#FallsonLove: Recent Episodes

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A couple notes:

• if you haven't read any of the N&Ts books, you might wanna get on that soon bc context is needed from them, specifically Bounce Back, in order to fully appreciate Power Forward

- the following excerpt is only lightly edited so pls excuse any errors that may occur in the text

Zebediah

Ain’t too late to get with the winning team at the Conrad. -Zeb

Wifey’s first time in Vegas and she wants the strip experience. I’m still comin’ down there to raid your minibar though. - Big Bruh

Does flexin’ this hard mean I can charge my spa services to the room, bubba? - Jahbaby

I laughed at the two of them being the first to respond while the twins probably wouldn’t bother chiming in. Micah was a damn miser who, even when I offered to foot the bill, never took me up on the offer to live life a little lavishly. The shit was crazy considering how flighty and all over the place he’d been in his twenties. I guess having a kid and settling down with his lady had changed his point of view. And Mickey wouldn’t be caught dead being anywhere that was not where her husband was, so I knew convincing them to stay anywhere outside of the provided accommodations was a lost cause.

Whatever’s clever, babygirl. - Zeb

Are we still on for dinner by you and Jah? - Big Bruh

Yeah, I made reservations for eight at Fuhu at 8. - Zeb

Make that nine. Kyra’s coming. - Double

Unbidden a grin came to my face at that news. Kyra was my younger sister’s best friend and in another life, my future wife. My sister would shit herself if she ever heard me express the idea, but from the moment I’d been introduced to her spitfire of a best friend there had been an undeniable chemistry that crackled between the two of us. Since she was like a sister to my little sister, I kept it player, reciprocating the flirtatious energy she always exuded when we were in the same room, but never taking it past that.

But I’d be damned if I hadn’t wanted to. Kyra was a bite-size portion of temptation with her smooth brown skin, standing no taller than five foot five, and a curvy body that women were out here paying for. All of that paired with her warm, expressive brown eyes, button nose, and cupid’s bow lips that were always painted in some shade of red whenever I saw her made for quite the stunner.

Aw shit, now I gotta make sure I look extra good for my future baby mama. - Zeb

Zebediah, please. I don’t know who’s worse between you and her. - Double

Why you wanna fight fate, Dub? Don’t be a hater all your life. - Zeb

🤬😤🖕- Double

Please don’t get her started, Z. - Trouble

Damn, here comes the fun police. I’ll modify the res, Dub. See y’all later. - Zeb

After my workout I made my way back up to the room, surprised at hearing two feminine voices engaged in conversation as I entered the room. Assuming that either our sister or sister-in-law had accompanied her down to check out the suite, I walked directly into the second bedroom talking shit.

“Mmmmhmmm, I told y’all to get with the winning team, this shit nice, right?” I crowed, making my way into the space.

“Ummmm, knocking is still a thing, rudeness,” Jahel instantly shot back. “What if me or Kyra weren’t dressed?”

Hearing the name made my head snap to the other side of the room where Kyra stood near the window with her arms crossed and a grin of amusement curving her mouth. Goddamn, she looked good.

“My bad, future baby mama,” I said, returning her grin. “I would apologize, but you already know how we get down.”

“Hey, Zebediah,” Kyra crooned as her eyes did a quick, but efficient sweep of my form.

“I’m tellin’ Mickey on y’all,” Jahel teased.

“Hush, brat,” I replied.

“I hope it’s not too much of an imposition,” Kyra’s honey-coated voice rang out as she moved back closer to where Jahel and I were standing.

“Seeing your beautiful face is never an imposition, only a pleasure,” I replied smoothly as Jahel rolled her eyes.

“Kyra’s hotel reservations got randomly canceled and instead of her trying to find a new room, I told her she could just bunk with us. We’ve got more than enough room here.”

“Absolutely. That ain’t no problem at all,” I said, still eyeing Kyra.

She was dressed simply, in an abstract printed dress, but the way it clung to her curves had me panting damn near as loudly as I had been when I’d hopped off the treadmill earlier.

“Great, now can you take that sweat and funk on into your room. You’re fuckin’ up the vibe in here,” Jahel quipped.

I could see Kyra suppressing a laugh in response.

“You think you’re real cute, huh kid?” I said, turning and advancing on Jahel like I was about to go after her. That was enough to make her squeal and skitter across the bed, closer to where Kyra stood as I laughed and made my way out of their room.

