Romantic Comedy Novels: Her Summer Baby

romantic comedy novels her summer babyHer Summer Baby is Jamila's latest, steamy summer romance perfect for readers who enjoy reading free romance books online and those who enjoy interracial romance books... 

This story is a 40,000+ word full-length novel with a guaranteed happily ever after ending featuring an ambitious 28 year old African American woman named Maxine and the guy she falls in love with Tristan.

This story explores some of the conflicts that all of us know too well...

  • Is it possible to trust someone when they've betrayed our trust?
  • Is it possible for a relationship between someone wealthy and someone poor to work out in the long run?
  • How do lovers deal with surprise... again and again... 

Keep reading the description below: 

Maxine is an African American graduate student taking on a summer internship funded by her wealthy parents. She meets an attractive white man named Tristan from the Bronx. Despite the instant attraction between the two of them, things don't start with a bang... 

Tristan can't decide what he wants, Maxine is insecure about his feelings for her and there's a third party who is desperate to come between them for her own interests. 

As the summer draws to a close, conflicts rise and the two will have to face facts: there's nothing stopping their relationship from hitting a brick wall once the summer ends. 

Is what they have worth fighting to keep forever? 

Romantic Comedy Novels Excerpts: Her Summer Baby

 

Prologue

“Christina!” Maxine called.

 

Her daughter looked up from her “game” and grinned when she saw the look of anger on her mother’s face. Maxine stared at her formerly pure white walls, eyeing the mess of blue and red finger paints that Christina had smeared all over them.

 

She reached down and picked her daughter off the ground, swooping in to transport her to the brownstone’s bathroom. Maxine had long given up on keeping her clothing clean on the weekends so she barely flinched when Christina started to cling to her with paint covered hands. Luckily, Christina’s father wasn’t home…

 

Maxine stripped her daughter down to nothing and began to fill up the tub. Christina stood before her mother with chubby, soft, butterscotch colored skin, the perfect blend of her mother’s skin and her father’s. Coffee and cream. Christina’s hair was a natural, deep brown color and her thick curls framed her face. Maxine found her daughter’s hair beyond beautiful. Christina agreed, except on their wash and detangle day.

 

With the bathtub full of warm water, Maxine poured in Christina’s favorite bubble bath and sat her daughter in the water. Realizing her impromptu bathtime she giggled and clapped, splashing the warm water all over her mother’s clothes. Christina looked up at her mother and Maxine felt chills roll down her spine. She would never get over seeing Christina’s eyes -- perfect copies of her own. Christina’s bright grey eyes stood out against her tan colored skin.

 

Maxine helped her daughter scrub down from head to toe and then rinse off. Then, she allowed Christina even more time to play in the bath, appreciating the warm water and the soothing feeling that penetrated her skin. She removed Christina from the shower and then toweled her down, dressing her in an adorable dress. She warned Christina about staying out of trouble and then placed her in her playpen as she ran downstairs to clean up her mess. Now that she was three, Christina had developed an obsession with making a mess out of her paints. This was the third time that Maxine had spent an afternoon scrubbing a mess.

 

By the time Maxine finished, she had broken out into a sweat. She checked the time, hoping that her husband would be home soon. Husband… It felt strange to think of him that way. Maxine remembered when they’d met how right it had felt. She had confirmed what she’d always heard to be true in movies and books: when you met the right guy, you just knew.

 

As Maxine walked upstairs, her phone rang. But it wasn’t her husband this time, it was her mother.

 

“Mama, hi!” Maxine called.

 

Maxine wondered what on earth could be prompting her mother to call when they’d spoken not many hours before.

 

“Maxine child… What are you doing?”

 

“Well Christina just made another mess so I’m through cleaning it up.”

 

Agatha chuckled, “Oh that girl is just as much trouble as her mother.”

 

“Thanks mom.”

 

“Listen, I think I have a fantastic opportunity for Christine.”

 

Maxine was skeptical. What kind of opportunity could a three year old really have. She remained silent to listen to what her mother said.

 

“Well you know I want the best for my grandchild and I recently called up an old friend at Bank Street School who thinks she can get Christina a spot.”

 

Maxine had heard of Bank Street School. Some of her husband’s business associates were big fans of the swanky preschool with it’s $40,000/yr pricetag. Maxine hadn’t even started to consider such ideas with her daughter and she wasn’t sure how well intentioned her mother’s suggestion was.

 

“Really mama?”

 

Agatha scoffed, “Yes, really, Maxine. I think Ollie and I would be more than happy to foot 50% of the bill. I know I never get to see my grandchild but it would pain me to have her entertain anything less than the best…”

 

Maxine sighed. This was a big thing that her mother was offering. A part of her wondered if she would be forever stuck living off Agatha’s generosity. But another part of her was aware of how big of a difference this might make in her daughter’s life. Maxine watched her daughter playing happily in her playpen and sighed.

 

“Mama, I don’t know if I can accept that. Plus, I haven’t even discussed it with--”

 

“Alright, alright dear,” Her mother interrupted, “But I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer. Discuss it with the Mr. and get back to me. I think Christina could only benefit.”

 

“Okay mama,” Maxine answered, “I’ll talk to you later.”

 

Maxine hung up and then checked the time again. If she wanted to spend time with her husband upon his arrival home, she would have to get to work fast. She set herself up at the desk near her daughter and began typing urgently to meet her deadlines. Alternating between work and attending to Christina, Maxine conjured up all the productivity she had within her. It was well after five when she heard the door downstairs thrust open.

 

He’s home…

 

Maxine scooped Christina up into her arms and brought her downstairs to meet her father. He looked tired, haggard even. Maxine knew his week had been stressful, especially considering the recent offer to buy his company that he’d turned down. All the same, he picked Christina up in his arms, kissed her forehead and then held her tightly. He looked at her gorgeous, dark skinned wife and gestured for her to approach and receive an evening kiss too. When his lips touched her forehead, Maxine’s anxieties about discussing the posh preschool went out the window.

 

They spent the night together with Christina, talking and playing with her, watching her smile and laugh as she enjoyed the time with her parents. When she started to drift off, Maxine scooped her daughter up and tucked her into bed. With Christina asleep, she’d finally be able to approach her husband about what Agatha had called to ask.

 

She went downstairs and found him with a glass wine and a grin.

 

“Good evening my love…”

 

“Hi…” Maxine said. She sauntered over to his arms and wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing his soft lips.

 

Her husband whispered, “So… Before I let this red wine take over me… How was your day?”

 

“My mother called,” Maxine replied.

 

“Yes?” Her husband raised his eyebrows. His thick eyebrows over his chocolate brown eyes could never fail to hypnotize Maxine. Or maybe it was his delicious peach skin or his perfect, angular jawline.

 

Maxine snapped out of her fantasy.

 

“Uh… Yes. She told me that she got Christina an opportunity to go to Bank Street School and that she’ll pay half the tuition if we say yes.”

 

“Bank Street School? You mean that posh pre-school Jen was telling us about two weeks ago?” He said, with an instant look of disgust.

 

Great. Maxine knew she would have some convincing to do.

 

“Yes, that school. And yes, tuition is $40,000 but we will only have to pay half of it!”

 

“And Agatha takes care of it right?”

 

Maxine shook her head, “Yes she will. But that’s not a big deal! She wants to help out. She wants the best for Christina…”

 

“I know my world is different from yours Maxine, but where I come from, we didn’t pay $40,000 to play with blocks.”

 

“I know but… Don’t we want the best for her?” Maxine asked.

 

Her husband sighed, “I just don’t know if I believe in it.”

 

“Please… It’s super hard to get kids into that school and I know mama pulled some strings.”

 

He pulled Maxine close, “Can we just try it out for a year first?”

 

Maxine smiled and looked up at him. This had been easier than she thought…

 

“Really?”

 

“Yes, really. But you’ve got to promise me that we aren’t turning Christina into a brat.”

 

“I promise,” Maxine said. She kissed her husband on the lips, enjoying the flavor of red wine on his lips.

 

“I love you, Tristan,” She whispered.

 

“I love you too Maxine…”

3 Years, 11 Months Prior…

 

Chapter 1

After two weeks at home, Maxine Brewer was exhilarated to find herself in the city for the start of her new unpaid internship at a glitzy new online magazine that featured corny clickbait articles and vaguely left wing journalism. A part of Maxine wondered if she was a bit too old for an internship at 28. But in graduate school, the job market was just as harsh as it had been before grad school. Plus, her parents didn’t seem to mind forking over the cash as long as Maxine pursued her education. As a black woman, they thought Maxine’s education was more important than anything else, no matter the cost and no matter how old Maxine was.

 

Maxine’s “job” was at the sort of magazine that people in their twenties loved. Maxine felt like she’d spent so much time in school that she was out of the loop of what was cool and hip. At least she was able to fake it enough to get the position. Maxine questioned some of the moral practices of the company -- stripping the trendy aspects of websites like Reddit or Twitter of their best elements just to max out on clicks and reads. Regardless of morals, Maxine knew it was a great opportunity. She would be part of the new face of journalism and her parents would be proud. This would be a big step towards putting her Masters of Fine Arts to good use after graduation. Being at home for too long was tiring. At first, her parents seemed happy to see her but then they would start asking the usual questions:

 

“When are you going to bring home a nice young man?”

 

“Why don’t you try going out with Galen from down the street?”

 

Maxine was surprised her parents hadn’t caught on yet… She wasn’t interested in Galen or any other man. They interpreted Maxine’s avoidance of men as being a problem, a signal that something inside her was deeply broken. Really, Maxine was just protecting herself.

 

As the only black woman in a neighborhood of white people, Maxine knew the score. Men were satisfied with having her as a friend or a casual sex partner but nothing more. They certainly didn’t want to come home to meet her parents. She couldn’t believe how her parents didn’t notice that. They should have understood what life was like for her in that town. Throughout high school and her four years of undergrad, Maxine’s life had involved little to no dating at all.

 

All her mother wanted was for Maxine to become a trophy wife. Agatha was convinced that Maxine could screw or marry away her blackness and integrate into America’s wealthy. Maxine tried her best to avoid all their questions and inquiries into her personal life but after a while it got exhausting. A part of Maxine wanted to just scream and tell them the truth: No man wanted to date her. Another part of her couldn’t stand all the drama that would accompany honesty. Some things were more trouble than they were worth.

