Some Like It Spicy, page 1
SOME LIKE IT SPICY
City Girls (Book 1)
Linda Verji
Copyright © 2024 by Linda Verji
www.lindaverji.com
All Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent from the author, excepting brief quotes in reviews.
This is an original 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), events, businesses or locales is entirely coincidental.
Cover Design by Fiverr Artists, Asven & Gowtham T
{Contemporary IR Romance}
Rated 18+ for Explicit Sex & Strong Language
Contents
Titles in This Series
About This Book
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
What’s Next?
Titles in This Series
Some Like It Spicy (#1)
Some Like It Sweet (#2)
Some Like It Kinky (#3)
Join Linda’s VIP List for exclusive information about Linda’s other books, freebies, upcoming sales, and new releases. Signing up is easy. Simply click here.
About This Book
When two strangers, Xolani Moore and Barry Hale, meet on an airplane, sparks fly. They’re each other’s fantasy come to life. However, they’ve both been burnt by love before, and they decide that they’re better as friends.
But their chemistry is undeniable.
What follows is an ambiguous game of friendship and flirting that tests the limits of their self-control. Soon, they’re in too deep. Their supposedly platonic relationship has snowballed into something steamier… something lustful. Friendship isn’t enough for them anymore.
They want… no, they need more.
This could end with a happily-ever-after. Or it could be a recipe for complete disaster.
‘There is a fine line between friendship and love, and sometimes that line gets erased.’
~ Unknown ~
1
BARRY HALE HAD NO IDEA what the petite middle-aged woman standing beside his seat was saying.
Usually, he could pick up one or two words if one spoke French slowly to him. But this lady was speaking so fast that he was utterly and completely lost. To make matters worse, passengers boarding the plane kept interrupting the lady to get her to move so they could get to their own seats.
“Je suis désolé.” Barry strung together the few French words he knew, threw in some English, and sprinkled it with a healthy dose of apology. “Je suis American. Parlez only English. Désolé.”
But his words did nothing to ease the woman’s frustration. She said a lot of words that once again flew over his head. Since she kept pointing to his seat and herself as she rapped, he assumed that she was saying that he was in her seat.
“No, no, no.” He shook his head. “C’est… This is my seat. Chaise? Moi.” He pulled his boarding pass from between the pages of his passport and flashed it before pointing to himself. “See. Moi.”
“Non. Tu ne comprends rien.” The lady kissed her teeth in annoyance before launching into another tirade.
Even though he didn’t understand seventy-five percent of what she said, he caught the ‘tu’, which, when used on a stranger, was quite disrespectful. Whatever this lady wanted from him, she was being very rude about her demands.
Still, he chose not to be offended. He repeated, “This is my seat. I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m mistaken.”
Again, the lady said something, but her frustrated tone made it clear that she didn’t understand him either.
Barry’s gaze swept away from her in search of a flight attendant, but they were all busy helping other passengers.
“Hé!” The lady poked his shoulder to drag his attention back to her. She furiously tossed several French sentences at him.
As she spoke, he had to wonder how she’d survive in the good ol’ U.S. of A when she couldn’t speak English. Then he remembered that he’d just spent a week in Paris while knowing less French words than he could count on his hands. Touché.
Amused by his own thoughts, he grinned.
The woman must’ve assumed his amusement was because he was laughing at her. Her expression became stormier and her speaking speed doubled.
He was just about to pull out his phone so he could access the translation app, when someone interrupted them.
“Excusez-moi!” A black woman stopped beside the raging harpy.
And instantly, Barry was entranced.
He’d seen beautiful women before. Heck, he’d even dated some of them. And yet, there was something so unique about this woman’s beauty that his heart skipped a beat.
Even though she was wearing a pale pink, baggy hoodie over a white t-shirt and black leggings, it was easy to tell that she had a figure that many runway models would sell their soul for. At almost six-feet tall, she towered over the woman who’d been harassing Barry. Add in the deep chocolate hue of her perfect, shiny skin, and the hair that had been teased into a huge afro… it was no wonder that she stood out.
She had the most striking eyes he’d ever seen; brown, large, lively, and sparkling with curiosity. Her cheekbones were high and sharp enough to cut glass. Her nose was soft and petite when compared to her luscious, plump, kissable lips.
When she spoke to the French ‘rapper’, her voice was low and sensual. “Est-ce que…”
Barry had always been skeptical of the assertion that French was a sexy language, but when this lady spoke, it evoked thoughts of sultry nights, creased sheets, and tangled limbs. He had no idea what she was saying, but his senses decided that they agreed with her. Whatever she was saying, she was right!
She must’ve asked the French woman to move because the lady sidled away from Barry. However, the ‘rapper’ grumbled underneath her breath while she moved, making it clear that she wasn’t happy about the situation.