“You’re so childish,” Jahel called out after me.

“I’m sure you’ll make me pay for that later,” I called back.

She’d already taken the initiative to invite Kyra to stay here without checking with me, so I knew that Jahel’s decision-making when it came to anything else during our stay would go in pretty much the same manner. That was her m.o. She got away with murder being the baby of the family. Jahel’s motto was always take action first and repent later. We all indulged her, me maybe a little too much of everyone, so she’d grown accustomed to this just being the way.

I was in no way put out by Kyra’s presence in my suite however. Even though I couldn’t do more than look, I’d certainly be appreciating the view.

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This was unplanned, but Will and Ciji decided they wanted y’all to see how they spent Love Day and who are me to deny you the pleasure of witnessing.

Synopsis: Will and Ciji's first Valentine's Day culminates in quite the eventful evening.

Get into the short here: https://www.theshopbynicolefalls.com/products/tied-a-preston-brothers-short

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well, here we are at day 365/365. and i couldn’t be happier. whew shit. bitch i made it. i’d told my friend earlier this month that i wanted to write a new years novella. then i got SICK SICK and that went on hold. then an idea came outta nowhere and i let it blossom into this lil shorty orty that i hope y’all enjoy. let me know in the comments.

it has no title. hell the character barely have names. and most of the errors been cleaned up. :)

happy new year. see y’all in 2023. :)

“Get your ass down here and save what you want, otherwise it’ll all be going to the dumpster,” was how I’d been greeted just a few days before Christmas. The plan had always been for me to make my way home and spend about ten days with my family and hometown friends and then return to my life back in the city where I currently lived. Initially I had planned on flying, but I was glad that my citizenship in Procrasti Nation stayed on the up and up since now I could just make the drive just in case there were things from my childhood home that I would want to bring back to my place. Of course I’d been home countless times over the years and snagged things here and there, but for the most part, the majority of my personal effects had been packed up by my mother long ago when she’d turned my childhood bedroom into a guest room in the house nearly a decade ago.

I’d been expecting a call about collecting my things to come in the new year since Ma had been hinting at her and Dad wanting to move out of the house in which they’d raised me and my brother for the past year. I also knew that she was famous for moving on her own timetable, so to have it sprung on me with no notice shouldn’t have been that much of a shock. Marianne Charles marched to the beat of her own drum and the rest of us were forced to either learn the cadence or stay off beat.

Apparently, she and Dad had already found, bid on, then closed on a townhome that was half the size of our family homestead on the other side of town closer to my brother Cade and his clan. Over the past few weeks, Ma and Dad had been slowly moving into the new place and getting the one where we’d made memories to last more than four lifetimes ready to be placed on the market for some new, young family to make even more memories. She had decided that she wanted the new year to be their new start, so the old house needed to be completely empty and ready for the cosmetic upgrades that they were making before putting it on the market.

I’d arrived on Christmas Eve Eve to a house that was half-empty, half-ransacked and given the mission of not only helping Ma get things ready at the new place for Cade, Jeanine, and the kids to come over for the holiday, but to also help her sort through the shit left in the old house to aid in the downsizing. So the majority of my time home had been spent doing manual labor. Of course, it wasn’t until I was damn near scheduled to leave that she actually let me get into the things she’d summoned me down here to really sort through. So here I was on New Year’s Eve, in my childhood bedroom bright and early, shuffling through an assemblage of storage bins that served as a retrospective of my formative years.

Happy holidays, indeed.

The plan had been to spend the most of the day sorting through this stuff, seeing if there was actually anything worth keeping, and then skedaddling my ass over to my friend Ava’s for NYE evening shenanigans. She’d gotten us some VIP tickets for some bougie ass party that one of her friends had put together at one of the new downtown boutique hotels. The name of the party was kinda corny, Bling in the New Year, but I had a fly ass dress that made me look like a “chocolate disco ball babe” in the words of Ava. I couldn’t wait to get champagne wasted, dance my ass off, and bring in the new year with my bestie. But first, I had to slog through this work. My childhood bedroom and one of the other spare guest rooms were the last that we had to get through, so I was in here while Ma took care of the other.

“This lady is insane,” I grumbled as I drug yet another bin from the closet in my childhood bedroom.