 

Maxine would have loved to find a handsome black man to hold her down but the black men that surrounded her weren’t any better. The ones from her town were busy chasing after the “Kimberlys” and “Jennifers”, trying to have babies as soon as possible. The black men from out of town found Maxine “stuck up”. They thought that her focus on school and her career and her standards made her “bougie”. Maxine resented the idea of dating more and more the closer she got to thirty.

 

On her first day of work, Maxine was dressed far more formally than anyone else. Her mother had bought her an emerald green J. Crew shift dress just for the occasion. Maxine hated how her mother picked out everything for her even if she was in her twenties. But she felt like she had no control over the matter. Agatha Brewer was desperate to fit in and she wouldn’t take any chances with Maxine’s appearance not matching up with the norm of their Connecticut neighborhood.

 

Agatha Brewer was old fashioned and everything about her attitude screamed old money. She didn’t believe in public displays of affection or unladylike behavior of any kind. Agatha Brewer believed in the Holy Trinity: wealth, good looks and Ralph Lauren polo. Maxine resented her mother sometimes, but since her parents had snagged her this internship and paid for Maxine’s Cornell Grad School tuition, there were some annoyances she was forced to tolerate.

 

Maxine looked around the room trying to see if there is anyone in this crowd she could befriend. She hated the types of people she went to school with. They were so boring and so painfully white. But the black girls at her college thought that Maxine acted “too white”. Maxine was somewhere in the middle and uncomfortable to boot. This summer, Maxine was hoping to meet someone interesting… Someone who hadn’t gone to a prep school and someone who didn’t summer in Martha’s Vineyard. Her world felt so small and so suffocating. As Maxine’s eyes wandered across the room, she noticed a the most handsome guy she’d ever seen standing in the crowd as the interns were being addressed by the head honcho.

 

The man’s skin was a deep tanned color like he would have preferred surfing to standing in an office. He was at least 5 inches taller than Maxine and dressed way less like an uptight prep than anyone she’d ever met. From the moment Maxine saw him, she felt immediately self conscious about her Louboutin heels and J. Crew dress. Maxine didn’t even know why she felt so self conscious. She locked eyes with the man standing across the room and then blushed before looking away. This guy was gorgeous. Maxine hadn’t been so instantaneously attracted to anyone in a long time. There was something about him that didn’t seem like other guys she knew although he was clearly trying to play the part.

 

Maxine snapped back into reality when her boss announced, “Okay ladies, gentlemen, we’re going to do a little ice breaker here! Everyone go around say your name, university and one interesting fact about yourself!”

 

Maxine hated these ice breaker games but she was happy for the opportunity to figure out what the man’s name was. She wasn’t even paying attention to any of the other introductions.

 

“I’m Tristan Nixon. I go to SUNY Stonybrook and my interesting fact is… I was almost named Ricky Nixon but luckily my dad left and didn’t get a final say,” the man said with a broad smile.

 

The lines on his face revealed that his face was more often than not plastered in a smile. Maxine melted at the sight of it.

 

Everyone in the room chuckled. Tristan smiled; Maxine was captivated once again. So he was beautiful and funny. Tristan was a towering 6’4” and he was dressed with a relaxed, California cool surfer look. He wore skinny dark wash denim, black Converse sneakers and a black t-shirt. His hair was short, thick and curly. His body was muscular and lean, much thicker than the athletes in her town that were skinny from years of tennis or squash. Tristan’s thick lashes framed his deep, chocolate brown eyes. Everyone else in the room introduced themselves; Maxine couldn’t keep track of all the names.

 

When it was her turn, she stumbled over her words.

 

“Um… I’m Maxine Brewer. I’m a graduate student at Cornell and um… I’ve been playing the piano since I was six,” Maxine said.

 

She looked across the room at Tristan unconsciously hoping he approved. At the very least, he would know that she was educated. Tristan didn’t seem to have even noticed her. After they were done with their “ice breaker”, their boss -- Darien Williams -- continued to fill them all in on their duties. Then, Darien warned them about the rules and regulations of the internship. No lateness, no missing deadlines, no open-toed shoes and no office drama. The subtext was clear: don’t hook up with each other if you can’t handle the consequences.

 

“Remember ladies! Staying away from men now is the best thing you can do for your future,” Darien warned. Most of the room chuckled. Darien was warning a room full of twenty year olds not to get involved with each other and it was painfully obvious that no one was interested in taking him up on his advice.

 

Maxine folded her arms. Unlike everyone else, she didn’t think that would be a problem. Maxine wondered if there were any other black people working in this office. She was always filled with anxiety upon entering new environments. Maxine wondered if her new crush was interested in black women. Not just as romantic partners but as friends. That was rare too.

 

Maxine always felt miserable and alone in these all white environments. If she wasn’t performing she was easily labelled as unfriendly or rude. Black girls weren’t allowed the privilege of being shy. That was Maxine’s least favorite part about crushes… trying to figure out if they were interested in her or if they would reject her violently.

 

Maxine didn’t want to be treated like an experiment anymore. She’d had enough of that in high school. If she was going to be with anyone now, she wanted the real thing. She didn’t want to be their “first time with a black girl”. Maxine knew she deserved better than that; she’d settled for less for too long. At 28, she was done with the games for real. Any guy that came to her had to come correct.

 

After their introduction to the workplace,  all the interns were left to their own devices. Maxine sat at her desk and checked her new work email to see what tasks she had been assigned. As she was about to open her email inbox, a girl popped over to her desk to introduce herself.

 

“Maxine right? I’m Nicola,” the girl said.

 

Nicola Stone was just the type of girl that Maxine had been hoping to avoid. She was a girl clearly floated in the wealthiest circles. Nicola was average height with an incredibly thin build and incredibly expensive outfit. Both of her arms were jingling with Kate Spade bangles and her ears and neck were decked with Tiffany’s jewelry. She was your quintessential girly girl who believed in wealth and more importantly, flaunting it. Maxine was about to be introduced to every single girl she’d gone to school with; in the past, her experiences with girls and women like Nicola had been less than positive.

 

“Yeah, I’m Maxine. Nice to meet you Nicola,” Maxine said flashing her smile.

 

“No offense but you seem like the only cool person in here. I mean your skin… It’s just so tan!  And you go to Cornell. Do you know Mark Winslow? I totally fucked him last summer. He’s on the hockey team...” Nicola blurted out.

 

“Yeah, I know him,” Maxine replied. She hated Mark. He was a typical athletic douche bag who had threatened to “rape the black outta her” when she’d rejected him. His excuse afterwards was that he’d been drunk and everyone seemed to eat it right up. Maxine had never been able to let go of the experience, no matter how much her friends had prodded her to let it go.

 

Nicola answered, “That’s so cool. So you’re a Brewer right? What does your dad do? My daddy just bought a summer house on the Vineyard and we should totally ditch the city for the weekend. I scored some coke from my friend Matty yesterday and it would be so cool if we like chilled and stuff.”

 

Maxine’s eyes popped wide open. Was this girl really just offering her cocaine in their office? White girls truly didn’t know how lucky they were to do things like talk about cocaine openly at work. Maxine looked around paranoid but no bosses were around. Nicola was totally nonplussed as if what she was saying was the most natural thing in the world. Maxine didn’t even get a chance to answer her question with a resounding “No!!” when Nicola continued.

 

“Anyways, I’m going to see what other cool peeps this office has to offer. I’ll email you my number. Kisses!” Nicola announced before bouncing away.

 

Maxine had to admit she was a little stunned. That was everyone’s usual reaction to being bombarded by hurricane Nicola. She watched as Nicola bounced around the office and eventually landed at Tristan’s desk. Maxine stole glances at their interaction,  trying not to make it blatantly obvious that she envied Nicola’s confidence. She wasn’t sure what they were saying to each other, but she could tell from Tristan’s body language that he wasn’t interested in Nicola at all. Maxine felt a pang of hope in her chest. Was it because he wasn’t into white girls or because Nicola was just annoying?

 

Maxine smiled and felt a little satisfied. But then she caught herself. I don’t even know if this guy likes black girls! She thought to herself. Talk about jumping the gun… That was the problem. She never knew until she knew. Sometimes you find out when it was too late. Sometimes Maxine made a bold move and was only disappointed. White men could be cruel in the way they rejected her. Maxine had lost many friends by just daring to think they could ever see her as romantic partners. Now it seemed much safer not to take any risks… Maxine didn’t even know a thing about Tristan but she was willing to risk it all for a chance to go out with him just once. Keep it together Maxine!

 

Maxine watched as Tristan excused himself from the conversation with Nicola who bounded off to another cubicle to bother someone else. Tristan got up and appeared to be going… directly towards Maxine’s desk. Maxine glanced behind her to make sure she wasn’t about to make a fool of herself. Nope, Tristan was coming right towards her.

 

“Hey, Maxine right?” Tristan asked.

 

“I’m…”

 

“Tristan, right?” Maxine finished for him.

 

“Yeah… So did that girl, Nicola or whatever her name is come talk to you. Do you know what her deal is?” Tristan asked.

 

Maxine shook her head.

 

“No idea… She knows a couple people from my school,” Maxine answered.

 

Tristan leaned over and whispered, “She just offered me coke…Totally bizarre. I’m not into drugs like that anyways. I can’t believe how reckless some people can be.”

 

I’m being so awkward! Maxine thought to herself. Here she was face to face with this amazing man and she was acting like a shrinking violet.

 

“I totally agree. Well I’m always here to chat if you want. Plus we might get assigned to work on some articles together!” Maxine chipped.

 

Tristan replied, “Yeah I hope so. You seem smart so it will be great to have you on my team. This is a big opportunity for me. Getting this internship nearly cost me a relationship…”

 

“Yeah that totally sucks. But I think this whole thing will be worth it in the end even if we aren’t getting paid,” Maxine added. She was curious about this “relationship” that Tristan had mentioned.

 

Tristan raised his eyebrow. “I hope so…” He said.

