How To Love Me

By Tina Martin

I'm a woman who thought I had it all – the renaissance man, a career I'm passionate about and a loving home. But rumors have distanced me from the man who said he'd love me forever.

He says they're lies.

My intuition tells me they're not although my heart wants me to believe otherwise. I struggle in this regard because I've noticed the change in him. He's not the same man who said 'I do' and therefore I'm leaning toward 'I don't'. In life, you can't predict how anything will turn out. Love is that way, too – a mystery – and sometimes, the person you thought you'd spend forever with is not the person you married.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Tina Martin
• Release date: Nov 19, 2021
• ISBN: 9798201425081

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

Book preview

For that guy I saw in the grocery store buying them old wilted flowers. You tried it.

HOW TO LOVE ME

Chapter 1

Indigo

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How did my soon-to-be ex-husband end up being my friend? That baffles me even now – close to a year after we realized we weren’t working as a couple. Me and Micah have been married for three years – only really together for two of those – and you wanna know what really sucks? Micah is a great catch, and he’s quite the looker. He’s got the cliché tall, dark and handsome thing going for him just the way most women like ‘em. He’s fine enough to be a model if he wanted to be and therein lies the cause for most of our issues – well, issues when we were together, that is. Micah knew how handsome he was and he enjoyed the attention from women a lil’ too much to be a married man. When I would complain about his flirtatious behavior, he’d downplay it and tell me I was – how did he put it? – delusional and insecure. Told me I had nothing to worry about. Said he only had eyes for me. I halfway believed him at first but then he got roses one day and they weren’t from me. I don’t know who they were from. I mean, what kind of desperate jumpoff sends a married man a vase of roses? In a stunning turn of new-age role reversal, was it now acceptable for women to send men flowers? There wasn’t a card with them and Micah stuttered his way through the argument, still pegging me insecure in the process. Romantically, we were pretty much over after that. If he wanted romance, he could holla at whoever sent him that desperate bouquet of grocery store roses.

Two months after Micah moved out of the four-bedroom house we shared, we started talking again. He was the initiator and though I was reluctant at first, reconnecting didn’t seem all that bad since the sixty days that had separated us gave us both plenty enough time to sort through our feelings. Of course, our relationship wasn’t the same. Conversing with him wasn’t the same either, but at least we were talking, right? Most married people who’d separated hated each other. We were the anomaly.

We set some ground rules – if we were going to continue down this path as ‘friends’, we wouldn’t discuss any other relationships we may have developed along the way. We’d respect each other’s boundaries and keep things on a friendship level. My best friend KeShana thought I was crazy for being friends with him at all. She didn’t like Micah – called him a buster because, well, that’s what your best friend is supposed to call the man who broke her best friend’s heart. That, along with a few other choice words.

Did Micah Justus break my heart?

Hmm...

Let him tell it and the demise of our marriage was all my fault. Men are always looking to shift the blame to someone else, aren’t they? Can’t get ahead in life? Blame the man. Not making enough money? It’s the system. Marriage didn’t work out? It’s the wife. They can’t help it. It all started from the beginning of time and I’m talking Genesis: Adam and Eve. The Almighty asked Adam why he disobeyed and ate the fruit and what was ol’ Adam’s response? It was that woman you gave me...

Blame, blame, blame.

I could be a smidge at fault when it comes to Micah. I knew what I was getting into when I met him. He was out of my league not in the sense that he looked better or was in a better place than I was, but rather in the sense that we were so night-and-day different. He was one of those solid, regal men who was just as smart as he was gorgeous. His face was enough to turn any woman on and he knew how to take care of himself. He was made of muscles – always had more stamina than I could handle and I think that bothered him although he never complained about it. When we were together, he had hair. Then he shaved it all off after we separated like he was in mourning and started rocking a shiny, bald head I’ve come to like on him. I wasn’t feeling it at first, but it’s grown on me. A lot of men couldn’t pull off the shiny dome look, but he did it flawlessly.

That bald head...

I’ve been staring at it, and him, since we sat down to eat at this swanky spot in Huntersville. On the outside looking in, you’d think we were a couple in love on a date. I wore my favorite faded little black dress (faded because I’m not breaking out my finest garb for dinner with him) and he wore black slacks with a black turtleneck looking like a Secret Service reject. Trust me, this was no date. This was dinner. Dinner between ex-lovers. Ex-marriage mates. Separation buddies. Friends with no benefits.

