Bookmarked

by Bella Jay

To the women who put themselves and their happiness first no matter what anyone else has to say about it. (& to the women who support those women) Cheers to your ‘me’ chapter of self-love, self-care, self-worth, and/or self- discovery.

This is not a romance book. This is a Black love story about two people who love each other unconditionally but know that life happens and that self love, happiness from within, and a true understanding of who you are is what matters most. There’s a high chance this book may not end the way you want, but I do think you’re gonna like the story. Please respect that their story, is theirs— not yours. You’ve been warned. Continue at your own risk. I truly hope you enjoy Juice and Books #Jooks.

I puffed out my cheeks then blew air out my mouth as my eyes scanned my shitty online dating profile. And by shitty, I meant bare as hell.

The papers were signed, and everything that needed to be done on our end, was completed. We were just waiting for the judge to do their thing.

Pls like what, that’s so sad

“All I’m saying, Brookie, is be ready for this to suck AND know I’m here for you. You don’t have to put on a front for me. It’s okay to not be okay.”

I couldn’t deny what she’d said; things were about to suck because I was divorcing my best friend, the love of my life, and the person I wanted to spend forever with. I had no idea how I was about to navigate life without him, but I knew one thing, I was taking the leap anyway because I had to — for me and maybe eventually for us.

Jackson hissed. “You got yourself a good one. Ion know how you let it slip. I knew I shoulda shot my shot in college.” My eyes cut his way as I reached for my drink. “You want me to set this place on fire with you in it tonight or nah?”

The moment my eyes were able to get a full view of her, my breathing seemed to pause. Brooklin Sky Newsome was everything I could ever have wanted, and needed, in a woman. She was my idea of perfection. Her ass barely came up to my chest, but there wasn’t a day that went by that I didn’t enjoy seeing over her cute ass head. I loved the way her light brown skin covered her slim physique. She wasn’t thick, but everything about her body was more than enough for me.

This wasn’t the typical ‘I hate your stinkin’ guts’ type of divorce. This was an ‘I love you but’ type of situation. And even though the process had been drawn out due to me not wanting to accept it, we both agreed that no matter what — we wanted to remain friends when all was said and done.

“You’re gonna run wife into the ground, aren’t you? You know we could already be div—” I let out a dramatic huff, causing her to laugh. “Why you tryna ruin my mood? Just for that, I should make you pull out your own chair.” “And then you’d yell at me for doing it myself, so let’s save ourselves from your dramatics.”

I had been raised by parents who would murder me with their eyes if I didn’t go the distance to be chivalrous — especially for the women in my life.

“Anyway, I’m just saying… you could be out here, a single man, thotting and bopping with one of these ladies with the bubble butts.” “But I love your barely there butt so…”

“You ain’t have to come for my little booty with the shade.” “Cupcake still cake, baby,” I winked.

“So as of this day, I’m asking you, as my wife, to spend one last Jooks Day with me.” Jooks Day was our day. Sunday would make fifteen years since we went on our first official date that led to a lot of other firsts and me making her mine. For the last two years, I’d dropped the ball on us celebrating it the way we normally did.

“Wait, how did we get to a few days from one day?” “Babe, you’ve never been good at math. You forgot to carry the fact that I’ma need more than one night.” I licked my lips and the way her cheeks flushed, I knew she’d gotten my drift. “You’re nasty.” “You like it.”

It’s more like them babymoon shits. Like one last turn up. Or in our case, one last trip loving on each other and getting to be in each other’s space before it’s official.”

“Why are you yelling?” her raspy, I-hate-to-talk-within-the-first-hour-of-waking-up, voice was prevalent. Iggy and I were different, but our hate for being bothered within that first hour was something we shared.

This house was never supposed to be the one we lived in, and Juice had only purchased the home for us for two reasons. One, because it was in his hometown, and we thought it made sense to have a place here for when we came to visit. Two, because it had been the house we both fell in love with when we were younger and still struggling to find our footing as young adults.

“What if I get divorced again?” “Nah, we only getting divorced once. And,” I paused ‘cause she had me fucked up, “you definitely ain’t getting married again to anyone else, the fuck.”

I faintly heard Juice say something through the moans bouncing around in my ear drums. “Huh?” I asked, pulling out a headphone and pausing the audiobook I was listening to.

