. It was his usual after work way to let loose. He was extroverted and charismatic; he fit in well amongst the more commonly found Latino people despite the difference in culture. He could move on the dance floor better than anyone, and for that reason alone he was accepted with warmth. Genevieve didn’t know this as she watched him, but he was a man could trust; the frequent visitors of the salsa club could sense how trustworthy he was. Every single woman would let him dip her low so much so that her head would almost touch the ground. He was the kind of guy you could trust not to let go.

  But Genevieve had already determined he was a sleaze and as they continued to stare at him, both her and Greta noticed that he had flirted intensely with maybe five or six of the girls he danced with. Probably trying to sleep with all of them. Genevieve had thought to herself. Even if Genevieve was judging him, she couldn’t seem to take her eyes off him. He hooked her in. He had a magnetic personality and every single woman in the room was becoming more and more aware of him. He dominated the room like it was second nature.

  Women were trying their best to strut their stuff, but they didn’t decide whether or not Sam Andover approached them. It was all up to him. He was choosing from the pack of ravenous broads. That's why Genevieve was surprised when Sam approached her and asked her to dance. Although "ask" is a strong word for what happened. Sam reached for her hand and before she knew it she was in his arms. Genevieve didn’t even know his name…

  Sam had sought her out in a crowd full of women were more dressed up and more conventionally beautiful. He had looked past the blondes, the brunettes, the beautiful Latina beauty queens. He had looked past the girls who belonged on the covers of magazines and locked eyes with Genevieve. In that moment, he decided that he needed to dance with her. It wasn’t love at first sight or anything. But she have a look in her eyes that said she was different. She looked a little bit out of place. She was clearly unfamiliar and that added an aura of mystery to her. What’s more, Genevieve wasn’t like these other girls. It wasn’t like the way these other girls were was wrong… Her differences just made her stand out. What kind of woman goes to the club with no makeup on? What kind of woman goes to the club without skanky heels on? Why haven’t I seen this woman before? Those were the strange kind of traits that drew Sam to Genevieve when he first stood 2 feet in front of her face and asked her, “Quieres bailar?” His accent was atrocious and he broke out into the biggest smile as if he knew just how bad it was.

  Maybe he thought she was Spanish, maybe he didn’t know and didn’t care. But before Genevieve knew it, she was holding on for dear life in trying her best to keep time with the music.

  His hands were little bit sweaty, but within a few seconds Genevieve found that she didn’t care. She just wanted him to Put. Her. Down. There was no time to protest though. The music was speeding up faster and faster. Damn you Marc Anthony! Genevieve was hustling back and forth and spinning around and around. She almost felt sick to her stomach. The smell of the room and the smell of Sam specifically filtered through her nostrils. She couldn’t tell which was which. Was he sweet or bitter? Why the hell did he have to spin her around so goddamn fast?

  A brief moment to catch her breath emerged as the song slowed down. Sam looked at her with a devilish grin on his face as if he enjoyed making her work hard to keep up with him. He tried to maintain eye contact with Genevieve but she looked away in silent protest. His hands clasped hers tightly. She couldn’t help but notice how strong he was. Even if she wanted to just be let go, she couldn’t ignore how safe she felt in his arms… But who did he think he was?

  As he swung her around like a rag doll, Sam was actually trying to start a conversation with Genevieve. It was hard to imagine. She could barely catch her breath and here he was trying to talk with her as if this were a stroll through the park. It wasn’t that Sam meant to be rude. He was infused with energy from the beat of the music. This was his favorite after work hangout and he wanted to share the excitement with everyone. Manners escaped him sometimes… He had grown up rough around the edges. Deep down, he was a good guy, but he lacked some finesse. Genevieve couldn’t see any of that. She just saw him as an attractive man, and most certainly a womanizer. She vowed to remain closed off to him even as he swung her around for a second song…

  Sam tried to ask her, “so what do you do for a living?

  Genevieve narrowly avoided stomping on his feet she huffed, “I’m a writer…”

  Maybe she would have elaborated if she had enough oxygen in her lungs.

  Sam was still trying to make eye contact with her. He asked Genevieve more, “Yeah? That sounds like kind of a lonely career for a woman as beautiful as you are…”

  How corny! Did that guy really think that cheap line would work on her? Genevieve was miffed that he had even tried it. He probably approached her because he saw her as some ugly desperate low-self-esteem having woman he was trying to get in bed with because he perceived her as easy. Genevieve’s face turned sour.

