Free Caviar Dreams: The Prequel Novella to Champagne Life by Nicole Bradshaw Page A

hells no.”
    I laughed. “You are so stupid.”
    “Last chance,” she said, waving the sunscreen tube back and forth. “Sure you don’t want some?”
    I shook my head. “I’m good, thanks.”
    “Okay then, let’s go!”
    I glanced down at Ticia’s floral, strapless peach and yellow sundress. “If you’re so worried about sunburn, why didn’t you wear sleeves?”
    “Sleeves in the Bahamas? “C’mon, now, that look is not cute.”
    “And neither is shalacking grease all over your arms and legs. Couldn’t you have done that on the airplane?”
    “I could’ve, but didn’t.” She carefully navigated her way down the last step off the plane in her Jimmy Choos. “Now stop your complainin’ and let’s go!” Ticia grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the airport entrance. “Finally, we’re in the Bahamas, baby! Feel that beautiful sun.” She lowered her sunglasses an inch and peered over the top, “And check out all those yummy Bohemian men!”
    My eyes followed her gaze. Two dark chocolate men in pristine uniforms, medals included, stood at the gate leading into the airport. One guy was well over six feet with broad, stiff shoulders. The other guy, a little shorter, looked just as physically fit. Even through his starched white shirt I could see his chiseled chest.
    “It’s Bahamian,” I said, still checking out the guys. The shorter guy whispered something to the taller one. They both looked over at us.
    “Huh?”
    “It’s Bahamian, not Bohemian. The men here are not some hippy, retro seventies throwbacks.”
    “You are a straight buzz kill,” she said with a toss of her weave, “You’re here for the same thing I am . . . to find a guy.”
    “I have a guy,” I reminded. “Did you forget about Kevin?”
    I actually missed Kevin a little bit. He and I had been dating for seven months. In fact, he dropped me off at the airport to catch the flight for our Girl’s Weekend in the Bahamas, however, if someone were to ask how our relationship was going, I couldn’t tell ya. Even though we had been exclusively dating for several months, our relationship seemed to be re gressing instead of pro gressing. He lived in Philly and I lived further out in the suburbs so we decided to see each other only on weekends. I would go down to his spot on Saturday mornings and hang out until Sunday evening. Fridays were another story. Fridays were not happening with Kevin. At first, I believed he only wanted to hang out with his buddies on those nights, but when I told Ticia, her immediate reaction was, “Girl, are you stupid? He’s seeing other chicks!” After the fifth month, we—mostly he—decided to only hang out on Sundays, like when we first started seeing each other. When I told Ticia that, she said “Girl, are you stupid?” That was her mantra. She needed to write a book with that title. I was certain she’d make a million bucks off the title alone.
    She so eloquently informed me that Kevin wasn’t interested in “only my black ass.” In Ticia’s words, he’s pretty much banging the entire northeast .
    Ahhhh yes, tact was so overrated.
    “Girl, are you stupid?” she asked with another toss of her hair. She was trying a new style and decided on curly instead of straight this time. “So what he drove you to the airport? He probably couldn’t wait to get you out of town so he could get his dirt in.”
    I hated talking about Kevin with Ticia. I hated talking about any guy with her. I changed the subject as fast as I could. “Did you see those guys staring at us?” I smirked when I realized the irony of my question.
    “Yup, and I plan to get me one of those Bohemian guys too.”
    “Bahamian.”
    “Whatever!”
    We headed into the airport terminal and toward the big red sign titled, Customs . “You’d better be careful. These dreadlock-wearing people will lock you up in a minute. They smoke ganja all day long while listening to Bob Marley and Beres Hammond and then want to lock you up