“See how you do me? I know yo’ ass over there listening to something dirty. One of them nasty books you be reading with your podcast crew. Freaks.”

“Can you grab my bag out the back?” “What you need?” I asked, opening the messenger bag. “The gift box,” he said just as my eyes landed on a gold, rectangular box with white stripes. I pulled it out as he told me to open it. Grabbing the edges of the box, I shook it, causing the bottom to fall into my lap. A book with a stunning cover, featuring a Black couple caught my attention. I knew this book. “Wait…” I lifted it out from within the box. “Is this mine?” The question was rhetorical because I’d know my books, with my annotations sticking out of them, anywhere. “Why do you have this with you?” “Open it up to the bookmark.” The sides of my mouth turned down, but I did it anyway. The wired bookmark had been shaped into a word: lakehouse. The finish was a stunning shade of purple. “You remember that part you got highlighted with them skinny purple sticky note thingies?” I snickered at his name for my annotation tabs.

My eyes glanced over the section that I had not only tabbed but highlighted in the color. Though organization wasn’t my thing I loved to annotate my books. The color purple, whether highlighted or tabbed, meant this was either something random or something I wanted to add to my bucket list.

For that reason, I didn’t have to read anything to recall the scene. It was the part in the book where the main male character, Emmett, surprised the main female character, Brielle, with a trip to a lake house. The way Emmett had my girl in pure astonishment made him a certified book bae in my eyes. And made me add a lake house trip to my baecation bucket list.

Plsssss🥺

“Point is, I thought we said sex was off the table.” “Sex is off the table.” He paused to lick those perfect, smooth, brown lips of his. “Unless you change your mind and tell me otherwise. And then you know, I’ma have to do what I gotta do.”

“Come on, let’s get you and your weak bladder inside,”

My mouth dropped open. “You are such a hater.” I glared at him. “And yes,” I returned to his question, “from what I’ve seen, this place is everything, bab—” My hand flew up to my mouth, trying to stop the slip up. I had been trying my hardest, since meeting up with him for dinner, not to use any terms of endearment deeper than Juice. “It’s everything,” I spit out. He ceased what he was doing. “Don’t do that.” “Do what?” I feigned ignorant.

At six-foot-one, he had me by eleven inches, and that was something I loved and hated.

“Before you say it,” he cut me off, taking another pause from rinsing out the flutes. “As of today, we both know, we’re not divorced yet, and we ain’t finna check on that shit until after this trip is over.” I had definitely checked online this morning to torture myself, and so I’d have a real excuse to get out of this, but he was right — we were still married. “So, I don’t want to bring that shit up no mo’. What I want, and what this trip is about, is to celebrate the love we have shared and continue to have for one another. My main rule is for us not to censor ourselves or act like we can’t just be us.

“You wanna fight or you wanna call me baby?”

This one had a roomy shower that made me reminisce about a scene I had recently read in one of my smutty Black romance books. Just thinking about it had me seconds away from making my bottom lip bleed.

Giggling, I shook my head at this fool. I always thought Juice was a little off, but the character Zayvon Bells that he played took a little off to another level.

I cut my eyes at him. “You have one more time to come for me today, Mr. Newsome.” A hint of lust danced in his eyes, and I was almost sure I could guess the nasty words that he wanted to shoot back but instead he said, “Until you call me baby, get used to it.” I covered my face with my hands. “Oh my god, let it go, loser.” In a matter of seconds, his arms had slid under me and scooped me up. “JUICE!” I screeched as he held me out over the water. “Say baby!” he threatened. “Noooooo,” I said, through giggles and a smidge of fear. Juice was not above dropping my ass into the water. “SAY BABY!” He pretended to let me go and the way I panicked and gripped him, we both almost toppled into the lake. “Baby, baby, baby, baby!!” I yelled through joyful tears. “Fucking asshole,” I mumbled once he placed me down. He was smart not to do it near the edge, or I would’ve tried to push him in.

“I’M FEELING PARCHEDDDDD!” “I might need a little dranky drank.” “If his girl don’t want him, my DMs open.”

“… LA only but so big and ppl saying they not even together…” “… I was gonna mind my business but they barely been posting each other…” “… If he been cheating on sis just say that…” Those I didn’t like.