  She had read it all wrong again.

  “It’s not lonely…” Genevieve lied.

  In time with the music, Sam pulled her in close and whispered into her ear, “A woman like you could never be lonely…”

  Another corny line. Really? Genevieve was starting to wonder what she did to deserve such a cheese ball. Sam dipped her low to the ground. Genevieve’s heart didn’t miss a beat. Even in her anger she implicitly trusted him not to drop her.

  After they had danced for a couple more songs
, Genevieve felt like she’d overstayed her time in his arms. Plus, she wasn’t very good at dancing salsa and she felt a little seasick from all the spinning. She gently pulled away from Sam, thinking and hoping that he wouldn’t try to approach her again. Genevieve was starting to feel the liquor anyways. She always knew she was getting drunk when the urge to drink Henny crept up. She fumbled until she got to the bar but Greta was not where she expected.

  The entire time that Genevieve had been dancing with Sam, Greta was stewing. She couldn’t believe Genevieve had the hottest guy in the bar come up to her. Greta was the one who had been eyeing him and she felt entitled to at least a moment of his time. Of course, when he sauntered over to Genevieve, Greta thought he had been coming over to her.

  Maybe it was a pity dance or something. Greta thought to herself. But it didn’t look like a pity dance. Greta was envious. Greta downed three more cosmopolitans while Sam and Genevieve danced. The way that guy was looking at Genevieve made it seem like he was actually into her. Greta was baffled! She didn’t think Genevieve was that ugly, but she was acting like a shrinking violet the entire night. She didn’t seem like the type of woman who would attract someone like that emerald eyed adonis who was touching her waist ever so gently…

  Greta was pissed off. Whenever she didn’t make “her kill” she worked it off by finding one or two more guys to take home that night. By the time Genevieve returned from her sweaty dance with Sam, Greta was gone…

  She was meeting up with her “man for the night”. He was the guy that every woman has… That guy you can call whenever you’re feeling lonely and he’ll come right over and warm up your bed no matter what. Greta had no real interest in Erwin. He was pasty, underweight and blond with no backbone whatsoever. He had been pining after Greta for ten years. Of course she slept with him, but she never agreed to go the distance with Erwin no matter how desperate he was to marry her.

  Erwin was one of those guys who thought he deserved everything because he was “nice”. But that’s all Erwin was. He was just a “nice” guy with no interests. All he wanted was some woman to become completely consumed with. Greta had no intention of ever becoming “consumed” by the little shrimp. But during times like this when she felt rejected by better prospects, Greta returned to her old watering hole.

  While Genevieve kept herself steady against the bar she saw Greta flirting with Erwin in a corner. She had no idea who Erwin was. She just assumed that Greta was off flirting with some man who was twice her age. She was just glad she hadn't lost sight of Greta in the crowded club. Genevieve felt like the liquor was taking hold of her. She ordered a glass of Hennessy. She was already out, getting a little tipsy would at least make the club more bearable. Between the time she had ordered and received her drink, Genevieve had already turned down three other guys.

  She felt clumsier on her feet than she had with Sam. She chugged back the Hennessy and suddenly felt like she was going to throw up. I should not have done that… Genevieve mused. But perhaps she would be alright despite having had too much to drink. All she needed to do was keep her eye on Greta. That was her ride home and as long as Greta was in her line of sight, everything would be okay no matter how much she had to drink.

  Genevieve whipped her head to the spot where Greta had just been standing. She felt her tummy turn even more. Greta was nowhere to be seen. Genevieve scanned the salsa club over and over again. There was no sign of Greta or Erwin.

  Where on earth were they…?

  Chapter 3

  Genevieve was starting to panic. There was no sign of her friend anywhere; she was starting to feel suddenly claustrophobic. She knew she should have never agreed to go out with Greta like this. This totally wasn’t her scene and now Greta had obviously gone home with some guy and abandoned Genevieve here. Why didn't I expect this. Genevieve thought to herself. She didn’t even know exactly where she was, or how much a cab home would cost. Genevieve’s heart was racing and the room was closing in around her. The bright lights suddenly felt like flashing sirens. The melodic music became the steady thump of an ominous drum.