I thought I was a packrat, but my mother had me beat by far. However, she was an organized as hell packrat, having sorted all of the items left in this house that were associated with me in any fashion into Rubbermaid bins, labeled by decade. I’d gone through the bins from my undergraduate and post-grad years already, not seeing anything in there that was actually worth keeping beyond a few pieces of jewelry that I’d completely forgotten had existed. Now I was about to start going through the bins that contained my junior high and high school days. I howled with laughter as soon as I opened the bin because on top was a picture from the post-prom trip that me and my high school crew had taken at Six Flags. Terrible hairstyles and airbrushed t-shirts were a-plenty. I snapped a quick pic of the picture and sent it out in a group text, joning on everybody in the pic, including myself. I was so glad to be loosed of the baby hair demon that had its clutches deeply embedded in me back in those days. The baby hair queen herself Candace Parker wished she was as cold with the baby hairs as I was back then.

Tossing my phone onto the floor next to me, I took a journey back in time as I sifted through that bin. Getting lost in the memories of a time when life was as simple as trying to decide if I was gonna wear my KSwiss with a tennis skirt and polo on some preppy, Ashley Banks type shit or if I was gonna give the folks an Aaliyah vibe with the baggy Tommy Hilfiger jeans and oversized graphic tees. There were a shit ton of photo albums, littered with prints from disposable 35mm cameras which were my jam back then. I was a paparazzi ass bitch before the term had become commonplace. I spent way too much time flipping and sending photos of those pics to friends and family members, reminiscing on the good times in my past, some I’d completely forgotten, that they brought to mind.

Naturally all of those memories were shuffled into the keep pile. I also came across the goo gobs of letters that my friends and I had written each other, pressing them into each other’s hands furtively during passing periods because God forbid we didn’t know each other’s most pressing thoughts in the class periods that we didn’t happen to share. I lost so much time reading and laughing at the campy ass drama we’d managed to create in our adolescence. Those WB teen dramas didn’t have shit on us, okay?

Once I was done sorting everything in those bins into keep and trash piles, then hauling the items to their respective places—the big ass dumpster my parents had rented for the move or the trunk space of my SUV—I hustled back up the stairs to go through the final bin, which contained things from my elementary school years. As I stepped back into the room, my phone buzzed and I picked it up to see a message from Ava. It was a link to a TikTok—I shouldn’t have been surprised honestly—that was like a sizzle reel for the party that we were going to tonight. Apparently the promoters did this annually in different cities around the country and our hometown was their latest place of expansion. I was already excited for the evening, but seeing the decor and the extraordinary number of fine ass Black people in attendance had me even more hype. I texted some version of that sentiment back to Ava before doubling back to TikTok and watching the video again. Naturally that led to me completely abandoning the task at hand as I mindlessly scrolled the app, laughing at the ridiculous things that popped up and scrolling past the cringey ass staged or curated content that always gave me secondhand embarrassment. I was about to put my phone down when the next video that shuffled on immediately caught my attention as the man in it was fine as hell. I quickly calculated his features, each one more entrancing than the next. Deep cacao colored skin. Low cut caesar with the deep waves. Bushy brows, with a scar bisecting one of them. Hooded brown-black eyes that pierced me through the small screen. A slightly crooked, prominent Nubian nose. Full lips that were a hairsbreadth lighter than his skin and surrounded by the faint scruff of a five o’clock shadow.

“Sheesh,” I muttered to myself, not paying much attention to the words coming out of his mouth until my eyes focused on a phrase in one of the captions displayed on the screen.

Future wife.

That was enough to intrigue me into futzing around with the app until his video was back at the beginning and I listened with keen attention this go around.

“Welp, here we are coming to the end of yet another year and here I am yet again wondering when my future wife is gonna appear. I’ve been searching hard as hell for you. And it’s rough out in these streets tryna find your ass, girl. But I ain’t giving up just yet. I know I’ll know you when I see you, future wife. On the off chance that you see this, I’ll be at Bling in the New Year on New Year’s Eve, looking forward to your arrival. Love, your future husband.”

He ended his little impassioned speech with a panty-wetting grin that had me running that shit back one more time. Something about him felt familiar, but I knew that I didn’t know this man from a can of paint so I was buggin’. That didn’t stop me from having a little what if moment with myself before rolling my eyes and closing the app so I could get back to work. But not before I’d shared the TikTok with Ava. When my phone rang a mere three minutes later, I shouldn’t have been surprised.