I liked the post and left a ‘thirst always quenched over here’ comment.

“I thought we saw every—” I swallowed the ‘thing’ that tittered on my tongue when the illuminated stairwell came into view. Rose petals and candles lined the steps leading straight into the downstairs bathroom. “Juice.” My tone was low because I was focused on breathing again. Now this was unexpected. “I ran you a bath. I thought you could relax a little while I fix dinner.”

Juice smiled at me. “Can I undress you, Books baby?”

“Yes.” Our eyes stayed on one another as he took his time removing each article of clothing I had on. Before he got to my panties, he turned me away from him. My body shivered at the tips of his fingers touching the sides of my waist. I crossed my arms over my breasts, in hopes that it’d hide the way my heart was pounding through my chest. The way Juice handled my body always made me feel safe, secure, and sexy. He was the first man to gas my head up to the point where I had no choice but to believe I was the baddest bitch to ever walk this earth — little booty and all.

But Juice stayed reminding me that my little A cups were still boobs that he would suck on, and my little booty was still cake he’d bite.

I smelled hints of lavender, coconut, and lemongrass and immediately knew he’d used one of my favorites from a Black-owned bath and body company I gave all my money to.

My eyes swept over her, inwardly shaking my head at her attire. She was dressed in a pair of red leggings with her sorority letters branded down the side and one of my university branded hoodies. “So, you went through my shit I see.” It was early May, and the nighttime temperatures were still giving off chilly spring time vibes. So, I’d packed an extra hoodie specifically for her. I knew even if she’d brought her own, she’d find her way into one of mine.

“Our room.”

“I know you have the whole ‘no talking about the divorce’ rule, buttt,” she dragged out, “when I was in my bath, I was thinking about how we both might still have questions we want answers to. Or just things we want to talk about before it-that-shall-not-be-named officially happens.”

Here she go. “You and your ideas.” She cheesed. “Me and my ideas!” she sang. “It’s simple. We each write down five questions. The questions can be about anything we want answers to. Nothing is off limits. You can make them as serious or funny as you want and there’s only,” she held up two fingers, “two rules.” “Look at you tryna be like me with the rules.” “Shut up,” she quipped before holding up her pointer finger. “There can be no more than one yes or no question. But none is better.” She held up another finger. “And reciprocation is not required. So, if I ask you ‘why are you so lame?’ you can’t require me to also answer such lies. But if I wanted to, I could.” Seemed simple enough. “Do we ask them all at once?” I scratched at the side of my beard. “And fuck you, by the way, ain’t nobody lame.”

After we finished, we put on some chill R&B music and got comfortable. She sat against the pillows, and I found myself in my favorite position — between her legs. My head rested on her chest as her legs wrapped around my torso, giving me access to her feet. This was our comfort position when we were in bed. Her typically reading a book and me watching TV.

But Books wasn’t having that shit. “Secondly, you weren’t about to run game on my sorority sister. She was already dealing with enough.” “Nah, you just wanted me for yourself. Admit it.” I wiggled my body, and she shoved one of my shoulders. “Boy, shut up.” I grabbed her right foot into my palm and started massaging it. “You remember how that conversation went?” I tilted my head back to see her face. With her bottom lip in her mouth, I could see her running it back. “Yo, what’s your name?” Her eyes dropped to my face as it registered what I was doing and she said, “Brooks. Why? It’s not gonna help your case.” I turned my head back forward as we continued reenacting our first encounter.

We continued reminiscing on the night that ultimately changed our lives and connected us. It wasn’t anything close to love at first sight as thereafter, we both went about our lives, but the universe had a way of throwing people right back into your path. A couple of months later, I saw her. I was studying in the school’s library, and there she was, looking like she needed someone to spot her while she put away books on the shelves. I offered, for shits and giggles and to see if she was still blocking people’s blessings, and everything just spiraled from there.

In Harry Potter, house points were awarded to students at Hogwarts for things such as doing good deeds and answering questions right in class. They could also be taken away for rule breaking. At the end of the school year, the house whose students earned the most points, would win the House Cup. Books and I liked to jokingly reward each other points for our respective houses — Slytherin for me, Hufflepuff for her

My inner beast wanted to blow her back out so well, I’d need to buy her new glasses tomorrow. Or a temporary wheelchair.