 

Tristan continued, “So do you spend a lot of time in the city?”

 

“Yeah, I’m from Connecticut. What about you?” Maxine answered.

 

Tristan scoffed, “You? From Connecticut. Wow, you must be a rich girl. I’m from the Bronx.”

 

Maxine blushed at the term “rich girl”. She hated when other people pointed out how much money she had. It had been one of the ways fellow black students alienated Maxine from their outings and lunch tables. But Maxine was intrigued. She’d never met anyone from the Bronx before. While her parents had working class upbringings, they never let Maxine anywhere near that former life.

 

“Is it nice?” Maxine asked.

 

Tristan laughed.

 

“Yeah… If you think fighting with cat sized rats on the subway is nice,” He chuckled.

 

His laugh was deep and low. Maxine couldn’t help but feel hypnotized.

 

Maxine felt embarrassed again at her naivety.

 

“Oh…” She answered.

 

“Don’t worry about it, I’m joking. Hey you’re kind of chill you know that. I think I should probably leave you be to work and all of that but if I want to escape hurricane Nicola I’ll come over to your desk again. I think she’s got a little crush,” Tristan said with a heartwarming smile.

 

He moved away, slow and suave with that intensely cool vibe he projected. As Tristan walked away, Maxine found herself ogling his butt. Damn. Tristan was built like a model, there was no doubt about it. He had strong, muscular thighs and a nice pair of taut buttocks. Maxine thought about the way Tristan had leaned over her desk and the way his musky cologne had seeped into her nostrils. She could practically still smell it on her clothing. Maxine couldn’t help but fantasize about him. She hadn’t felt so insanely attracted to a guy since she’d started grad school.

 

So far, Maxine’s first day of work was going perfectly. She couldn’t wait to get home to call her mother and tell her everything about it. That is, tell her about everything except her new crush. Maxine wanted Agatha far away from her potential love life at all costs. But she needed to include her mother in her daily life. Agatha was the primary black woman that Maxine looked up to. She was the light of Maxine’s life and her closest friend. All the same, Agatha’s thoughts on romance often depressed Maxine. She felt like she was “behind” her mother’s schedule for how things were supposed to happen and that stung.

Nope. Maxine vowed to keep every crush a secret until there was something real to report.

Continue reading on Amazon.

If you enjoyed this sample and you're interested in another story like this one,  Walking Down The Aisle by Raven Ferrari. Click here to read the free sample.

Romantic Comedy Novels: NFL Player Wants Black Wife 2

romantic comedy novels nfl player wants black wife 2This is another one of Jamila Jasper's short romantic comedy novels. Another shocking addition to her series of short pregnancy romance books, this is one of her interracial romance books that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Find out more about it below...

Kimani, a black owner of a PR firm, opens up a new world of pleasure when she has an erotic experience with a white NFL player she meets at a party. Their love escalates, spiraling almost out of control and she ends up pregnant... to her surprise and his. That was book one. In this book, watch Dallas and Imani find a way through the complexities of marriage, especially when one partner is a professional athlete forced to move around a lot. Will their spark remain, and can another pregnancy help quell the pain of distance? Find out more about the depth of their love and passion in this equally tantalizing sequel to NFL Player Wants Black Wife

Romantic Comedy Novels: NFL Player Wants Black Wife 2 Excerpt

 

Dallas and Kimani. The love story pulled straight from your wildest romantic imagination. Black woman with her head on straight, life on point and eyebrows on fleek lands the white NFL player of her dreams. It’s the new American dream, landing a rich athlete, getting married and moving on to become a candidate for the next reality series: “Wives from Famous City Fight Constantly on Television”. Listen, I’m not knocking the lifestyle. Heck, I’d love to be on reality TV. Think about how many millions of people I could make jealous of my perfect life: I have the perfect biracial baby and the perfect husband.

 

Dallas only cares about one thing more than football, and no, it isn’t me, it’s constructing the perfect all-American family. In that sense, we share the same goals. I just can’t wait until the next time Dallas gets it in his head that he wants to have another child. His virile energy when baby making is on his mind is comparable to none. I guess having our first child, conceived during a night of passion, turned him onto baby making. It’s all he ever seems to think about when he’s not working out or traveling with his team.

 

Hey, I don’t mind. I have the life I’ve always wanted. All the money I could ever want is completely at my disposal. I have a beautiful baby boy, Dante, who keeps me going. Well, I try to spend as much time with Dante as possible but we have so many people on staff and I have an image to uphold, so perhaps we don’t spend as much time together as we should. But I assure you, besides Dallas, Dante is the most important man in my life. That little nugget with his caramel skin and nearly blond hair is the reason I get up in the morning. I can’t wait until Dallas decides that it’s time to expand our family. I’ll be ready and waiting for him, the perfect wife, the perfect, fertile receptacle for his seed.

 

I sometimes wonder if Dallas is truly faithful to me on the road. I know traveling can get lonely and these guys sometimes need a big “release” to help them win a game. I mean, we did meet under hurried circumstances and although we are well matched, I can’t help but wonder if he craves other women. If he were honest with me, I would be willing to oblige his desires. I am a reasonable woman of course and not opposed to engaging in some light bisexuality to please my man. If he brought home one of these Instagram hoes, you bet your ass I would be tongue deep in her pussy if it made Dallas happy. That’s the kind of wife I am, one who aims to please. Those of you looking to bag professional athletes could stand to learn how to be more like this. None of these “bad bitch” or “independent hoe” lifestyles will land you the man of your dreams.

 

Dallas was on a team bonding trip in Magic City. Yes, I let my man go to strip clubs and as long as he doesn’t fuck, I have no problem with him getting quite close to these big booty hoes. Dallas knows he can get all the pussy he wants right at home. I didn’t expect him to be back for a while and staying in our mansion (one of many!) was getting to be boring. Yes, I spend hours in the gym sculpting my perfect body with a personal trainer and hours a day shopping with my personal shopper. But even that life gets dull. Sometimes you just need love, the tender caress of your husband as you lay together in glowy post-orgasmic haze. I wanted Dallas to return early, to tell me he would never leave me for a younger woman and to spend at least one passionate night with me.

 

I was lonely, and I missed my husband. I didn’t marry an NFL player just for the money you know… I wanted more. I wanted a man with drive and ambition, a man who cared about his health and fitness, a man who was outgoing and loved sex. Dallas was all of that and more. I had imagined a life with Dallas to be a life with Dallas, not a life spent mostly alone while he spent all his time traveling or in the gym.

 

Dejected, I went out onto our lawn with a bottle of my favorite Pinot Noir, just hoping to find some peace of mind before spending the evening with my dear son. Enveloped in misery and about half a bottle of wine, I noticed a car coming down the driveway. It was Dallas’ Maserati! I was thrilled. If I wasn’t so tipsy I would have run to greet him but I’m way too tiny for half a bottle of Pinot Noir to have no effect on me. Dallas got out of the car and started walking towards me. He looked so sexy on his way over, the sunset shining through his longish hair, adorning him with a godly glow. He was wearing a sexy flannel shirt with rolled up sleeves that allowed his huge biceps to stand out. His khaki pants added to his crisp, All-American look as he walked over to me, a single rose in hand. He was always so hopelessly romantic, but without much creativity to back it.

 

When Dallas got close to me I lept up and jumped into his arms for a hug. He squeezed me tightly, and I smelled the rich clove scented cologne he knew that I loved. Little things like that reminded me why I married him when I barely knew him. “I brought you a rose,” he said, blushing just a little bit. I thanked him and held the beautiful flower with it’s tiny buds and blood colored petals. I hugged him again and looked up at him, tears in my eyes. I know, I know, I can be a bit of a sap. I had just been so lonely and it felt so good to have Dallas home again. Strong, sexy, wealthy and ready to take care of me.

 

He sat next to me and helped me finish the rest of the Pinot Noir while regaling me with hilarious tales of his trip with his brothers (as he called the team). Things sounded like they got pretty intense, and a few of the guys on the team were struggling to avoid arrest the entire time. Dallas claimed that he’d been pretty good, but I must admit that I had my suspicions. I mean, I love my husband, but I have no pretenses about the life he leads.

 

Having plied myself with alcohol, I began to wonder if Dallas had that animalistic fervor that had first drawn me to him… Was he willing to continue making additions to our family? I felt like I had waited long enough for him. He was always on the road and Dante was almost two years old. If Dallas was truly faithful to me, his desire for me should be off the charts. I wanted him to crave me desperately, to prove his faithfulness. Of course, I felt like I couldn’t confront him about my fears of his infidelity. What if he confessed? Then I would be heartbroken, another foolish girl who thought she could keep a professional athlete just for her.

 

I didn’t have to wonder for long. As he lay next to me, Dallas turned over and looked deep into my eyes. Unlike what they say in romance novels, this wasn’t half as much of a turn on as much as a point of bewilderment. Why was he staring so intently? Dallas cleared his throat and asked me, “Have you been faithful to me Kimani?” I was surprised to hear him voice the same fear that I’d had. Were we really on the same wavelength to that degree? “Yes, of course I have!” I responded urgently. I honestly didn’t think I’d given him reason to doubt me.

“I worry, leaving you here lonely in this big old house, that you’ll find someone better to replace me,” he said. “No one could ever replace you Dallas. I mean, think about how we met, how Dante was brought into our lives. No one could give me the excitement, the passion and the protection that you offer to me,” I assured him. Dallas seemed satisfied. It would have been the perfect opportunity for me to share my concerns about his infidelity on the road, but I said nothing.

 

Continue reading NFL Player Wants Black Wife 2 here!

If you liked this excerpt, you'll probably enjoy reading the excerpt for the prequel to this story. It's steamy hot and just as intriguing. Check it out on our website. Click here to read more!

Romantic Comedy Novels: NFL Player Wants Black Wife

romantic comedy novelsAlthough not quite one of Jamila's romantic comedy novels, this is one of Ms. Jasper's short bwwm books and one of her earliest pregnancy romance books. NFL Player Wants Black Wife is sweet and funny without sacrificing deliciously steamy content. This story is about Kimani, a black owner of a PR firm, opens up a new world of pleasure when she has an erotic experience with a white NFL player she meets at a party.