  Greta and Erwin were no longer in the bar; that’s why Genevieve couldn’t spot them. Of course, Greta had totally forgotten she had arrived with someone else. With her new boy toy in tow, she was completely distracted. Greta wasn’t exactly the most caring person to go out with. While she provided the fun, you had better hope you another ride home. She was well known for ditching her friends in bars, clubs and various other locations around the city. Of course, Genevieve didn’t know this so she was panicked and searching around for a woman she would never find.

  Things were only about to get much worse. Genevieve whipped around to look for Greta in another part of the room when someone grabbed her wrist. Genevieve felt the sweaty hand touch her skin and then it gripped her like a vice. Genevieve could sense the ill intent of the hand's owner. She felt the hair on her skin stand up. All rational thought escaped her and all Genevieve could think of was getting this person to let go. She whipped around and looked the man who had grabbed her in the eye. Genevieve was frightened, but she tried to stand her ground. Instinctively, she tried to pull her hand away with only caused him to hold on tighter. He was a man on a mission and he had picked her as a victim specifically. He had the look of a hunter who had just caught his prey. Genevieve’s tummy turned.

  The man was tall, not particularly ugly nor handsome. His accent plus the flag pinned on his lapel told Genevieve that he was Colombian. He had dark, copper toned skin and beady black eyes. While Genevieve’s black eyes seemed to glow with her overall warmth, this man’s eyes were cold and nearly lifeless. He smiled widely as if to say “gotcha”. The man knew that there was very little chance for Genevieve to escape his grasp. Genevieve’s heart was beating through her chest. Why wouldn’t this guy let go of her? What could he possibly want from her? She couldn’t think. All she wanted was for him to let her go without causing a scene.

  Genevieve couldn’t say a word; she was frozen and waiting for this man to speak and reveal his intent. She knew screaming would do her no good; the music was far too loud for anyone to hear her over the beat or over the loud conversation and cackling of the others in the room. This was the perfect place to be trapped; her assailant knew it.

  “Hey, Senorita,” The man slurred.

  As he slurred his words, Genevieve smelled the whiskey on his breath. He had to have had no less than an entire bottle of Jack Daniels. It was putrid. Genevieve was instantly nauseous. She heaved and tried to hold it in. Throwing up wouldn’t help her now. The man still held onto her wrist, gripping it like a vice.

  “Please… Let go of me,” Genevieve said. She tried to make her voice sounded strong as possible to hide her fear. She wasn’t sure if she was doing a good job of it. The man was unfazed.

  He ignored her plea. He was starting to cut off the blood flowing to her fingers. The prickly tingling in Genevieve’s fingertips added to the unpleasantness.

  “Pretty lady… You’re so sexy…Whaddya say… Want to go out back and fuck?” He said.

  The man grinned afterwards as if he had made an appealing proposition that Genevieve would gladly accept. Genevieve tried to step back, but the bar was in her way. She was trapped, unable to move, escape or to get anyone’s attention. She didn’t even know if this guy had a weapon. The man was still gripping her arm tightly too. Her hand already lost all feeling.

  Genevieve tried again to use her most powerful voice when she replied, “I don’t think that sounds like a good idea.” She hoped that then when the man saw her disinterest he would leave her alone. All she wanted was to get the hell out of this bar. Genevieve also didn’t want to instigate further so she tried to keep her language neutral but strong.

  Of course, this asshole didn’t take the hint. So she tried to pull her hand away again but his grip on her wrist grew even stronger. Her mind was racing. Sometimes in situations like that, the right answer and the right course of action seems obvious to everyone else
. But actually thrust into a tricky situation, your ability to think gets turned off. In panic mode your rational self is left behind. All that is left is instinct, and if your instinct fails you, then you have nothing.

  But this man didn’t need to be instigated to act aggressively. He was a man on a mission and he didn’t care about Genevieve’s protest. He had hunted her down and he knew he had her within his reach. The man moved closer to her and groped her ass. He squeezed it tightly, massaging her thick flesh. He pulled her close to him as if he were about to kiss her. The smell of whiskey on his breath was all Genevieve could take in. He was too close for her to even get a whiff of clean air. Genevieve was beyond disgusted. This time she had no choice but to scream. She hoped someone would hear her even if it was likely that they wouldn’t.