Micah took a white napkin, wiped his mouth then sipped wine. Wine makes me sleepy, so I didn’t want to partake. He convinced me to – said it was a new Chateau I haven’t tried.

Chateau. Sha-toe.

I don’t even like the way he pronounces the word Chateau like he’s trying to impress me. Don’t know why people who think they’re bad and boujee turn to overpriced wine for validation, but here we are – here I am – sipping. Micah looks pleased that I’ve partaken. He always wants me to do and try certain things because he said they would enhance my life. So what if one bottle cost three-hundred dollars? Shoot, if he wanted to enhance my life, he could’ve just given me the three-hundred dollars, and he can go his way and I’ll throw up the deuces and go mine.

You look incredible tonight, he tells me, then takes a sip of Chateau as he eyes me up.

I look incredible. Yeah, right. Beneath these dim lights, he can’t see that this dry-clean-only dress done been washed to its faded glory in the washer at the crib. And my hair – it’s wrapped in a leopard print scarf and I forgot my earrings. I’d intended to wear my big, wooden African continent shaped earrings because I know how much he hates them. In my haste to get out of the house, I left them on the dresser.

Indy, did you hear me?

Oh, yeah. I heard you. Thanks, I say coolly. It irks me that lately, he’s been extra with the compliments. This looks nice. That looks nice. Your hair looks nice. Is that a new headwrap? I don’t recall getting so many compliments when we were actually together – well except for in the beginning. When people first meet, they try their hardest to impress each other, so I got all the words a woman longed to hear – ‘you look beautiful’ and ‘your eyes are amazing’ – not to mention he was opening doors, pulling out chairs and all that other extra crap he did to woo me.

He didn’t have to do much. Micah is the CEO of his own company – USA Credit Restoration Services – headquartered in Charlotte with offices in Atlanta, Richmond, Phoenix, Chicago and Seattle. Black women couldn’t resist a sexy black man who had the letters C.E.O. trailing behind his name. Micah is book smart, knows his way around numbers but every time I turn around, somebody’s in his ear telling him he should model. Women mostly. They stayed up in his face and he seemed to enjoy the attention. He did enjoy it. Enjoyed it a lil’ too much. Then there were the rumors...

I feel like I’m eating alone, Mrs. Justus.

I glance up at him briefly. Don’t call me that.

It’s your name.

No, it was my name. Okay, it still is, but that’ll change soon enough. I look back at my phone when I hear it buzzing. This guy, Romello Valasquez, from the museum keeps hitting me up. He wants to go out with me, but dealing with one man is plenty enough. Two men? I might as well jump in my own grave and rake in the dirt behind myself.

What’s gotten your tongue tonight? Micah asks, looking like Morris Chestnut. Same square lips and all – only difference is, I bet Morris knows how to keep a woman.

Nothing, I respond while reading Romello’s text.

Romello: hey, girl

Romello: still waiting for my date

Romello: how many more notes do I need to leave on your windshield?

Indigo: OMG...that was you?

Romello: yes. You got me feeling like a stalker out here in these streets.

Indigo: are you a stalker?

Romello: <>

I grin a little, then glance at Micah.

"Or shall I ask, who’s gotten your attention?" Micah watches me like a hawk as I put my phone away.

I force the smile away from my face to throw off his curiosity. Hush. I was just thinking about my day.

Today’s Wednesday. Hump day. I always thought irresponsible people did dinner dates on Wednesday nights. Like really – who’s goes out like this in the middle of a workweek besides us two fools? Technically, what I do, most people wouldn’t consider actual work. I’m an artist. Been painting for years. I think it’s what initially attracted a man as insanely intelligent as Micah Justus to me, but we weren’t meant to be. We’re one of those couples who are better off apart than together. I’ve realized that. He hasn’t.

I was talking about you at work today, he says.

Really? I ask, pretending to be interested. He talks about me all the time. I know this. I’m just carrying the conversation along at this point.

Micah wipes his mouth. Yeah, I was.

What kind of dirt did you throw on my name this time?

He smiles.

If you weren’t aware of how handsome Micah was before, he’d definitely win you over with that smile of his. He almost got me again, but not so fast, playboy. I know the man behind the white smile, so...fool me once, shame on you. (You know the rest.)