Their love escalates, spiraling almost out of control and she ends up pregnant... to her surprise and his. Find out more in this tantalizing tale of forbidden love and sacred passion. Also, if you enjoy this book, you'll definitely want to check out the sequel.

This book is one of Jamila's steamiest stories, and luckily for you, the audio book is available as well and it's narrated by the author herself.  Check out the excerpt completely free to see if you enjoy it.

Romantic Comedy Novels: NFL Player Wants Black Wife Excerpt

 

White football players are desperate for black girls. They are desperate to fit in with their majority black teammates and the one place where it’s easiest for them to do that is in the bedroom. If a white football player can get with a black girl, it essentially validates him to the entire team. These multimillionaire athletes are hungry and desperate for the rare breed of upper class nouveau riche black girl looking to come up in life. She might be an instagram model or she might be a professional “business woman” who you can “book” for god knows what.

 

I’m not knocking the lifestyle at all. See, I’m one of these women. I feed off these white boy’s desperation for black pussy and I have satisfied many of their needs in exchange for having my own needs satisfy. Of course when I first got into the professional athlete sex game, I had no notion of settling down with any of these guys. I was working on starting my own PR firm, Kimani Jones PR. I was mostly in it for the fun and the extra wealthy connections it would provide.

 

I started this because it was fun and I guess I ended up having too much fun because I ended up having a child by a white football player baby daddy. Yup, I got pregnant. If you want to hear my story, keep on reading. It was totally unexpected and it totally changed my life. I guess I was initially attracted to football players because this was ultimately my destiny. I was searching for “the One”, for the guy who would be able to step up like a real man and treat me like a lady. Real men are hard to find these days, but somehow I managed to find one.

 

One of my platonic NFL friends was a large buff player for a southern team who was gay. Yup, a gay NFL player, they’re more common than you would think. One drunken night I came onto him aggressively. He took me back to his place and as I tried to aggressively mount his cock, he pushed me off and confessed to me he was gay, sobbing the entire time. He’d tried so hard to fuck all the women who were throwing themselves at him and he’d had the final straw with me. Oops. Although I was drunk, I did feel a great deal of compassion for him. I turned off “vixen Kimani” and held him close all night as he cried about the difficulties he was experiencing with his sexuality. Sometimes, he still took me out, if he wanted to avoid questions and have someone to guard him from the homophobia he was likely to face if he was seen single for too long. Devon was a sweetheart, and I was glad he had stopped me from sleeping with him. I’d made a lifelong friend.

 

Devon had taken me out one evening to a big party hosted by his sister, Aaliyah, a light skinned diva (think Mariah Carey meets JLo) who was married to an incredibly sexy Dominican baseball player. Normally athletes from all kinds of teams knew each other so there were more than just baseball players and their women at the party. There were baseball players, basketball players, NFL players, a few Olympic athletes and even a few hockey players. Although, most of these guys were Canadian and didn’t frequent the south very much.

Aaliyah welcomed me and her brother into her giant mansion which was already filled with hundreds of high profile guests. I swore I saw a few rappers and celebrities along with their groupies. I suppose I was nothing more than a groupie myself, but I was so close with Devon that I didn’t quite see myself that way. Plus, I’d cooled off on my quest for football player dick a lot since my last ex and I had dated. He’d done a number on my self esteem and put me off the idea in general.

 

As I was milling about the party, separating from Devon to get a chance to meet new people, a beautiful man caught my eye. He was tall and thick; he was definitely an athlete but I couldn’t tell what sport he played specifically. Probably not basketball, but perhaps he was a point guard, who didn’t need to be as tall. I wasn’t sure he noticed me, but soon he began to make his way over to where I was standing. “Can I get you a drink from the bar?” he asked me. “Yeah sure,” I said, smiling up at him, flashing my perfectly white teeth. “What would you like?” he questioned. I told him that I wanted a cranberry vodka and he disappeared towards the bar. Just as soon as he left, he appeared again holding the most delicious looking cranberry vodka that I’d ever tasted.

 

“What’s your name? I’m Dallas Scott.” he asked me. “My name’s Kimani Jones, Kimani Jones PR.” I said to him, looking up at him seductively. This guy was amazingly attractive. We began talking. Dallas was the most interesting football player I ever met. We hit it off even better than I’d hit it off with Devon. Plus, he could give me something that Devon couldn’t. He was so arousing and I could tell he was aroused by me too. He kept biting his lip as he looked down at me. He seemed like he wanted to ravish my tiny black body.

 

I kept flirting with him, trying to get closer to him. What was most amazing about our meeting is somehow I felt like we connected on a level deeper than physical attraction. Within a few minutes, our brief conversation sounded like it was between people who had known each other for years. I was hanging onto his every word as he moved closer to me. There was something here. I wanted desperately to sleep with him and test this connection out. How could one guy seduce me so quickly? We had so much in common from our interests to our childhoods… and it all came out so fast. I felt a strong urge to touch him… to kiss him.

 

“Do you want to go talk upstairs?” I whispered to him, tiptoeing to reach his ear. He nodded, and took my arm, leading me up the stairs to the part of the mansion that was technically off limits to the party. Dallas was close with Aaliyah’s husband however so we easily made it past the security team to the plethora of furnished bedrooms upstairs. It was the perfect place to sneak off and have sex and it was remote enough that it seemed romantic, and not like your typical trashy party hook up.

 

Once upstairs, we closed the door to the giant bedroom we were occupying. It was so luxuriously fancy, perfect for a long night of pleasuring each other. Dallas began to take off his clothes the second we were up there, and I did too. We quickly dropped the pretense that we had any intention of just talking. I am around five foot four with a fat ass and decent sized tits. I was wearing a dress that hugged all my curves so it took extra effort to peel it off my tight, small body.

Dallas was staring at me the entire time I undressed, mesmerized by my petite frame and my voluptuous curves. I couldn’t help staring at him too when he undressed. His frame was perfect -- NFL bodies aren’t always. He was thick with a big juicy ass and incredible muscles. His build was broad, as opposed to slim and muscular, just the kind of body I was attracted to. When we had both stripped down to our underwear, he made a move to get closer to me and started kissing me. It was so passionate and erotic. Thrills and shivers ran down my spine one after the other as he held onto the small of my back and kissed me. His arms were so big and strong. I immediately felt safe… I was so wet, as my kiss put me in tune with his body. Our energy, the vibrations of our connection felt incredibly strong. I couldn’t wait for him to penetrate me deeply.

 

Click here to keep reading NFL Player Wants Black Wife!

If you enjoyed this romantic comedy excerpt, perhaps you'll enjoy this story by Raven Ferrari. Walking Down the Aisle is one of her recent releases and it's not only laugh out loud funny, the romantic plot will keep you turning the page until the very end. Click here to check it out.

Romantic Comedy Novels: Walking Down The Aisle

romantic comedy novels walking down the aisleThis story cemented Raven's position as one of the best contemporary writers. Another one of her romantic comedy novels that became a best-selling African American romance novel. This is a perfect book if you love romantic stories and enjoy hilarious romance novels with plenty of twists and turns.

Rachel is a young, hot, African American novelist, and she's in a bind. She's got a big event coming up on Friday which could make or break her career, but she doesn't have a date. Her mom twists her arm into taking Michael, a world-renowned artist with more than a few quirks. Rachel, however, just can't seem to figure him out, and it's driving her crazy. As far as she's is concerned, he's either the most attractive man she's ever met, or the most terrifying. But which one is it? The deeper Rachel goes down the rabbit hole, the more she finds out about Michael, and the more she desperately she hopes that her heart is correct.

Can Rachel discover all of Michael's secrets and still love him?

Romantic Comedy Novels: Walking Down the Aisle Excerpt

 

BEFORE THE BIG NIGHT

 

It was an interesting time in my life. I had spent my years after college waiting tables to pay my bills while following my dream of becoming a successful writer. In three years, I’d written three romance novels, and published each independently. Each title received a respectable amount of success, but the true reward came when some talent scout at Simon & Schuster read some of my work and decided that I would be the next author they would bring into the limelight. Mind you, my first three titles had already netted me a fair degree of success -- especially with black women, my target audience. So while I might have had to sign a few autographs when I was at the hair salon, I was still pretty much unknown to the rest of the world. With a big publisher behind me, my goal for my next novel was nothing short of becoming a New York Times Bestseller.

 

Just because I knew how to craft a tantalizing romance between a black woman and a white man didn’t actually mean that I had personal experience. I must confess that I hadn’t been on a date in months, and I’d never even slept with a white man before –– I’d never so much as seen a white guy’s cock before in real life. As a BWWM writer, I was always paranoid that I’d say something in my books to expose me as a fraud who didn’t know what she was talking about. For example, one time I compared my lead character’s junk to a pink strawberry. I thought for sure that all of the penis experts would throw their arms up in protest, but nobody noticed. Do white men’s penises really look like pink strawberries?

 

Anyway, my pathetic love life especially bothered my mother. You see, my mom was a former Ford Model -- one of the few black ones in her time, I might add -- and she never forgave me for not being as hot, or as successful as she was. She had long since given up hope that I might grow out of my awkward phase, but now that my career as a writer was starting to take off, she was absolutely thrilled with the idea that maybe she did rub off on me a little bit. To give me a warm welcome, one of the bigwigs at Simon & Schuster had invited me to a snobby social, and my mom had decided to use the upcoming event as an opportunity to initiate the one thing that no black woman wants to hear from her mother: it was the dreaded relationship intervention.

 

A relationship intervention happens when your parents, relatives, or closest friends decide to push you out of the driver’s seat of your own love life and start steering you in a different direction. This usually involves meeting up for what looks like an innocent get together followed by an ambush of unsolicited relationship advice and demands. Case in point: One quiet afternoon, my mother and I were having a delightful lunch at a bistro downtown, when our laughter and fun conversation took a sharp turn…

 

“Oh, c’mon Mom. Do we really need to talk about this? My love life’s fine!”


“No it’s not, Rachel. You’re almost 30 and you haven’t even met a decent man. Do you think you’re going to keep those fresh looks forever? When was the last time you went on a date?”

