So here I am, trading one oasis for another, still trying to figure out what’s next, and exactly who I was before people even knew Justice Drake existed.
I feel like him—I amhim. But I’m also Sean Michael Dovak too, the kid that was named to be a movie star. The kid that once slightly resembled Winston Carr, II and his son, Evan.
In an attempt to separate myself from that stigma, I did everything I could do to notto look like them. I cut my hair shorter, bulked up while the Carr men had naturally slender frames, and spent every moment I could outdoors, enhancing my inherited, tanned skin. Luckily, my mother’s strong European features erased mostly all remaining traces of Carr genetics as I grew older. Yet, every so often, someone would squint their eyes and tilt their head to the side curiously after seeing Evan and I together as children. And Mrs. Carr, the devil’s surrogate herself, did not appreciate the speculation.
Being Sean Michael always held a negative connotation. So, I became Justice Drake. And there was no shame in that.
The apartment I’m renting is about 1/3 of the size of the mansion at Oasis, but it suits me. Grandiose has never been my thing, and I fell in love with the clean, modern design of the space the moment I saw it. And since I really had no immediate plans to return to Arizona, I thought, What the hell?What better place to start over than an entirely different country?
That was about a month ago, and my little slice of Abu Dhabi still doesn’t feel like home. And part of me thinks that maybe it never will.
I make my way down from the luxury high rise and out into the morning sunlight, taking in the scents of car exhaust, spiced foods and incense. I bypass the nearby souksand tourist areas, and head down to a local café by the beach. Luckily, it’s early, and I nab my favorite table outside right away. One of the waiters recognizes me and hurries over to bring me a cup of coffee.
“Fresh fruit today, sir?” he asks, remembering my usual order.
“Yes, please,” I nod.
He bows with a knowing look and heads back into the restaurant to retrieve my usual platter of melon, grapefruit, mango and pear.
“ Hmph.Figures you would order something healthy. Question: if you could only eat fruit or chicken and waffles for the rest of your life, which one would you choose?”
I freeze, nearly dropping the steaming cup of coffee just as it touches my lips. I set it down as carefully as I can muster and turn toward the voice. Toward the woman draped in all black, from the hijabcovering her head, to the long, silken abayatouching her sandaled feet.
And I'm home.
Home in those eyes that aren't quite blue, and not quite green. Eyes that are too wild and too bright to possibly be real. A single ringlet of fiery hair breaks free and falls into those animated eyes. She tries to blow it away, causing her niqabto billow, and she laughs. She laughs, and it sounds like the sweetest music ever composed after suffering for years in deafening silence.
I don’t know what to say.
I just laugh too.
I SUCK AT writing these. While I am immeasurably grateful for each and every person that has traveled this journey with me, I always feel like I can’t truly convey that in the Acknowledgments. And the people that have been there for me, through thick and thin, through the ups, downs, and sideways of this literary rollercoaster, I strive to show them just how much I appreciate their love, support and friendship. And no little blast in the back of a book can fully describe that. It’s impossible.
So instead, I just want to thank you all. Author friends, reader friends, blogger friends… Thank you for all you do and for all you have done for me. Thank you for your encouragement and kindness. Thank you for every pimp, share, tweet, comment and recommendation. Thank you for reading this and reviewing it.
Thank you. YOU made this possible.
MOST KNOWN FOR her starring role in a popular sitcom as a child, S.L. Jennings went on to earn her law degree from Harvard at the young age of 16. While studying for the bar exam and recording her debut hit album, she also won the Nobel Prize for her groundbreaking invention of calorie-free wine. When she isn’t conquering the seas in her yacht or flying her Gulfstream, she likes to spin elaborate webs of lies and has even documented a few of these said falsehoods.
SOME OF S.L.’S DEVIOUS LIES:
Fear of falling
The Dark Light Series
Dark Light
The Dark Prince
Nikolai(a Dark Light novella)
Light Shadows- coming in 2014
Taint
MEET THE LIAR:
www.facebook.com/authorsljennings
Twitter: @MrsSLJ
www.sljennings.com
Enjoy a preview of
The Devil’s Contract
by
Claire Contreras
A chair screeched against the kitchen floor, and Amara knew Philip was finally leaving. Her hands were shaking as she stood, holding tightly to the table beside her. Tears began to pool her eyes as she thought about what she’d overheard—about her mother…the gambling…life as she knew it.
Her entire body trembled as she walked back into the kitchen. “I’ll do it,” she said.
“Amara!” her father shouted.
Philip was gleeful, throwing his head back in laughter. When he straightened, he looked at her, and what she saw in his eyes was anything but humor. Amara’s stomach coiled in disgust—in fear.
“It’s done then,” he said. “I will come back for you.”
That was the first promise Philip Batiste made to her.
SHE LET OUT a long sigh as she cleaned the last table. It had been a long workday at Anna’s, her uncle’s small restaurant. The idea of the only daughter of two wealthy individuals working at a restaurant was unheard of in their community, as were a lot of other things, which was why all of her neighbors’ houses contained more secrets than a confessional. All of Amara’s friends were inheritance babies. She was no different in most aspects. In fact, the main thing that set her family apart from others in their Westchester, New York neighborhood was that her family’s secrets were a little darker than most. Or so she thought. Either way, working part-time with her Uncle Vlady was the last thing her parents needed to worry about.
Amara slid in the booth, taking a moment to close her eyes as she rested her head on her arm. The restaurant was closed and mostly quiet, save for the chatter and pans clinking in the back. Genevieve was probably out back taking her smoke break, or busy nagging Kyle, one of the cooks, in the kitchen. The circular motions she was making with her cleaning hand slowed to a halt as she fell into a light slumber. A loud bang on the now-locked door of the restaurant startled Amara awake. Sitting up quickly, and disoriented, her knee hit the underside of the table,. She let out a string of curse words as she rubbed it and stood and walked to the door, her heart was beating wildly as she did so. Using the rag in her hand, she wiped the condensation from the glass and looked into a familiar pair of brown eyes. Light brown with tiny specks of green that seemed to flicker in the light, they always made her feel like she was looking into a kaleidoscope. Amara turned the lock as Colin flashed his megawatt smile at her.