I only have good things to say about you, woman.

I give him the side-eye. "Yeah, like what? What kind of respeck did you put on my name?"

He stares at me with an intensity I should be accustomed to but I’m not. He says, The painting you gave me when I established my office as the headquarters for USA Credit Restoration—whenever anyone is in my office, they ask who the artist is. I tell them my wife’s the artist and watch their faces light up like new lightbulbs. People think your work is brilliant. I told you it was.

And that he did, but I could never determine if it was genuine or because my talent was something else he could brag to folks about. I’ve always been an artist at heart but couldn’t practice like I wanted until after we were married. Why? Because I was literally the definition of a starving artist. After getting married, I didn’t have to worry about finances. To this day, Micah still pays the mortgage and all the bills go to him even though he no longer lives with me. It’s the only reason I can afford to live in Huntersville in the first place. Don’t get it twisted – I didn’t marry him so I could get a free ride off of his dime. I married him because I loved him.

You’ve always said you liked my art, I say.

Still do.

I appreciate that, but you should probably stop telling people you’re married, Micah.

It’s the truth. I am married, he says using his thumb to touch his platinum wedding band that – as far as I know – he’s never taken off.

He’s right. We are still married but we’re also approaching the end of our separation year at which time I’m free to file for divorce. In the meantime, he still has a reputation to uphold. Can’t be going around telling people he’s married and then be spotted with that girl Beyoncé was singing about in Lemonade, now can he? Some people don’t do business with folks who can’t uphold a certain level of moral fortitude.

I tell him this. He muses over it before asking, What makes you think I’m out here having dinner with any other woman besides you?

I grin. He’s joking, right? Has to be.

"Well, you’re practically single. You take your so-called ‘business associates’ out all the time—most of them female. Women were at you when we were together, so I know they’re at you now."

"Nobody’s at me."

Oh, the lies. All the women want a piece of Micah Justus.

He frowns. In his deep, business baritone, he holds up his left hand and says, "I wear this ring because we’re still married and I’m gon’ keep wearing it. You should be wearing yours, but I won’t go there."

A muscle flexes in his chocolate jawline. Yep, he’s pissed. I change the subject and ask, So, do you have a busy rest-of-the-week?

Nah. I took tomorrow and Friday off.

The waitress comes by to top off our goblets of ice water.

When she leaves, I say, Sorry, I think I misheard you. Did you say you took two days off?

I did.

Well, I’ll be...

What’s the occasion?

There is no occasion. I just took the days off. Needed a break.

Ain’t that a...

He waits until after our marriage falls apart to determine he needs a break from work. Figures...

That’s good. You deserve it.

How so? he asks.

You work hard. Everybody needs a break from time-to-time.

Micah is a work-addicted freak. That was another one of our problems. He worked so hard, we hardly got to see each other and we lived in the same city then. Same house. Then again, he would be gone for weeks at a time – traveling between the new offices that were opening up all over the place. Once, he stayed in Phoenix for an entire month.

You always complained about my work—said I spent more time at the office than I did at home.

You did, and in many ways, you’re still a workaholic, Micah, but I don’t care now. You’re somebody else’s problem.

Don’t say things like that.

It’s true.

A storm brews as he grows more irritated at this point, but why? Am I not speaking the truth? He certainly ain’t my problem any longer. I don’t lay down at night wondering where he is or who he may be laid up with. I’ve freed myself of that torture.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the dark cloud that’s been hovering above his head passes and I guess it moves on to the couple at the table next to us since now they’re arguing over how many times she asks him to take out the trash during the course of a week. Boy, I tell ya – we women go through a lot.

Anyway, back to Mr. Justus – he smiles. The threat of a pop-up storm lifts and the sun shines. Birds chirp. I hear that song by Bill Withers playing in my head – Lovely Day. But is it?

Did you finish your lighthouse painting yet? Micah inquires.

I give him a narrow-eyed glare. Since when was he so interested in my work? He’s been supportive – never truly interested. And it wasn’t just tonight he’d asked about my painting. He asked two weeks ago when he scooped me up for a movie. Asked two months ago after he randomly stopped by the house. Said he was in the neighborhood. He asked to see it then. I wouldn’t let him. I never allowed anyone to see my unfinished works. Felt like I was jinxing myself. Plus, I don’t want to hear anyone’s opinions of something I’ve halfway birthed into the world. I have to hear enough of that after the finished project.