 

“But––”

 

“Your older brother has four kids and Trisha’s pregnant with a fifth. Your little cousin Dwayne’s fifteen, and he can’t stop talking about getting married –– or about getting to third base. Even your grandpa found himself someone online. The man’s been a widow for 20 years; he’s so computer illiterate that he needs tech support to figure out how to turn his computer on, but he figured it out because don’t nobody want to be old and alone. You don’t want that, do you?”

 

“No…” I groaned, rolling my eyes…

 

“C’mon, now. You’re not getting any younger. You don’t want to wind up like your aunt Mary Jo, do you? All she’s got is a dog named Michael Ealy who gets to stay in the room when she masturbates.”

 

“Eww! Mom, I don’t wanna know about that…”

 

“Your little sister is seven years younger than you, and she’s already married. She was smart –– she married young and fetched a hot black Wall Street banker with a six pack. Who knows if you’ll ever be able to bring home something like that…”

 

“So what do you want out of me, Mom?” I barked. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t just snap my fingers and have the man of my dreams appear before me…”

 

“Nobody’s talking about pie in the sky miracles, Rachel. I just want to give you a little push in the right direction.”

 

“Huh?” I asked, eyebrow raised. “What are you getting at?”

 

“I have it on good authority that you don’t have a date for your Simon & Schuster social on Friday night. I have the perfect guy for you––”

 

“Oh no,” I protested. “No way. Besides, I already have a date.”

 

“Really, who?”

 

“I’ll go with one of my girls.”

 

“Seriously? Have I taught you nothing? If you take one of your girlfriends, then you might as well not go at all…”

 

“What do you mean?”

 

My mom cleared her throat as she prepared for her triumphant speech…

 

“God bless them, but every one of your friends suck. If you show up with Amber, she’ll peck at every guy within a ten foot radius of you. You know she’s an overly competitive whore who can’t stand the idea that a man might find you more attractive.”

 

I folded my arms disapprovingly and wrinkled my face. My mom continued…

 

“Monica will chase men away because she I’m pretty sure she hates them.”

 

“She’s not a lesbian, Mom.”

 

“Sure, whatever…”

 

“And what about Troya?” I offered. “She won’t be so bad. She might even help me find a guy...”

 

“Are you kidding me? She’ll cockblock you the whole night.”

 

“No, she won’t.”

 

“Honey, Troya’s the worst of them all. If a guy approaches you, she’ll death stare you from across the room to try to slut shame you into submission. You know how she gets with her weird religious mumbo jumbo.

 

“I know that what I’m saying seems harsh, but darling, now that you’re in the limelight, you need to get it through your head that appearances mean something. If you –– romance author extraordinaire –– show up without a nice, hot man by your side, everyone’s going to want to know why. It’s bad press. You’re going to want to show up with a man, whether or not you’re sleeping with him, because with a hot man by your side, you’ll be seen as untouchable, and that’s right where you want to be. Dogs always try to sniff around the alpha male’s patch of pee. Do you see what I’m saying?”

 

“Wait. Mom, did you just compare me to a patch of pee?!”

 

“It doesn’t matter. Look, baby, why don’t you let your mommy set you up this one time? I promise, if it doesn’t work out, I’m never going to stick my nose in your business again…”

 

“But Mommm,” I complained, “These setups never work. The guy always turns out to be some wimp who’s thirty and still living in his mom’s basement, which is precisely why he tries to get old ladies like you to set him up with their daughters. Besides, there’s no way I’m going to show up to such an important event with a complete stranger. There’s going to be reporters and press. No way…”

 

“Have a little faith, dear. You don’t think your mother knows the type of man that you want most? His name his Michael. You’ll love him. He’s an artist -- mostly photography -- and he’s totally handsome. And here’s the best part: you write romance novels, and he’s one the sweetest, most romantic men I’ve ever met in my life.”

 

I tried to decode my mother’s language. She said artist. I heard: broke. She said totally handsome. I heard: Maybe he’s not balding. As for the whole romance connection, now I was already convinced that I’d hate him, because behind my big romance writer nametag, I fancied myself to be about as romantic as a potato…

 

“I met him through some of my old Ford connections,” Mom said. “You’ll love him, I promise.”

 

My mom looked over my shoulder toward the bistro’s front door. It was then that I realised that my mother wasn’t asking my permission for a setup. She was merely informing me that it was already happening…

 

“You brought a guy here? Mom, how could you?”

 

“Don’t worry, darling. I promise, you’re going to love him.”

 

My mom looked at the front door again expectantly. Just then, a tall, clean shaven, dark skinned man entered the room. If he wasn’t successful, he certainly played the part perfectly. He wore a sharp, pinstriped suit, he walked with a confident swagger, and he was the spitting image of Idris Elba. I couldn’t believe my eyes. How had my mom done good and set me up with a handsome hunk like that?

 

Before I had the chance to thank her, the handsome black man walked straight past the two of us and joined the table of businessmen at the opposite corner of the room. Moments after that, my mom pointed at the front door…

 

“There he is…” She said.

 

I tried to adjust my eyes to the blinding light from outside, and soon the real Michael came into focus. I couldn’t believe what I saw. The man who had just waved to my mother, and was approaching our table, was covered in dirt from head to toe. He looked like he’d just stepped out of a coal mine. I took one look at his pale skin and blue eyes couldn’t help but feel like my mother was trying to pull a fast one…

 

“What the hell is this, Mom?” I said. “Why is this man covered in dirt? And why’s he white? You think that just because I write about white men all day long that I’m trying to get locked down by Adrien Brody? Mom? Mom?”

 

My mother wasn’t listening to me anymore. Her plan was already set in motion, and she had already set her mind on seeing it through to the end. As Michael arrived at our table, she stood up to greet him. I kept my ass glued to the chair. I was seething…

 

“Oh Mikey,” my mom said while kissing each of his dusty cheeks, “I’m so glad you came. Meet my beautiful daughter, Rachel. Isn’t she lovely?”

 

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Rachel,” Michael said, extending his hand toward me for a handshake. I was having none of it. I was willing to admit that Michael was handsome -- in a David Beckham after a muddy soccer match kind of way -- but what kind of white guy shows up to a nice restaurant in the middle of the day, covered in dirt? I was on high alert…

 

“Why exactly are you covered in dirt?” I said, with the most unimpressed tone I could muster.

 

“Oh, this?” Michael said, referring to his entire appearance. He seemed to have become self aware for the first time. He laughed and scratched his head. “You know, I just got back from digging up a few graves…”

 

My mom gave me a side eye that only an angry black mother can do. In one look, she said it all: Don’t embarrass me, or I’ll kill you! She wasn’t bluffing, either. I could tell from my mom’s intense grimace that if I put up too much of a fight, she really might kill me. She would at least pull out her belt and whoop me in public, and I was too old for that, so I decided to play a little bit more diplomatically. I extended my hand to shake his…

 

“It’s nice to meet you, Michael,” I said with a slightly sarcastic tone.

 

At this point, my mother decided to give Michael and me a chance to get to know each other a little better so she excused herself and went to the ladies’ room, however not before she gave me one last death stare. Don't fuck it up! She seemed to say. I gave her a hopeless, groveling look. It was obvious that I didn't want to be there, but since she’d forced my hand, I tried to make the best of a bad situation. In spite of the fact that Michael was covered in dirt from head to toe, at the very least, he was handsome and jovial.  I tried to keep that in mind as my mother left the table, and Michael sat down…

 

After Michael and I had exchanged a few awkward pleasantries, I discovered a few things about him that changed my opinion from ‘hell no’ to ‘maybe’. For starters, he didn't let his appearance get in the way of him being charming and fun. I liked that. His smooth, deep voice also worked to sooth my reservations about him, and I also figured out right away that he was definitely very bright. He happened to mention that one of his favorite authors was bell hooks. We got into a heated discussion about black sexual politics, and needless to say, I was impressed.  I had spoken to a lot of handsome white guys in my day, but meeting one who appreciated a top black feminist scholar was a first.

 

Most surprisingly of all, Michael had a decent explanation for why he had shown up to such a nice restaurant in the middle of the city looking so bad. To tell you the truth, I had already gotten so engrossed by our stimulating conversation that I had almost forgotten about the whole covered in dirt issue, but when he brought it up, he handled my objection like a champ.

 

“I guess I ought to apologize for showing up like this, covered in dirt. I'm very passionate about the work that I do. I'm working on an art piece that's going to be my magnum opus. I like to think of it as my version of the Sistine Chapel. Sometimes I get so obsessed with it that I forget that how messy being an artist can be.”

 

“Wow. That sounds intense,” I said. “What are you working on, exactly?”

 

“That's top secret for now,” he said. “But perhaps I’ll show you when it’s closer to being finished?”

 

“Okay…” I said. I was admittedly a little bit mesmerised. I had never actually met a guy who had such a combination of eloquence, charm, intelligence, passion and masculine grit. Michael had a sort of glint in his eye that revealed a magnetic charisma. I somehow knew that he wasn't playing around. He really was some sort of hopeless romantic who was wild about his craft. Suddenly, the dirt that covered his body seemed kind of sexy…

 

“But for starters…”  he said. “How about we talk about that date?”

 

Right about that time, my mom showed up again. It was an obvious and shameless tactic to bully me into saying ‘yes.’ My mom gave me an admonishing glare, and Michael waited in anticipation for my response. All of a sudden, the pressure was on. Was I really going to take Michael up on his offer? After all, I still didn't know who he was. Could I trust him? Forget about him embarrassing me in public, how could I be sure he wasn’t some sort of creep? I couldn't. That was the whole problem. My eyes told me one story about him, but my gut said something else entirely. I struggled to make my decision, and the seconds ticked on.

 

Seeing my prolonged hesitation, my mother cleared her throat loudly to prompt me for my answer. Michael also sensed my uncertainty. He stepped in to give me an out…  

 

“Look,” he said. “I know this is a little awkward. Fifteen minutes ago, you didn’t even know my name. Now here I am, perhaps not looking my best––”

 

“No kidding…” I blurted out. Michael smiled, then he leaned into my ear so he could whisper the rest of his message…

 

“You don’t have to do this,” he said quietly. “If you say ‘yes’ to get your mother off your back, I won’t hold it against you if you stand me up later.”