“So naturally you’re going to find this man tonight, yes?” were Ava’s first words when the FaceTime call connected.

“What happened to… hello? How are you? My name is? What happened to that?” was my response and the both of us immediately busted out laughing at me meeting her greeting with a popular TikTok sound. We clearly spent way too much time on the app.

“Hey, baby. How much more do you have to go before you’re on your way here?” Ava asked.

“One last bin, then I’m gonna run my car over to Cade’s so I can park it in their garage. There’s nothing of value in my car for real, but I don’t want anyone to get any ideas if they peek in the backseat and see all of the boxes and what not, you know?”

“Mmmhmm. So you want me to pick you up from Cade’s?”

I shook my head. “Jeanine is gonna drop me at your loft, so we’re all good on that front. I’ll need a ride back over there though whenever I recover from tonight,” I finished, sticking my tongue between my teeth as I grinned.

“Right, back to the lecture at hand. Baby boy is fine fine, Ri. You can’t tell me that you aren’t tempted to keep your eyes peeled when we’re at Bling in tonight.”

I held up a hand and ticked off my fingers as I spoke. “One—didn’t you tell me this was a franchise? Who’s to say he’s gonna be at our Bling in party. Two—tonight is supposed to be a bestie turnup. And three—girl you really think I’m gonna be yet another thirst bucket in a Flavor of Love style gauntlet challenge to win this man over? Wow, it be ya own bestie…”

“Wow, whatever happened to your sense of adventure? Your sense of competition?” Ava replied, giggling.

“Now you know damn well I don’t chase, I lie in wait,” I shot back, joining in her laughter.

“And on that note, I’m out. Please make sure you get here quickly because I actually wanna be on time for this party so I can attack the seafood towers before gen pop gets their grubby hands on them.”

“I thought we were in VIP?” I asked.

“We are, but that doesn’t mean some rapscallions won’t find a way to get their asses beyond the velvet ropes.”

Rapscallions? I was always taken so off guard when Ava brought a word out of her vocabulary that gave the impression that she was a modern negro Brontë sister.

“Okay, sis. Let me finish up here and I’ll see you soon.”

“Later, baby!”

I started going through the final bin and once again found myself distracted when I came across some more photo albums. With full and earned arrogance I could say that I really was a cute ass kid. When I came across a photoset that looked like I was a flower girl in somebody’s wedding, I was hella confused because I couldn’t recall ever doing so. Flipping further through the book, I came across some more photos of me and who I assumed to be the ring bearer holding hands. We were adorable as hell, two cute lil chocolate drops outfitted in all white. I squinted, trying to make out the face of the ring bearer to see if that would give me any clue as to whose wedding this was. After a couple moments, I gave up the ghost, instead choosing to go find my mother and see if she could provide some insight.

“Ma, whose wedding was I in?” I asked, walking into the room where she was packing up the last of a few scattered items into a box marked donations.

“Huh?” she asked, face scrunched up as she turned in my direction.

“These pictures,” I said, holding the photo album toward her.

She grabbed it from me, flipped a couple pages, then began chuckling.

“Oh, baby you weren’t in a wedding. It was your wedding.”

“Ma, say what now?”

“Oh I’d forgotten all about this,” she said as she kept paging through, squealing with delighted laughter. “Chile you know you always had a flair for the dramatic. You remember the Williamsons who used to live next door to us?”

I frowned as I wracked my brain to remember, but ended up just shaking my head.

“They didn’t live over there long, but you and their little boy Armon were thick as thieves from the moment you first met. And when you found out that they were moving you insisted on staging this wedding because if he was your husband then he would have to stay. We put together a little ceremony to appease you, but whew, baby you cried the block into a flood when you realized that it was all for show because they ended up leaving regardless.”

“Why do I have no recollection of any of this?” I replied amusedly.

“Oh baby doll, I have no idea. Though it was a bit traumatic for you. Perhaps you just suppressed the memory,” Ma cajoled.

I rolled my eyes and laughed. “Okay, girl. You almost done in here?” She and I had ridden over together. Once we were all done, I was dropping her off, retrieving my things to get ready at Ava’s, then dropping my car at Cade’s.

