Secrets On Lake Drive

By Tina Martin

Monica's life is certainly no fairytale. She's failed at a relationship, at being a mother and at twenty-four, teaching is her only passion. She singles out Sean Beauvais, one of her student's fathers – at a parent-teacher conference, and schools him about taking care of his son. Their exchange gets heated, but later, Sean realizes that he can use Monica's passion to his advantage; offering her a high-paying summer job being his son's live-in babysitter.

Against her better judgment, Monica accepts his offer. Can she handle staying focused on her babysitting gig for three months, or will the job be too much for the young, conservative teacher to handle?

Secrets On Lake Drive is an emotional story about a woman looking to correct wrongs in her life that could easily be solved by the secrets Sean quietly carries with him. The question is, will he ever care enough to tell her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tina Martin
• Release date: Jan 13, 2019
• ISBN: 9781386748489

Tina Martin

TINA MARTIN is the author of over 80 romance, romantic suspense and women’s fiction titles and has been writing full-time since 2013. Readers praise Tina for her strong heroes, sweet heroines and beautifully crafted stories. When she’s not writing, Tina enjoys watching movies, traveling, cooking and spending time with her family. For more information, visit www.tinamartin.net

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Prologue

If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. That’s a saying everyone has heard at one time or another.  However, being a sole believer in a life of pure, unadulterated bliss and one who controlled my own happiness, I didn’t believe it back when it was spoken to me. To me, sunshine graced my rainy days, fierce thunderstorms soothed me to sleep, and snow was my reminder to appreciate the different seasons that only us humans could truly enjoy. When life handed me lemons, not only did I make lemonade, but I sprinkled that sourness on my seafood, too, and kept on trucking. That’s just the way I was. My glass was always half full, even when I only had enough for a single swallow, and I kept that same attitude when I met him, the man of my dreams.

His name was Cornelius Hill, the first and only man that I have ever loved. I was a senior in high school when we met. Cornelius was in college. Boy, did he make an impression on my young mind back then, setting the bar high for me when it came to relationships. Because of him, I saw black men in a whole new light. Allow me to explain.

While growing up, most of the black men I used to see in my neighborhood were the type to holla at every female that walked their way. From the dime pieces to the pennies, they would try to get at any female. Nothing disgusted me more than a black man turning to look at a woman’s booty when she walked by, and the tripped-out part about it was, they didn’t even care who was looking.

As a matter of fact, they didn’t care about a lot of things, including their appearance. They would go months without getting a haircut, walking around with pieces of lint scattered on top of their nappy heads like snowflakes. Then they wore white tees that were long enough to be mistaken for nightgowns. But I guess they had to wear their shirts that long since their pants were sagging so close to the ground. The only thing they had going for themselves was loud rap music bumping out the back of old, rimmed-up Cadillacs, working minimum wage jobs, and shuffling more baby mommas than they could keep up with, all while feeding their insatiable addiction to club hopping. Most were completely oblivious to the fact that their lives wouldn’t amount to anything, and the few who did realize they were heading nowhere fast laid the blame on someone else.

Just lying here thinking about them makes me shake my head in disgust. Now I’m not saying all the black men in Milwaukee AKA Mil-town were like this, but the dudes on my block were ridiculous, just plain pitiful.

On the other end of the spectrum were those black men who thought they were all that and a bag of chips. I called them white-collar brothers. This type of cat dressed to the tee with thousand-dollar suits and exotic shoes. Always trying to floss, they walked around with their nose so far up in the clouds they could probably report the next weather prediction better than the expert meteorologists on Fox 6 News. I couldn’t stand men like that, either. I mean, I would go for this type before I would holla at a dude from the hood, but the white-collar brothers had the disposition that they were too good for black women. Black women were beneath them.

Don’t get it twisted. I love me some real black men. Of particular interest are the ones who understand the concept of working for and getting what they want. As for their looks, they kept it tight with a nice haircut, wrinkle-free clothes, and clean shoes, and they didn’t have a problem using articulate speech when communicating. I could work with this kind of man.

That’s why I loved Cornelius so much. He was the exact opposite of everything I loathed about most black men in my city. I will admit, when he first tried to get at me, I wasn’t really feeling him. In my eyes, he was just like every other man that wanted to impress me, undress me, and stress me.

Cornelius was different, though. He wasn’t like those lames from my side of town and never approached me in a disrespectful manner. He was the definition of a gentleman – caring, loving, and attentive. He believed a beautiful lady should be given flowers all the time, not just on special occasions, so he made it a point to bring me fresh flowers every week without fail. He made me feel like a queen.