Not that the black lady cared.
With a smile that showed off her pretty, pearly whites, the black woman switched her attention to Barry. She gestured to the window seat to his right. “I’m there.”
“Sorry.” He immediately stood.
When the black woman moved to stash her carry-on bag in the overhead compartment, he offered, “Let me help you with that.”
She smiled. “Thank you.”
Again, his heart skipped a beat. But he kept his composure as he took her bag and stored it for her.
As soon as the black lady took her seat and Barry took his, the French rapper stormed back to Barry’s side. But this time, she came with a different plan.
Her attention was on the black lady as she asked something in French.
“Oui.” The black lady nodded.
The French ‘rapper’ lit up like a Christmas tree. She proceeded to drop a whole essay of French gibberish (well, that’s what it sounded like to Barry) on the black lady. As she spoke, she kept pointing at Barry, then at a seat in the middle aisle.
After listening to her, the black lady turned her attention to Barry. “She says that she’d like to trade seats with you.”
Barry sighed in relief. “So that’s what she was saying!”
“Yeah.” The black lady’s eyes danced with humor as she continued, “Her seat is there.” She pointed to the middle seat in the middle aisle, one row behind them. “Apparently, your seat is closer to the front, and she wants to be among the first to get off when we land.”
“That’s ridiculous.” Barry scoffed. “This is an eight-hour flight. No matter where she sits, she’ll still get to Michigan at the same time as all of us. Also, that’s a middle seat. Why would I trade my aisle for a middle seat when I even paid extra for it?”
The black lady chuckled. “Hey, I’m just the messenger. Put away the pistol.”
Barry pleaded, “Could you please tell her that I paid extra for this seat?”
“Cool.” The black lady turned to the French ‘rapper’ and conveyed his message.
A rational person would’ve understood and bowed in defeat. The rapper did not.
After some rapid fire exchanges, the black lady came back to Barry with, “She says that she can’t sit in the middle seat because she has agoraphobia. Side-note; that’s a damn lie cause if she had it, she wouldn’t be on this plane. Also, she says that the people sitting beside her are fat, and she’ll be uncomfortable.”
Barry was outraged. “So, her solution is to make me uncomfortable?”
The black lady laughed again. “I guess.”
Barry tried to think of what to say to make the French woman aware of just how ridiculous she was being. But by this time, they’d attracted the attention of a male flight
“Hello.” The flight attendant asked with a hint of a French accent. “Is there a problem?”
Both Barry and the French ‘rapper’ proceeded to explain the situation from their points of view and in their respective languages. As any rational person would, the flight attendant took Barry’s side and tried to explain to the French lady why her request was unreasonable. But the French lady did not get it… at all.
The flight attendant spent the next few minutes trying to drum reason into the ‘rapper’. From his frustrated expression, it was clear that it wasn’t working.
Barry felt guilty for dragging the poor man into this drama. It was just a seat… certainly not worth ruining someone else’s day over. Barry offered, “If she wants my seat so bad, let her have it. It’s okay.”
Relief filled the flight attendant’s expression. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah.” Barry stood.
“Hold up.” The black lady grabbed his arm and urged him to sit back down. “You’re not doing that.” To the flight attendant, she said, “Let me fix this.”
What followed was the most impressive show of de-escalation that Barry had ever witnessed. It was like watching a pro hostage-negotiator in action.
The black woman and the French lady engaged in a two-minute, rapid-fire exchange that climaxed with a sharp gasp from the French lady. Barry had no idea what the black lady had said, but it must’ve been shocking because even the flight attendant winced and threw in a stunned, “Oh snap!”.
Meanwhile, the black lady was just smiling.
The French lady said something in an outraged tone. But the black lady was ready for her and threw another grenade that had her clutching her imaginary pearls, while the flight attendant held back a laugh.
In the end, the French lady flounced off in a fit of rage.
Barry gaped at his seatmate. “What in the word did you say to her?”
The black lady grinned. “Oh, I just shared a bit of my common sense with her.”
“Well, it worked.” He glanced back only to find the French lady scowling in their direction, all while seated in her middle seat. With a short chuckle, He turned back to his seatmate and held out his hand. “I’m Barry.”
“Xolani.” She took his hand and shook. “But everyone calls me Xo.”
“Oh, wow! Xolani.” Barry didn’t mean to flirt, but it still happened. “That’s a pretty and unique name, just like its owner.”
Thankfully, Xolani didn’t mind. She gave him a bright smile. “Thank you. I’m sure Barry is also a unique name somewhere.”
“Ouch!” Barry winced in mock pain and put a palm to his chest. “Did you just throw a barb?”