“Yes, ma’am. We can leave this box here since your daddy is gonna come by and load everything up to take down to the secondhand shop in a few days. Thank you so much for helping me get this all together, baby doll. You know I appreciate you more than words can express.”

“You say that like I had a choice,” I joked, then quickly corrected once I saw Ma’s face starting to frown up. “You know I’m always down to help you, ol’ lady.”

“Aht aht, watch who you callin’ old, lil girl? I’m the one who makes sure your daddy can still keep it up,” she replied.

“Ma,” I dragged out with a groan.

“Hey, you brought that answer on yourself,” she replied with a shrug and a grin.

With that I went to collect the last of my things from my former childhood bedroom, then we headed out.

Once I got to Ava’s, I was feeling overcome by the festive mood that the end of the year always sparked in me. I loved thinking about the experiences of the past three sixty-five and what they’d taught me before we moved into a fresh set of days, ripe with lessons, blessings, and all sorts of unknown adventure. The sounds of the disco horse blared through Ava’s in-house system as she and I stood shoulder to shoulder putting the finishing touches on our hair and makeup for the evening. As we finished, Ava took a step back giving me a once over then turning back to blow herself a kiss in the mirror before saying, “I now pronounce us two bad bitches! Let’s get it!”

Her infectious energy always turned me up, so I followed her out of her vanity room and out into the living room, hyping her up along the way as we danced—popping and twirling and swirling to every rhythmic measure of the music before silencing it on our way out of the door. She’d hired a black car service to drive us to the party in style and it was stocked with a freshly uncorked bottle of Beau Joie. The drive to the venue where the party was being held wasn’t long, but Ava commandeered the aux of the car so we could continue our disco horse soiree as we sipped fine bubbly. It felt like a waste that we’d each only had a flute’s worth of the pricey champagne before we needed to get out of the car and Ava agreed, snagging the bottle and carrying it as an accessory as we took photos on the red carpet leading into the party.

That alone should have let me know I was in for a memorable night. The VIP section of the party was lit as hell. Getting there early to attack the aforementioned seafood towers was a good call on Ava’s part. We gorged ourselves on king crab, shrimp, and oysters as we sipped nothing but champagne for the majority of the night. I even tried caviar for the first time—not really for me—and felt decadent as hell. Just like in that sizzle reel TikTok I’d seen earlier in the day there was no shortage of fine ass people in attendance at this party. That felt damn near like a requirement as the night carried on and I kept seeing fine ass after fine ass.

Ava and I were mainstays on the dancefloor, dancing either with one another or whatever handsome faced stranger found the invitation that our constantly winding hips offered too alluring to resist. The music was all over the place, but in the best ways possible. I heard songs I’d completely forgotten about from my youth deftly weaved into contemporary hits with ease. The only time I was off the dance floor was if me or Ava needed to refresh our drinks or to catch a breath of fresh air since it was getting pretty thick up in here the nearer we drew to the midnight hour.

Intermittently that man from the TikTok looking for his future wife popped into my mind as I looked at the crowd around me. I bet he hadn’t realized just how many damned people would be trying to Bling in the New Year alongside him when he’d put out that little video. Or hell, maybe that had been its purpose after all, drumming up some last minute excitement as marketing to entice more people to be in the place to be. Despite the bevy of fine I’d seen thus far, that particular brand of fine had yet to come in my purview. Not that I was looking for him in specific or anything.

When we were moments away from the countdown, I looked around to try and find Ava. I’d lost track of her when I was deep in my moment of telling folks to move out the way because me and my girls needed space. Once that song wound down and I still hadn’t laid eyes on her, I was getting a bit worried. I did a lap around the party, starting with the bar area to see if she was getting a refresh. No such luck so I headed toward the bathrooms. I could hear the DJ on the mic saying we were in the last minute of the year as begin his countdown from sixty. Around forty-five seconds, I’d found Ava, tucked deep into a corner with one of the broad-shouldered fines that had been circling us earlier in the evening.

Happy New Year to you, sis!

Not wanting to disturb that groove, I did a swift about face, trying to head into the opposite direction to join the now screaming throng of people counting down from twenty. Instead I was met with a face full of solid flesh. I pulled back instantly, apologies spilling from my lips as I rolled my eyes up to take in the face of the person who I’d run into.