How could a girl be so fortunate? I had struck gold. I still remember the smell of Cornelius’ sun-kissed, brown skin, and his light brown eyes had such an amazing appeal that they drove me wild. Just thinking about him right now is giving me goose bumps.

I can recall the times when I would sit in class and daydream about him. Sometimes he would wait for me after school so we could go back to his place and chill.   Cornelius loved being with me and whenever we were together, he embraced me like he owned me. Actually, he did things to me that I can’t even find the proper words to describe. Even if I was able to come up with adjectives to express the way he made love to me, I would probably stutter trying to get them out. That’s what Cornelius did to me, and whenever we made love it was special, regardless if it lasted for two minutes or two hours. Each and every time the pleasure was so great it brought me to tears. I loved him that much and he loved me. There was no doubt in my mind that his love for me was genuine.

Maybe it was dangerous for me to fall so hard for my first love. I mean really, how many people are lucky enough to actually end up spending forever with their first love? I remember saying to Cornelius, I don’t know what I would do if I ever lost you. That’s when he would smile and reassure me that I had nothing to worry about by saying something like, Monica, you know I love you, baby, or There’s no other woman for me, boo. His words were enough for me to believe and trust in him. We were going to be together forever through thick and thin and anything in between. I had already made up my mind that he was the man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.

However, the circumstances surrounding my pregnancy were too much for him to take. He left me and I couldn’t blame him. I would have probably done the same thing if I were in his shoes. Though I understood his decision to leave me, I must have cried for months after he was gone. To make matters worse, I ended up losing my little boy to a family that could take better care of him, or so my mother said. 

So long to a life of bliss. My fairytale came to a screeching halt, though my love for Cornelius remained constant. I loved him back then, and I love him up to this day. Sometimes, I can still feel that warm and fuzzy sensation of him holding me in his arms while we watched TV and fed each other Cheetos. I remember how good he smelled and how much he adored my imperfections. I remember it being six degrees outside and Cornelius’ touch warming me up in just a few seconds.

If only I could turn back the hands of time and fix us. One opportunity was all I needed to make everything right in my life again. However, happy endings rarely, if ever, happen in real life. Those surreal occasions were only reserved for primetime television and box office blockbusters. Oh well...you can’t blame a girl for dreaming.

They say you never forget your first. Now five years later, I wake up alone in my one-bedroom apartment wondering if my first had forgotten me.

Chapter 1 – Swag

April 2004

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

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Girrrl, look who just walked up in here, Keisha ran over and whispered in my ear after her eyes caught sight of Sean Beauvais. Never mind the fact I was busy talking to one of my student’s parents. I mean, after all, it was parent-teacher conference night for Milwaukee Public Schools. Sheesh!  I guess that’s what I get for having a best friend as a coworker.

Obeying her order, I looked up at him, but I wasn’t as excited as she was. Don’t get me wrong, the brother was flyy...dressed a little too over-the-top for a parent-teacher conference, but still, he was flyy. Had Keisha not told me that he had just graced my classroom with his presence, I would’ve seen him eventually. He had swagger, and his presence didn’t go unnoticed wherever he was. When he entered a room, people gave him stares like he had his own star on the Walk of Fame, and by his proud attitude, he seemed to enjoy all of the attention.

He stepped in rocking a navy blue Sean Jean pinstriped suit with a crisp white shirt, complete with circular crystal cufflinks, a frost pink necktie, and some transparent, smoke-lens shades with white frames, probably made by Gucci or Versace. Usually I don’t call men pretty, but this man was the exception. Sean put the F, I, N and three E’s in fine.

Mo-ni-caaa. Keisha nudged me again, slowly enunciating my name as if I didn’t hear her the first time she called me.

I heard her, but I was busy trying to concentrate. I didn’t like distractions when dealing one-on-one with my kids’ parents. I wouldn’t care if P. Diddy stepped in the room. I took my job very seriously and Keisha knew that.

Monica, Keisha whispered again, this time quickly.

I looked up at her, rocking a frown in my forehead. We’ve been friends long enough for her to know what I’m saying by the look I give her. And by the look that I gave her, she knew she was bugging me, but she didn’t care. She was steering her head in the direction she wanted me to look, Sean’s direction. By her movements, it looked like the girl had snapped her neck or something...like she was working out some kinks or doing some sort of jacked-up techno dance.

