Something unedited, unpublished. I have a question, how do you feel about a smoking heroine?

Vivian King knew her smoking days were over –and it wasn’t because she’d taken the last puff of the only Virginia Slim in her pack—because she would never get over the fact that she was climbing over a fifth floor balcony in a black leather dress. And she was scuffing purple leather boots beyond repair.

            Inside the plush apartment where she’d been bored out of her mind before taking the cigarette break, the was a party in full swing.  Old school rap music blasted so loudly that no one heard her banging on the glass door. And since the alcohol was flowing so freely, no one was paying attention to the one smoker who’d gone outside to feed her nicotine addiction.

            Swearing, Viv made the decision to climb down.  But where would she end up? As she slowly lowered herself on to the edge of the balcony below, she prayed that she wouldn’t fall in her sky high heels.  Swinging forward, she hopped on to the balcony to catch her breath. One floor down, four more to go. Obviously, no one was at home. She was happy. And they had nice patio furniture, which gave her a place to rest and examine the damage to her shoes.  Just take them off. You’re going to be safer climbing down bare foot any way, she told herself as she unzipped the boots. Why had she left her cell phone in her purse? Had she had it, she would’ve been able to call Karina. Then again, Karina had been with Jason Parker, the reason why they’d actually come to the party. Her call would’ve gone unanswered, more than likely.

            With her boots underneath her arm, Viv teetered down another balcony. As she leaned forward and hopped on this balcony, she discovered not everyone had gone out that night.

            “What in the hell?” a male voice boomed. Then the glass door slid open and Viv came face to face with the last man she’d ever expected to see again, her ex-husband Jovan Carlton. “Vivian?”

            “This can’t be happening,” she muttered, dropping her boots and shaking her head with embarrassment.

            “What are you doing on my balcony?”

            “It’s a long story and I had no freaking idea you were back in town or lived here,” she said.

            “You sure you’re not stalking me?” he said then laughed.

            “Go to hell, Jovan,” she said, slowly giving him a cool once over. In her dreams, he was fat, had shrank down to the size of a hobbit and grown horns. However, in reality, he was finer than ever, skin still smooth like ebony wood, his arms cut and that stomach flat. Even standing there in a simple tank top and a pair of cotton pajama pants, that man oozed sexuality. The same sexuality and sensuality that had attracted her to him five years ago.