 

I realized right then that Michael was in as much of an awkward position as I was. He wasn't some desperate loser who needed some old lady to hook him up with her daughter. In fact, he wasn’t even here for me at all. He had only shown up to the bistro out of respect for my mother, one professional to another. He felt as awkward about the whole thing as I did. In fact, he was probably trying his best to turn me off, which was probably the real reason why he was so filthy.

 

That realization suddenly made me feel like an asshole. Here I was, resisting him with all my might, when in fact, he was trying to do the same thing…

 

“Fine,” I said. “You can be my date on Friday night. But you better be freshly washed and in a tuxedo.”

 

“You have a deal,” Michael said. “You can meet me at my place. Here’s my address.”

 

As Michael handed me a napkin with his handwriting on it, he shot me a coy smile and a wink, making sure that my mom didn’t see. I knew what that wink meant. The ball was still in my court. I could either meet him Friday night at eight, or show up to my Simon & Schuster social all by my lonesome. What would I do?

 

* * *

 

The next day, I had an appointment to get my hair done with my three best friends: Monica, Amber, and Troya.  Under the noise and heat of our hair dryers, I discussed the issue with them…

 

“Don’t do it! You don’t have any facts about him. Based on what little you know, you can’t even rule out the possibility that he’s not a serial killer. I don’t like those odds. Next thing you know, he’ll be using your nice brown skin for the cover of his Satanic Bible.”

 

That was my friend Monica. She was a senior accountant for ExxonMobil eastern division as well as a Princeton graduate. After years of fighting her way to success in a male dominated industry, Monica carried a huge chip on her shoulder when it came to all men, everywhere. My mother was wrong; Monica wasn’t a lesbian. She was, however, a numbers girl. In life, just as in business, she always crunched the numbers and demanded a good return on her investment.

 

“Don’t listen to Monica, try him out. As I always like to say, men are a never ending sausage buffet; if you kill one, another one will rise up to take his place. Show up with him, if he turns out to be a dud, leave with someone else, and post the story on Instagram. Do you have any idea how much people will pay to see that kind of stuff on a daily basis?”

 

That was Amber. She was a femme fatale with a vengeance. She used her powers of seduction to attract men, and then troll them on Instagram. She had built an entire media empire around it, with millions of followers and endorsement deals from a wide variety of designer companies.

 

“Rachel! Don’t ever have two dates in one night. It goes against the word of Christ to act so lustfully. Besides, if you want to keep a man hooked, you’ve gotta make him wait at least seven days before you meet up with him.”

 

Troya managed the investment portfolio of the entire North American branch of the Baptist Church. There were two things that she was most proud of in the world. The first was being noticeably light skinned. The second was being a self proclaimed “virgin of Christ”. Troya was definitely not a virgin, but she did go out of her way to make sure that she could never, ever, be accused of being a slut.

 

Both Monica and Amber kissed their teeth in chorus. “Oh, please,” Amber said. “Virgin, my ass,” Monica muttered.

 

“Follow the seven day rule and you’ll be on the fast track to having a serious relationship. Just like me...”

 

Troya smiled as innocently as she possibly could. Almost as if a halo were over her head. This only served to aggravate Monica and Amber, but I jumped in before they could take her down a peg…


“What’s the seven day rule, Troya?”

 

“It’s a stupid rule that some Catholic nun probably made up to keep women’s thighs glued together,” Amber chimed in.

 

“Amber’s wrong,” Troya explained. “The seven day rule definitely works, and it sets the guy up for perfectly for the 30% percent rule. In a nutshell, a woman must always make a man wait, while only putting in 30% of the effort. The longer you make him wait before the first date, the harder he’ll work for your attention, and the longer he’ll wait to have sex. And every girl knows that the longer you wait for sex, the more a guy loves you, and the more likely for your relationship to turn into marriage.”

 

Monica shook her head in protest…

 

“The 30% rule already sounds like a lot of hard work to me. If a man shows up covered in dirt and asks me out on a date, he’ll have to bring his bank account statement, doctor’s report, and a recently updated background check. That would help me a long way in deciding whether I want to bother showing. Besides, Troya. For all of your seven day rule this, and 30% rule that, how’s your new man doing?”

 

“We’re doing just great,” Troya said snootily. “He buys me flowers all the time, we talk on the phone almost every night for hours, and he hasn’t even pressured me for sex. #Winning.”

 

“Gay…” Amber blurted out.

 

“Probably not,” Monica rebutted. “But he definitely has something to hide. Have you been to his place yet?”

 

“No…” Troya said sheepishly.

 

“I’m shocked -- and appalled, quite frankly,” Amber said.

 

“You’ve been dating this guy for like three months, he hasn’t fucked you, and you’ve never even seen his place? He sounds like textbook male hoe,” Monica said. “I bet he’s got two cell phones, three aliases and he gets lots of sexy text messages from Domino's.”

 

“Well, at least I’m not trying to find men online,” Troya sneered, “like some desperate loser…”

 

“Actually,” Monica said. “Online dating is a proven and effective way to meet a man. Did you know that one in eight people who get married these days have met online? eHarmony has an excellent algorithm for matching couples based on compatibility, with a 93% success rate. Now those are odds that I like. And, as it so happens, I’m going to meet a gentleman that I met online on Friday myself.”

 

“You girls are so boring,” Amber said. “When was the last time you let a man enjoy the thrill of the chase? If you really want to improve your odds of success, you’ve got to put yourself out there more. First you show up to the club wearing a sexy black dress and the tallest pair of heels you can find, then try to look as ‘damsel in distress-y’ as possible with an empty martini glass in your hand. Works every time.”

 

“But Amber…” Troya gasped, “That’s sinful.”

 

“I’d rather size a hundred men up within seconds and fuck the best one at the end of night than waste three months of my precious life, only to find out that my ‘man’ has been sleeping with half of the city. Seriously, Troya, you need to figure out what your man is hiding ASAP before you regret it. Take it from the girl who really knows how to have a successful marriage. If a man loves me, we can keep it casual for 30 years, and tie the knot on my deathbed. That way I’ll die knowing my marriage was definitely a success and I don’t have to divorce a guy because ten years into our marriage, I found out he had a baby diaper fetish.”

 

After my date at the hair salon with my girls, I started to wonder…  

 

How much should you trust a man in a relationship, and what was the best way to do it? Should you crunch the numbers, like Monica, and let statistics be your guide? Should you have blind faith in a man because he lived up to your rules and regulations, like Troya? Should you never trust a man at all, like Amber, but just give him the benefit of the doubt as time marches on?

 

And what’s the best way to find out about the skeletons in a man’s closet? Can you ever really know someone for sure? Should you? What if you find out something that destroys your entire relationship? In other words, if you find out that your partner has a scat fetish, would that be a deal breaker, or can you really know every crappy little thing about another person -- so to speak -- and still like them?

 

That night, I had several nightmares about what would happen if I agreed to meet Michael on Friday night.

 

I dreamt that he was covered in dirt because he’d just dug his way out of federal prison. In this equation, I was just a body that he could use as a cumdumpster and human shield before he escaped to Guatemala.

 

Then another dream came. In it, Michael was one of those peep show freaks who hides at the bottom of latrines and lets women piss and shit all over his face just to get a peek.

 

Then, in another dream, Michael just liked dirt, and he wouldn’t have sex with me, unless I went a week without showering.

 

Was I losing my mind?

When I woke up, I decided that I couldn’t allow my imagination to get in the way of my love life. I decided then and there to show up to the Simon & Schuster social with Michael on my arm.

 

Click here to continue reading Walking Down The Aisle!

Check out more of our romantic comedy novels. Raven Ferrari's most recent release, Getting Her Ex Back is available now! If you enjoyed this excerpt, you'll definitely love what she has in store for you with this one. Click here to read more.

Romantic Comedy Novels: Getting Her Ex Back

romantic comedy novels getting her ex backThis is one of Raven Ferrari's more recent romantic comedy novels that's not just funny, it's one of the most hilarious romance novels of 2016! This story is filled with energy and drama that will keep you in stitches until the very end. If you enjoy interracial romance books with strong black female characters, you'll love this book since it focuses on a group of friends that really have each other's back through thick and thin...

Have you ever ended a relationship and known it was for all the wrong reasons?

That's how Naomi felt when it came to David. The entrepreneur and famous owner of the multi-million dollar company David's Tea was the love of her life, until news anchor Naomi ended their relationship very publicly on live television.

The breakup was a complete mistake.

Naomi knew it, David knew it and all of their friends knew it too...

When a relationship ends under such circumstances, you have only one choice:

Find a way to get your ex back or move on forever, resigning him to be "the one that got away".

Naomi and David are content to pick option two, but their gang of messy (yet loving) friends refuse to let that happen.

As their friends try to push them back together, Naomi and David experience a whirlwind of setbacks, most significantly David's newest manager Jen who is desperate to have a taste of David and his money.

Will Naomi lose out to this gold digger or does true love still stand a chance?

Romantic Comedy Novels: Getting Her Ex Back Excerpt

 

CHAPTER ONE

It was Judy McCarthy’s last day at WCTV News Channel 9. She had been with the branch for 20 years, and worked her way up to management. Over her tenure, she’d created a kind of ‘momma bear’ culture around the office. Everyone was busy melodramatically whining and moaning that the momma bear was leaving the cave and now the little cubs would have to start to fend for themselves. Soon Joe Smitherson would be taking Judy’s place as the alpha bear and the entire company would play a giant game of musical chairs -- everyone had high hopes of snatching up a promotion, or at least a better office. Naomi had been a part of the Channel 9 team for the last two years as a fact checker, and she was finally, at long last, about to have her chance in the spotlight. Their nightly news anchor had graduated to a producer’s paygrade and it was now her time to shine…

 

Since there were at least six other dickheads competing for the position, and the HR manager was a big fat dickhead himself, he decided to make everyone fight each other like wild dogs. “Think of it like a battle royale.” he said. “The best interviewer gets the job.” That’s what they said when they had first posted the challenge on the company’s bulletin board. The news spread around the office like a California brushfire and by the end of that afternoon, Trevvy, Binks, James, Alisha, Bob, Mert and Naomi were going head-to-head. Each of them set out to find the best local story to cover so that they could flex their interviewer muscles. Everything depended on their story: what it was about, and how they presented it. If Naomi could do the best job -- and get the highest ratings -- she would become the next big star of the Channel news team. She had chosen a fast growing tea joint in town ‘David’s tea’, obviously named after the owner.