I say, When we were together, you didn’t take much interest in my paintings.

He sips wine before telling me, That’s not true, Indy. I have one of your paintings in my office.

"That’s because I gave it to you as an office-warming gift. You didn’t ask for it, and you never used to ask me what I was working on. In fact, your family joked and said I was marrying you so you could take care of me while I ‘played with watercolors’."

He leaned back in his chair and had a good chuckle.

Oh, that’s funny? I ask.

Nobody said that, Indy. It’s all in your head.

"No. Your mom asked me when I was going to get a real job."

You and my mom were always at each other’s throats about something. When are you going to let that go?

I already have. I’m just saying...

Whatever the case, I’ve always been interested in your work. It’s what attracted me to you in the first place.

Lies.

He crosses his buff arms. Gee...I can’t catch a break with you tonight. Look, I’m your biggest fan.

"Yeah, in size. Coming in at a whopping six-feet-three, and a hundred and eighty-five pounds—yes, you are my biggest fan."

Wow, he said.

Don’t act surprised. You look like a giant compared to me.

What does any of this have to do with what I asked you, Indy?

And what was that again?

Your painting—how’s it coming along?

It’s coming. Along...

Do you know when it will be completed?

"No. I never know when a project will be completed. It lets me know when enough is enough."

"Right. The painting speaks to you," he says amused.

I don’t see what’s so funny.

He stares at me again. I try not to feel flushed because, over the course of this past year, I’ve slowly pushed him from my heart in order to heal. To move on. Hard to do since we’re friends, I know. It would be a whole lot easier if I hated him to the point that we didn’t speak or couldn’t stand the sight of each other. I honestly don’t think I could feel that way about him or anyone else.

I finish off the glass of wine – the one he wheedled me into drinking and then to end the awkward staring, I say, "Welp, it’s time for me to call it a night. This wine has me sleepy and unlike some people, I have to work in the morning."

You work from home.

I shrug my shoulders. Your point? Work is work. Doesn’t matter where it’s from.

You’re absolutely right, Indy. Didn’t mean anything by it. I’ll get the check.

And while he’s trying to get the waitress’ attention, I check my phone, rereading the text messages from Romello, smiling again. He never did answer my stalker question.

Chapter 2

Micah

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We’re on the highway – I’m driving her back home. The evening was okay as far as I can tell but it could’ve been better. That’s how it usually goes with us since we’ve been separated. I never wanted a separation from Indy – never did anything to warrant us being apart like this, but she thinks I did so I guess that means I’m guilty. Black women don’t need a judge, jury or trial to convict a man. They only need a hint of suspicion and a homegirl whispering in their ears telling them black men ain’t no good.

After the separation was official, I did what I had to do to hold on to her and keep some peace between us. When I first moved out of our home in which she still lives, we barely said a word to each other. Despite the crickets, I made sure I sent her goodnight text messages and eventually – after a couple of months, she came around. We’ve been friends ever since – better friends than we were when we lived under the same roof – even better than before we were married.

I glance over at her. She’s lounged in the passenger seat on her cell, probably browsing through social media, more specifically, Instagram, where she sometimes posts pictures of her finished artwork. She’s back to tagging me in her posts, prompting my friends to ask if we’re back together. My answer is always, I’m working on it, but although that’s true from my perspective, I’m not sure what Indy wants. For the moment, she seems fine with us kickin’ it and as long as she’s down, I’m down. I’ll stay stuck in limbo. I’ll do whatever I have to do to win her back.

I look over at her again. She’s smiling, still looking at her phone. It’s the kind of smile that makes me think she’s communicating with a man. I remember a time when she used to smile at me like that.

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WE PULL UP at the house. It’s not the first time I’ve dropped her off here since we haven’t been together as in living together, but it is the first time I have a strong desire to stay. I shut off the car. She immediately gives me a negro, please look as if some old bad memories of us in the middle of an argument has made its way to her memory bank. Or, like we’re on a first date and she thinks I’m trying to get better acquainted after only knowing her for only

Reviews for How To Love Me

[Tara Johnson · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

What a great book filled with real everyday happenings and the struggles of making a good marriage an every day journey. Happiness can be experienced in so many ways amidst disappointments and the struggles of truth and trust. Love the inclusion of the best friend was a great reminder to be happy.