I glanced up at him again as he got a little closer. Truth be told, the brother was all that and then some. The closer he got, the more his good looks became prevalent. Sean was a light-skinned black man with green eyes. I was told his mother was white and his father was Haitian. From what I could see, he stood a few inches over six feet tall with a muscular build that would make Boris Kodjoe jealous. He must have been one of those guys that couldn’t survive without going to the gym at least once a day. I would guess that he was also the type of dude to get manicures and pedicures every two weeks and use those expensive body scrubs to keep his skin radiant. Speaking of his skin, it was smooth – no blemishes or razor bumps. His hair was dark black and curly like he had some sort of a texturizer or an S curl, but it was probably his genetics that resulted in him having a good healthy head of hair. With all that good hair, I’m sure he made it a point to see the barber weekly, probably at times when he didn’t even need a haircut.

I think to call him a metrosexual would be a little drastic, but that’s the title society usually pins on men who obsess about their appearance more so than women. But in today’s world what woman wouldn’t want a man who loved to look good? Personally speaking, I sure wouldn’t want to deal with some scruffy looking man who hasn’t had his toenails clipped in ten years.

Anyway, I could clearly see he was all man. He had a strong presence in my classroom, speaking to people whom he didn’t know while walking with confidence through the crowd of curious parents with one hand in his pocket. Yep, he was definitely the pretty boy type.

I heard he was also a cocky son of a gun who didn’t bite his tongue for anyone. If he had something to tell you, he would tell you point-blank. If you didn’t like it, that was your problem. There was no beating around the bush to try and find out his disposition on matters.

I HAD ALREADY dismissed the Caucasian couple I was chatting with. Might as well had since Keisha wasn’t about to leave me alone. I should’ve slapped some sense into her, but I couldn’t do that, being a kindergarten teacher and all. What kind of example will I be to my students? I hadn’t been teaching long, only for about ten months or so, and being only twenty-four years of age, the older teachers would sometimes look at me and turn up their noses like I was too young to be a teacher. I mean, is there a rule that teachers have to be old as dirt? I didn’t think so.

Girrrl, he’s coming over here! Keisha patted my shoulder in a few rapid motions with the backside of her hand, while panting at the same time.

She just couldn’t let it go. It wasn’t that she was astounded by Mr. Beauvais’ good looks. Unlike me, she had a man. Keisha was the proud girlfriend of a tall, sexy, mocha brother. I was actually jealous the first time she introduced me to him. He looked like a much younger Brian McKnight, same build and everything. She just so happened to meet him down on the east side where all the college students hang out nonstop until the early morning hours. I always thought it was funny how the one night I didn’t go out with her, she winds up with Mr. Perfect, and I’m still single. I haven’t had a man since Cornelius, but whatever. Keisha and Daryl were good together. She loved him and he loved her. That’s how I know she wasn’t tapping me because she was digging on Sean.

Keisha was excited and shocked to see Sean in my class for one reason and one reason only – Sean Beauvais never showed up for any of his son’s school activities. He didn’t even bother to show up for our kindergarten rendition of ‘Goldilocks and The Three Bears’ back in January. No one was there to watch Roman while he played the teeny tiny bear, and when the play was over, Roman sat in my car for thirty minutes waiting for his father’s chauffer to pick him up.

Getting back to Keisha, I had to say something to the crazy woman. She was putting a hurting on my shoulder.

Keisha, if you pat my shoulder one...more...freakin’ time..., I said as discreetly as I could, ready to backslap her.

Girl, whatever, she replied, completely ignoring my prelude to a threat. Looks like Roman is pulling Sean over here. I’m out. After all that nagging to get my attention, Keisha ran like a coward and dipped in her classroom, which just so happened to be next to mine.

I watched Roman steer his father the rest of the way to my desk. Roman was my best student, and though it was rumored that Mr. Beauvais and his now ex-wife had adopted him, I swear the boy looks just like his father. When Sean finally gets over here, I’ll really get to see if there are similarities between the two. One thing was for sure. They both had those same green eyes.

Chapter 2 - Meet and Greet

Contrary to popular belief, all teachers have their favorite student, and Roman was mine. I’ll admit that I showed him special treatment mostly because I felt like he wasn’t getting any attention at home. His dad was a big-shot realtor and who knew where the boy’s momma was. I heard she ran off to Europe with some slick-haired white man. In addition to being without a mother, Roman had no siblings. 

After what seemed to be an eternity, Roman was finally was able to get his father near me. I stood up to greet them.