 

With the other six competitors searching for wild, sensational, or scandalous stories, Naomi’s scoop about a quirky tea joint -- a place so mild mannered and tame that even coffee was too strong for the menu -- might have seemed a little boring. But looks can be deceiving. Indeed, they were in this case. See, Naomi knew something about journalism that her competitors did not. Just like a two dollar hooker, the tabloid headlines might attract more attention when no one’s looking, but during office hours all of the Johns want to look like gentlemen. The dickhead HR manager was no exception to the rule. During this battle royale he wanted a story that was both popular and respectable -- and a heartwarming rags-to-riches tale of David’s tea would be exactly the type of story to get Naomi hired.

 

David was young, steaming hot, and fucking delicious; and he made some great teas, too. When he was in his last year of business school, he’d done an in depth study the explosion of the cafe industry. David analyzed Starbucks and other big name coffee chains and figured out that their appeal had little or nothing to do with the coffee itself -- people just like to have a place to get a hot drink and that the coffee part was totally optional. Looking out at all of the coffee chains competing against each other, David wondered if maybe he was onto something. He decided to try to corner his own share of the cafe industry, only this time, he did something that had never been done before.

 

David’s tea had all of the comforts and  amenities of a regular Starbucks-type coffee shop, but it focused entirely on exotic teas from around the world. It became a hit overnight. Within six months, he opened another location on the other side of town. By the time Naomi asked David for her big interview, he was on the cusp of franchising his twenty eight location along the east coast. This was another hometown-boy-does-good story that could warm even the most frigid heart. David had dropped out of school and by the ripe old age of thirty one, he had already become a multimillionaire. He was incredibly handsome -- he even had his own yacht -- but he was still folksy and warm. And, just in case that wasn’t enough for a blockbuster scoop, his freaking mommy was blind. Back before he’d made it big, she couldn’t even afford to cover her own medical bills. Naomi was dead sure that she had the make-or-break story of her career and that she’d slaughter the other Channel 9 dweebs in competition.

 

David had a lot to gain from all of this TV exposure, too. It would be the first time that his tea chain would be exposed to the world, and as the saying goes, “first impressions are everything.” If Naomi could make David’s tea strike a chord with her dickhead HR manager, and the world at large, not only would she have a sick new promotion, David’s sales for this quarter would skyrocket. With the stakes riding so high for the both of them, Naomi felt lucky -- like she got a lot more than she could have ever hoped to bargain for.

 

When the fateful interview came, the set lights were intimidatingly bright and hot. She was too blind too even see the camera in front of her, but she kept her cool. Naomi refused to show even the tiniest bit of nervousness on camera. David was calm and poised, too. In the back of her mind, she knew how important this moment was for her, but at the same time, Naomi was faced with a whole other problem that she hadn’t anticipated: Sitting face-to-face, she completely taken aback by David’s stunning good looks and charisma. She’d known what the man looked all along, but dayum!

 

David had that classic anglo-saxon ivy league square-cut jawline tapered with cutest dimples she had ever seen in, as she later put it, ‘her goddamn life.’ His voice was both dominant and commanding, yet soothing and sensual. From the very first moment that Naomi had met him, David embodied a perfect balance of rock-hard firmness and sweet softness in just about every aspect of his life. It was a combination that perfectly captured her entire obsession with him. For better or worse, she was hooked…  

 

The camera went live and Naomi asked her first question. It was some inane crap about his childhood, or whatever. The answer came out of his mouth, but she was too mesmerised by his beautiful brown eyes to hear it. The interview continued and David looked deeply into her soul with those gorgeous puppy-dog eyes without flinching. She asked questions, he answered, they bantered and laughed, and their mouths kept moving the whole time, but Naomi have no idea what the hell they had spoken about for the rest of that interview.

 

She continued asking questions and David rapped about whatever came off the top of his dome. And of course, Naomi’s David’s tea interview was a smash hit with the viewers. Her dickhead HR manager loved it too, and naturally, she got the new position as lead news anchor of WCTV News Channel 9 prime time news. Millions of people started asking for a David’s tea on their street corner. All of America had watched them meet for the first time, they heard every word of their conversation, but the two of them were having a whole ‘nother discussion underneath their words. It all happened with their eyes. David’s eyes told her what Naomi really wanted to know. A lot of people have claimed to have fallen in love at first sight to the point of it now cliche, but Naomi and David were doing the absolute most.

 

Naomi was the first young, hot, black woman to have ever become lead news anchor of WCTV News Channel 9 prime time news. On the fateful day of her David’s tea interview, she didn’t just win a new promotion, she had met the love of her life. His name was David Woodward. Although Dave and Naomi had different racial backgrounds, they got along quite nicely. They quickly learned that there were still a whole lot of people who didn’t like blacks and whites to mix, but that was their problem. They weren’t bothered by the bigots. In fact, they got a huge kick out of making fun of those fugly racist onlookers. Whenever they were out in public and they caught some old fart turning their nose up at them they’d always start making out and groping each other like perverts!

 

Aside from his sexiness and sense of humor, Naomi loved David’s strong family ties. He actually made a point to introduce himself to her parents on their second date. Naomi’s parents loved him so much that her mom instantly started campaigning for little light skinned grandbabies. David also had Naomi meet his mom right away, which was a surreal experience for her. As you know from before, David’s mom was blind, so meeting Naomi’s meeting  her for the first time was a little bit more involved than a hug or a handshake. David’s mom actually pawed over her face with both hands to get a proper ‘look’. When she was done, she turned to David and said that Naomi was the most beautiful girl she’d ever met and she couldn’t wait for them to get married.

 

From the very first date, Naomi knew that David was looking for something serious. There was no doubt in her mind where things would end up in their relationship. He always spoke about his fantasy future of the day when he was married and had a lots of little kids. Sometimes he’d get so excited about it that they would find themselves making adorable kiddie plans, sometimes for hours…

 

For the first few months, David and Naomi seemed like a match made in heaven. Even their friends loved each other. Err. Well that was true for the most part. Gabrielle and Zoe had been Naomi’s best friends for as long as she could remember. Soon after she and David started dating, she brought them along for wings and beer; David also brought his best buds, Brooks and Jason. Gabrielle sniffed around a for signs of  possible match, but she ultimately lost interest after Jason opened his mouth. Zoe, on the other hand, wasn’t so easily swayed. She shifted into full femme fatale mode, with the hopes that either Jason or Brooks would be man enough handle her. Preferably both…

 

Jason came close, but again, no dice. He was tall, handsome and athletic, and similar to David, he also gave off a strong Ivy league vibe. It was all in his clean shaven face and red, slicked back hair. He was the type of guy that almost any girl would take notice of right away, buuuut he came with one obvious flaw. After a few minutes of chatting, something changed. At first, he came off as confident and charming. After twenty minutes of non-stop braggadocio however, Zoe started to see the tragic flaw hiding behind Jason’s facade of confidence. Jason felt the need to mention the price tag of his brand new Mercedes three times. He also droned on and on about himself without letting up for even a minute to let Zoe speak. Minutes after meeting him, Zoe already knew that Jason had commitment issues and that he had been a serial bachelor for his whole life. If only the poor guy could just stop talking, maybe then Jason could’ve gotten laid that night. Oh well; too bad, no shag. Jason lost his chance while Zoe moved on to her next hopeful…

 

There were over two hundred chicken wings with barbeque sauce slathered all over them in front of us, and there were too happy pitchers of beer on the table, too. While the rest of them sat back and enjoyed the feast, Zoe and Brooks went back and forth like a beautifully played tennis match. Zoe flirted with him and Brooks deflected her advances. He pushed her away and she chased more. She was the cat, he was the rag doll. He knew exactly how much to wriggle, and when he should play dead. Zoe had pointed to Brooks across the table told him to “come here” with her index finger. She was being all flirtatious and suggestive…

 

“Nah.” he said, while patting on his lap. “You come here...”

 

Zoe looked down at Brook’s lap and back up to his face. She smiled a little and bit her lip, but she ultimately shook her head for a firm, ‘No’.

 

Firmly rejected, this is the exact point where Jason would have surely screwed up. Jason might have asked a second time or third time, each time, sounding more desperate than the last. He would had said something about horsepower on his new Mercedes. Brooks simply shrugged his shoulders for a few seconds as if he were kidding about the whole ‘sit on her lap’ request anyway, then he went back to enjoying his delicious honey barbeque ribs. Zoe couldn’t have been more intoxicated. She couldn’t imagine how or why Brooks possessed such cold, calculated indifference, however she knew then and there that Brooks was indeed man enough to handle her. She turned things up a few notches…

 

Zoe stretched her high heel under the table so that her foot touched Brook’s leg. He definitely knew what that meant. With Zoe screaming her lustful intentions loud and clear, she expected that it would only be a matter of time before she and Brooks might become carnally acquainted. Unfortunately for Zoe, there was absolutely no way for her to have seen this next curveball coming. Brooks pulled his leg away, shook his head disapprovingly and unbuttoned his shirt collar. There was something white underneath. It was a clerical collar.

 

Although Zoe’s pride was wounded for the rest of that night, and although she may not have been destined to get her freak on with either Jason or Brooks, she was still happy to be amongst the new gang. They relished every moment of that first night, and there were many other nights just like that one. And now’s about the time in this story when you might be asking yourself, “Naomi and David really seemed awesome together, how did they break up? Was he secretly beating her? Was he sleeping around?”