“Sorry. Habit.” She laughed. After a beat, she asked, “Were you really going to give that lady your seat? You’re that nice?”
“Not nice. I just hate drama,” he explained, “ and she looked like someone who’s not afraid to cause a scene.”
“Mm… ain’t that the truth.” Xolani scoffed. “She was about to eat you alive.”
“I doubt that. I’m not that easy to eat.” He winked. “I’m a pretty big guy.”
It’s only when her eyes lowered to his crotch that he realized how the sentence and wink could be misinterpreted.
Her eyebrows flew up. “Ooh! You’re a confident one.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.” Heat flushed up to his face as mortification overwhelmed him. “I meant that_”
“I know. I know.” She interrupted with a laugh. “I’m just teasing you.”
Her words drew a relieved chuckle from him. Changing the topic, he asked, “Are you American?”
“I am.”
He complimented, “Your French is great.”
“Thank you.” She teased, “Your English is great too.”
“It better be. It’s the only language I speak.” He added, “Unless I’m allowed to count the banging Irish accent I do when I’m drunk.”
“Irish accent? For real?” She chuckled. “Isn’t that racist or something?”
“It can’t be. I’m part Irish.”
“Oh, that explains the Barry.” She continued, “For the record, I have Irish in me too. Like 3% or something.”
“Why am I not surprised?” With a smile, he added, “Our ancestors were running around every corner of the world spreading around their seed willy-nilly like they were being paid.”
As they spoke, Barry kept an eye on the aisle, checking to see if other people were boarding. The middle seat between him and Xolani was still empty, and he hoped to God that it stayed that way. She was fun to talk to, and having someone in the middle of them would make talking hard.
When the plane closed its doors with the seat still empty, he had to restrain himself from grinning like a maniac.
There was a break in their conversation while the flight attendants did their demos. Soon, the plane took off. But once they were in the air, Barry lifted the armrest closest to him. Xolani lifted her armrest too. She probably did it to get more comfortable, but he just wanted to lessen the distance between them.
He asked, “Were you in Paris on holiday or for business?”
“Business.” Xolani offered, “I’ve actually been working there for six months now.”
“So you’re going back?” He waited with bated breath for her answer, knowing that if she said ‘yes’, he’d be disappointed.
“No, my business there is done,” she said, drawing an involuntary smile from him. Turning his question on him, she asked, “You? Business or holiday?”
“Holiday.” He explained, “I wanted to check out Paris and see what the fuss was all about.”
Curiosity lighting her expression, she asked, “Did you like it?”
They spent the next moments talking about their experiences in France and Paris. Barry wasn’t sure if the conversation lasted for five minutes or an hour. All he knew was that time flew by too fast. When she set up a movie for herself, he found himself searching for the same movie on his screen even though he’d watched the movie before.
Usually, Barry didn’t like it when people talked during movies. However, he made an exception this time. They discussed the movie as it played on their respective screens. To keep from distracting other passengers, they spoke in low tones. In an attempt to hear her better, he edged closer to her. At one point, the aisle seat was half-empty because Barry was practically camped out in the middle seat next to Xolani.
French ‘rapper’ chose that moment to go to the washrooms. When she came back and saw the half-empty aisle seat, she shot Barry a look that was so venomous it should’ve put him six-feet under.
Not that he cared.
He was too engrossed with Xolani and what she was saying.
“I didn’t like that one,” Xolani responded to his question about another movie that they’d both watched. “I liked the end-credit song though. Hurts put their foot in it.”
“Hurts?” His brow furrowed. “What is that? A singer? A band?”
“What?” Her eyes almost popped out of their sockets. “Don’t tell me you don’t know who Hurts is.”
‘I don’t know him, her, or them.”
She gasped. “Blasphemy!”
Barry chuckled. “Hey, it’s not my fault they’re not that popular.”
“Prepare yourself.” She grabbed her phone and earphones. “I’m about to turn you into a cult member.”
What followed were several minutes of her playing him the band’s best hits, after which Barry realized that he loved her taste in music. He got her to show him what else she had on her playlist.
While they were listening, her phone flashed to indicate that her battery was low. Unfortunately, she hadn’t carried her charger with her. Lucky for her, Barry had the same brand of phone. After hooking her phone to his charger, they happily continued to listen to and trade music.
Time flies when you’re having fun. The hours flew by so quickly that when the pilot announced that they were about to land in Michigan, Barry was shocked. Panic set in as he realized that they were about to land, which meant he and Xolani were about to go their separate ways.
Barry believed in chemistry, but this was the first time he’d experienced it in all its glory. An eight-hour flight and neither of them had slept or even halted the conversation? If that wasn’t chemistry, then he didn’t know what was.