Hey, Ms. Smith, Roman said excitingly, all dimples and red cheeks, looking at me like he didn’t just see me a few hours ago when class was in session. This is my daddy.

Through his shades, I looked Sean square in the eyes, flashed a quick smile, and stretched out my hand to him. I was curious to see if the pretty boy had a nice, firm handshake. They say you can learn a lot about a person by their handshake.

Monica Smith. Nice to meet you finally.

Sean Beauvais. Nice to meet you, too, he said in a masculine voice with a twinge of an accent. I didn’t expect his voice to be that deep and the accent caught me off guard. I was quite impressed. Hmm...I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover, I thought to myself. I was also glad to hear the correct pronunciation of his last name: Bo-vay.

He held on to my hand a little longer than a normal handshake, and when he did, I had ample time to feel how soft his hands were. The last time I felt anything that soft, I was standing by the Kiss FM booth at State Fair Park with my hand buried in a bag of pink and blue cotton candy, trying my hardest not to get ran over by unsupervised minors and hormone-raged teenagers. I wiggled my hand free, almost embarrassed because his hands were in better shape than mine and I’m a woman. Though his hands were softer than Charmin, he nailed the handshake, which meant he was an extravert and not some shy pushover.

There was a familiarity about him. I couldn’t quite put my finger on where I met him before, but there was something about his eyes and the way he looked at me that made me wonder if we ever crossed paths before. We couldn’t have, though. There was no way I could ever forget a man who looked that good.  Daaang you fine was my first thought when I saw him and I smiled to myself just thinking about the notion of actually telling the man that.

Roman, why don’t you run off and play, okay?

Okay, Dad.

Being the well-behaved, six-year-old that he was, Roman always did as he was told. He wasn’t one of those spoiled rotten kids who talked back to their parents, like Jill, the little freckle-faced girl with Attention Deficit Disorder that I was having problems with in class. Her mom told me that she was in the process of trying to get some pills for the girl. I was trying to talk her out of it, but Keisha kept bumping me, trying to let me know the almighty Sean Beauvais was here. If you ask me, the only thing Jill needed was a good ol’ fashion spanking. Nowadays people want to take drugs for everything.

After Sean sent Roman off to play, he looked at me with both hands in his pockets as if to say, now what? I told him I would be with him momentarily, then leaned over my desk to grab my grade book. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him checking me out, looking me up and down, checking out the derrière. He was practically undressing me with his eyes. Then he found an interest in my shoes, staring hard like he wanted to ask me who the designer was.

Designer brands on my salary? Puh-leease. I wasn’t into material possessions. I consider myself to be a very modest, down-to-earth type of woman, something rare to find in Milwaukee. Usually in this city you find three types of women.

You had the high-maintenance types that spent more time in hair and nail salons than they did at work. Those were the ones that had to wear clothes with the designer name printed somewhere on it for public display, like Baby Phat, Juicy Couture, BCBG and Akademiks. They craved attention, and what better way to get it than by wearing a halter top, a pair of jeans that are two sizes too small, and a pair of fuchsia Manolo Blahniks.

Second was the strong, black responsible woman. This type of woman tried her best to get everything out of life, living up to her potential every day. She was also the good wife and mother, a bargain hunter who made sure she spent every dollar wisely for the sake of her family. Sometimes, fake it ‘til you make it was her motto, but you can’t blame a woman for that. After all, a Gucci bag doesn’t look so cute when there isn’t any food on the table.

Then there were the straight-hood, ghetto girls whose sole intent in life was to be as obnoxious as possible, wearing chipped red nail polish and an excessive amount of weave in the high oranges, reds, greens, and burgundies. As if the outrageous hair color and styles were not enough, they loved bringing more attention to themselves by talking as loudly as they can on their prepaid cell phones, while they complained about their miserable lives in public. They would broadcast all their business in the store while simultaneously spending their welfare checks and trying to keep up with three snotty-nose youngins that all have different daddies.

I fell somewhere in between the high-maintenance type and the responsible woman. I would occasionally pamper myself, but I wouldn’t die if I didn’t have my nails done every two weeks like clockwork. I kept myself in shape, too. I was borderline size twelve in jeans, but if need be, I knew how to squeeze my booty into a size ten. My skin tone was a pretty rich brown like that of actress Sanaa Lathan. My hair was brown and fell almost halfway to the middle of my back. The good hair was a result of the Indian on my mom’s side of the family. My hair was just like hers. Back in high school, people always used to tell me that I looked like Gabrielle Union. Even now, people still say that. I think that’s why I get a lot of stares when I go out in public.