 

No, and no. Nobody was altogether sure how things fell apart so quickly; not even Naomi and David themselves. By that point, they had been together long enough that Naomi was convinced that they would tie the knot eventually. It was all so confusing. If any of their friends were to explain why they broke up, perhaps they might have pointed to the night David realized that Naomi knew he only had one ball. This will take some explaining…  

 

So David and Naomi had been banging like animals for a couple of months, and she could tell that he was very sensitive about one tiny little thing. See, whenever they fucked, there was always a vibe as if he were trying to hide something from her. First of all, the lights were always off, so the room was pitch black. That way, in theory, he figured that she couldn’t quite get a good look at the manly details of his body. Secondly, Naomi noticed that David never got totally naked when he was with her. He would either be wearing his boxers, or pants, or at least be under the covers. Third, whenever she tried to undress him further, David would always find a way to dodge her; maybe by switching positions or going down on her…  

 

Perhaps David thought that Naomi wouldn’t notice or something, but she caught on to his big secret pretty quickly. No, he didn’t have a small cock. In fact Naomi was beside herself when she first felt him inside of her. He was as thick as a can of Red Bull! One night, during another passionate romp, David was distracted enough for her to risk getting a hand full of his package. That’s when she felt it. He only had one testicle. Needless to say, Naomi was totally baffled and confused. How the hell did that happen? Naomi had the sudden and urgent need to know the answer to this mystery, but she couldn’t just come out and ask him. What was she supposed to say? “Hey baby, did you get a little boo boo on your wee wee when you were little?”

 

… Naomi didn’t have to be a world famous news anchor to know that it was a bad idea to put David on the spot. She was too afraid to ask, but still, she wondered about his missing ball endlessly. This went on for weeks; months, even. David and Naomi kept carrying on as if everything was perfectly fine. He kept fucking her with his boxers on, and she kept acting like she didn’t know why he was doing it. She’d heard somewhere that ninety five per cent of people who got testicular cancer were over forty. David was only thirty one. Did that make him one of those unlucky five per centers? Obviously David had made it through puberty just fine because he could still shave, he still had a deep baritone voice, and was otherwise a fine specimen of masculine virility… but with only one ball, could he still have kids? Was all that talk about starting a life together just that -- talk?

 

Maybe she was overreacting. After all, David did have a spare ball, and yes, he shot out warm and hearty loads with deadly accuracy… but what happened, exactly? And could it happen again? Maybe he had suffered an accident when he was a child which had left him impaled. Naomi tried to imagine a young, post puberty David with fresh stitches on his scrotum from surgery. Somehow, that picture didn’t match up with the strapping alpha male that I’d come to know and love. If David hadn’t lost his testicle from an injury, then what, she wondered, could it have been? Was it a birth defect? Was he just born that way? What horrors had her sweet man endured?

 

To be clear, just because David was part of the Lance Armstrong club didn’t mean that he gave her wack dick. Naomi found sex with him to be AMAZING. Case in point: after their very last time together, their sheets were totally soaked. Afterward they passed out, but Naomi’s kitty was still purring with orgasmic pleasure. She woke up a few hours later smack in the middle of another toe-curling orgasm. She figured that it was an aftershock from the amazing cock that was inside of her a couple hours before. Naomi wasn’t sure why her body loved David so much, but that type of sexual bliss was only ever possible with him…

 

Even though David was flat out her best lover ever, he certainly didn’t feel like he was. Sadly, he had some sort of an inferiority complex because of his one testicle situation, which, oddly enough, Naomi found understandable. Every guy she’d ever known was obsessed with the size of his junk. She figured that David wasn’t much different. Maybe someone had made fun of him in the locker room when he was younger and it traumatized him. It absolutely broke her heart to see her man feeling so insecure about his body. It was especially ironic, because publicly, David was a total badass. Naomi couldn’t tell you how many times she wanted to shake David and scream, “It’s okay. I’m not here to judge you. I love you, and I’d do everything in her power to support you…” but no matter how many times she wanted to open her mouth and have a frank discussion, she always chickened out and kept her mouth shut.

 

Naomi never did ask David how his other ball started working freelance because she figured that he’d get around to telling her right when he was ready. It was a matter of time, really. As the months rolled by in their relationship, this elephant in the room grew bigger and more obvious. David himself finally started admitting that he knew how unusual his ‘boxers on, lights off’ habit was. He even joked about it -- always in a way that distracted from the issue and took things off topic. But eventually the awkwardness built up and things came to a breaking point. As predicted, David finally came to Naomi one day to have a ‘talk’... He sincerely apologized for not being upfront from day one, and she told him that there were no hard feelings. To be honest, he was like a lion with a wounded paw about the whole thing, and she wanted to be as gentle about it as possible.

 

David confessed to Naomi that the last three women that he’d dated had either left or cheated on him after they had seen his ‘deformity’. Can you believe that? Here was Dave -- young, handsome, a sweetheart, and rich, yet one little hiccup and bitches everywhere were tossing him out like yesterday’s trash. Sometimes she thought that every girl in the world was a complete idiot. After her heart-to-heart with David, Naomi swore to him that she didn’t care if he had one testicle, that she would never leave him over it -- and that she wanted him to feel totally comfortable with her. She even came right out and told him that she new he hold had one ball all along…

 

At the time, Naomi thought it was a good idea. She didn’t know why. Perhaps she figured that maybe he would feel at ease knowing that I’d been accommodating to him this whole time. As it turned out, however, David he didn’t take the news the way she thought he would. He was surprised… and somewhat neutral, but underneath, she sensed that her knowing about his missing manhood burned him up inside -- like maybe she enjoyed him because he was some sort of novelty or something. After they both came clean to each other, things got a little weird between them. David became painfully self conscious and paranoid. He thought she was making fun of him when she definitely wasn’t. Last Christmas Eve, she accidentally played that old Nat King Cole, classic Chestnuts Roasting on An Open Fire. David totally freaked out. Things spiraled out of control from there.

 

They fought over that unfortunate choice of music, and, feeling very sore about the whole thing, David decided to lash out at me. That’s when he revealed a secret that really did hurt her feelings. The words slipped out of his mouth and came at Naomi like the blast of a grenade: Zoe and Brooks had been sleeping with each other. Surely you remember Zoe, her best friend, and Brooks, the reverend. It had been going on for several months -- pretty much from the day they had met over wings and beer -- and she was just about the only person who hadn’t found out about it yet. She had never felt so embarrassed, left out, and betrayed by David; not before, not since.

 

Perhaps to be fair, David didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Emotions were obviously flying high after the whole Nat King Cole disaster. He was still a sweetheart, and he obviously regretted that he caused her pain. By then, however, it was too late; the damage had already been done. If she had known what was happening from day one, she would have done more to protect her girl Zoe. What had she gotten herself into? The way she saw it, there was no way that her affair with Brooks could have possibly ended well. For starters, he was a reverend. Add that to the fact that he was a married reverend, and I’m sure you could understand why she would be so worried.

 

Where was his wife in this whole picture? And what about his kids and the rest of his family? How long would they carry on with their affair before someone got hurt? And why did she get left in the dark? What else was David hiding? If he could keep quiet about his boy’s mistress, was he hiding one of his own? There was definitely one hoe that she had her suspicions about. There was a blonde bitch named Jen. She was the new general manager of David’s tea. she never liked her, and she never understood why David would hire her in the first place. She seemed like a total idiot. Every single time she saw her at her favorite David’s tea location, she’d get her order wrong. Besides that, she just had a bad feeling about her. I’d never seen anything to suggest that David was cheating on me, but in light of this new information, she simply didn’t know what to think…

 

After that terrible point in their relationship, David and she were never quite the same. They still had great sex, and she still thought he was hilarious, his mother still loved me, and he still dreamt of starting a family with me, but all of that good stuff was also poisoned by frequent fights about all sorts of stupid crap. They had they last fight at the worst possible time and place. It was quite literally a blowout affair. Since their first televised interview, David’s tea had expanded quite a bit, and she had become the most popular news anchor at WCTV News Channel 9. They had scheduled a followup interview exactly a year after their first one. Even though David and she were fighting here and there within the privacy of their relationship, They were mostly still happy together and they decided to be professionals about the whole thing and give the viewers a good, heart-warming followup to the David’s tea interview that had opened so many doors for them in the first place.

 

On this interview, she was accompanied by her co-host who said something so wildly out of line that not only did he disgraced himself as a news anchor, he also inflamed all of David’s insecure feelings about his genitalia. After they had asked David a few questions about the meteoric growth of his company, her co host dared David to make his best tea on live television. At first, David was a bit reluctant, saying that there was no ‘best’ tea. Everybody had their own favorite. That answer wouldn’t satisfy her co host. He pressed further. “What, Dave? Don’t have the balls to do it?”

 

When her co host uttered those first words, Naomi had been taking a sip of her water from the much in front of me. She was so shocked that she spat the water out from her mouth. As she waited to see what how David would respond. Just like before, the  set lights were intimidatingly bright and hot, but this time, Naomi didn’t keep her cool…

 

“Did you put him up to this?” David said, looking at her furiously. “You did, didn’t you? On national TV, Naomi? How could you?”

 

As soon as the incident happened, Naomi called for an unplanned commercial break. Her co host had opened up a big wound that had already began to heal. This time it bled more profusely than before. David stormed off set, and Naomi followed him. They had a giant screaming match in front of the entire WCTV news team. When it was all said and done, Naomi knew that her career, David’s business, and their relationship had been irreparably damaged. David and Naomi agreed that they weren’t working together anymore. They decided to take some time apart…

 

“That was the last I’d heard from him.” Naomi said. “It’s been six weeks. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about him all the time. That’s pretty much her life up until this point -- I’m all by myself with nothing but the pint of peppermint and chocolate ice cream in her fridge to keep me company. To be honest, I wouldn’t even be on this date tonight if it weren’t for her girl Gabrielle. She thought it was time to put her foot down and force to move on from David, so she set me up with you. What can I say? I guess there are worse fates…

“Here we are… candle lit dinner. You look really nice in this light. And your hairline is receding in a really cute way. It makes you look tougher. I’m really glad we met, Egbert.”

 

Click Here to continue reading Getting Her Ex Back!

If you enjoyed this romantic comedy novel, I recommend you check out Untold Secrets on our website. This is one of Raven Ferrari's earlier works that's not only hilarious, but outstandingly written too. Click here to read more.