I could get a little ghetto at times. In the city, if you don’t stand up for yourself, nobody else is going to do it. Still, you will never catch me with red nail polish and circus clown weave. That just isn’t my style.

I turned to Sean with the grade book, and through his glasses, I could see his eyes beaming down on my full lips. Why is this guy staring at my lips? At first, I thought he was eagerly anticipating what I was about to say. Then again, maybe my mouth got his attention because I had some leftover crumbs on them from those four peanut butter cookies I put a hurtin’ on right before the conference started. I thought I got rid of all those crumbs. The thought escaped me when I saw him looking at my body, again.

So...is there something wrong with his grades or anything? Sean asked, making excellent eye contact with me after finally removing those oversized shades. He sounded agitated, as if he didn’t want to be here.

No. Roman is my best student. I’m just concerned about him because he’s constantly being picked up late. Sometimes I’m here with him for well over an hour, waiting for someone to come and pick him up. Why is that?

That irritated me to no end. I mean, here is this man who’s supposed to be responsible for his child, yet for the past six months, Roman had been hanging out after school with me. I didn’t mind the company, but I wanted someone to care enough to make sure he was being picked up on time.

First of all, I pay people to pick my son up, he said boastfully. And secondly, my tax dollars pay your minimum wage salary. So, if you stay a few extra hours, you should be thanking me for putting a few extra dollars in your pocket. So, don’t question what time my son gets picked up. He’ll get picked up when he gets picked up.

Can you believe that? I was finally getting to know the pompous jerk I’d heard so much about around Milwaukee. Sean was known in the streets to be a self-righteous, hot-tempered, hard-to-get-along-with type of dude. He didn’t care what time Roman got picked up, and on top of the pickup issue, he had the nerve to insult my pay. Just because he made more money than me didn’t give him any right to treat me like I was inferior.

"Well, tell your people that school is out at three, not five."

I held up three fingers and flashed one of those fake smiles. I could tell he knew it was phony. So what? I didn’t care. Somebody had to say something, and that somebody just so happened to be me.

I’ll make sure and do that. He pulled out a twenty-dollar bill, placed it on my desk, and said, You seem a little tense. Why don’t you go and get a drink or two? He then turned around and started walking towards the door. Come on, Roman, he hollered across the classroom. Let’s go.

What a jerk, I mumbled to myself, as he made his way to the door.

He was a prime example of those white-collar brothers that I despised, and I was happy to finally see him leave.

Chapter 3 – Confrontation

I walked into the hallway to take a breather and to look around and see how many parents were still wondering around aimlessly looking for their children’s teachers. I was amazed at how young some of these parents appeared to be. But in the city, the teenage pregnancy rates were higher than property taxes, so I should’ve expected to see a lot of young mothers this evening. At the end of my thoughts, I noticed Mr. Beauvais walking back my way and he didn’t look happy. Maybe he heard me when I called him a jerk.

Lady, what is your problem with me? he asked, with a few wrinkles in his forehead, disturbing his perfect face.

I had two problems with that question. First, he didn’t address me by my name.  We did just introduce ourselves and shook hands moments ago. And second, who said he was the problem? That goes to show you that men don’t listen. I told him the problem was Roman being picked up late. I didn’t say he was the problem, although I probably should have. 

First of all, my name is Monica Smith, not lady. Second, the problem is, as I stated moments ago, your son is being picked up late, Mr. Beauvais, I replied, getting a little bold with the brother. I mean, how is he just going to roll up on me like that and think I’m supposed to back down?

Academically, you’ve said nothing about the way my son is progressing. The only thing you have to say to me is that he’s getting picked up late?

Crap. He had a point. Maybe I should’ve eased the being picked up late part in somewhere after I told Sean how well Roman was doing in class. My bad. I did tell him that Roman was my best student, though. But first things first – the boy needed a reliable ride home. And since Sean was too high of a status to let Roman ride the bus, then he had to sit and wait until someone showed up.

Roman is doing an excellent job in my class...

Well, why didn’t you say that? he asked, interrupting me with some smart remark.

I really didn’t have time to deal with his ego. Not only did my feet hurt, but I just got my period and was fresh out of Motrin. Can you say World War III?

"Mr. Beauvais, are you here for Roman, or is it your aim to go back and forth regarding this issue? The bottom line is Roman needs a ride home, and I see this all the time where the parents are too busy trying