“Ten, nine, eight…” the crowd roared as I stared into what was now a familiar face.

“It’s you,” I breathed as our eyes locked.

“Four, three, two…”

As the numbers descended, so did the stranger’s face, drawing closer to mine and capturing the gasp of surprise right off of my mouth as his pillowy soft lips collided with mine. I felt no urge to push him away as I got swept up into the passion that he imbued via little nibbles and nips at my lower lip until I opened up and invited his tongue inside to tangle with mine. He pulled back and I opened my eyes, feeling more drunk from this kiss than any of the champagne that I’d imbibed all evening.

With an impish lift of one, scar-bisected brow, his lips curved into a smirk before he said, “Happy New Year, future wife.”

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I was drawn out of my musings by the sound of my phone going off with a video call, so I reached over to where it was charging at my bedside to see who it was. I should have known it could only be one person considering that she was the only one who ever called me this soon after the sun had made its ascent into the sky. With a grin settled onto my face just from seeing her picture on my phone, I swiped eagerly, greeting her with an enthusiastic, “Hey, Lovey!”

“Good morning, my sweets,” my grandmother trilled. “Ok, spill it! How was everything? I want all the dirty details.”

My grandmother Lovey was everything to me. My biggest champion, my greatest comforter. She’d had to step into the role of rearing me right after she’d lost her only child and she had done so seamlessly. I had been a mess then, a fresh eleven years old and unable to conceive a world wherein the person who had been the center of mine previously no longer being with us. Since we’d lived clear across the country, my relationship with Lovey before my mom’s death had been decent enough, but we’d definitely grown way closer the older I got. She was the first person I called whenever I got news—good, bad, or indifferent.

A scheduling conflict had precluded her from being able to make the party last night, so I knew she’d be on my line bright and early this morning asking me about it. Lovey was in her seventies but was still as mobile and agile physically and mentally as she’d been decades earlier. She couldn’t make the festivities last night because she was the keynote speaker at a professional conference for writers. In addition to being my loving and caring grandmother, she was also a well-respected author of ten novels as well as a professor of English language and literature at a prestigious HBCU.

“It was amazing, Lovey. I wish you could have been there because your girl Kysre was in the building.”

“From Pretty Baked?” Lovey squealed. “Oh I just love that show! You didn’t say that there were going to be people from Sizzle Network there, too!”

“You knew there would be the possibility though since they’re sister networks with CanDo. I told her how you were a massive fan and she insisted that we keep in touch because she’s a major fan of your work and would love for you to come on an episode of the show in the future.”

“Ciji, I know you are lying to me!”

“Swear it, Lovey! Girl, don’t act like your name doesn’t ring bells in these streets still.”

“I suppose,” she answered with a smug little grin on her face. “All right we can circle back to all of this because you know what I am really calling for. How was it? Finally meeting your little boyfriend in the flesh. Give me all the dirty details.”

I grimaced, thinking about how that meeting was the exact opposite of what Lovey had been hoping for me.

“Oooh, what’s that face, sweets?” she said with a concerned frown.

“Forget anything I ever said about William Preston before because he is now at the top of my hit list!”

Lovey gasped. “No way!”

I shook my head vehemently. “Yes, way,” I replied before launching into the whole story about how he’d behaved toward me all evening when I’d done nothing to him.

When I finished, Lovey had a funny look on her face.

“Uh oh. What’s that look about?”

“You said he had been looking at you from across the room all night?” Lovey asked.

I nodded.

“And he didn’t have a word to say when you were finally within striking distance?”

“Yeah.”

“And he hustled his narrow behind away the moment it became apparent that he could no longer avoid having an interaction with you?”

“Sure. I am not quite sure what this line of questioning is supposed to help me conclude beyond doubling down on him being a rude, and potentially jealous, butthead.”

“Or, a man enamored with a woman and taken aback by how strongly he’s attracted, so he was trying to appear aloof and play it cool.”

“Oh please, Lovey! Weren’t you the one who adamantly lectured me on not giving into the ‘if he messes with you that means he likes you’ train of thought when it came to boys in my youth?” I screeched incredulously.

“I did. And I stand on that one hundred percent, but… I don’t know, sweets. That’s not the read I’m getting here based on what you’ve said to me.”

“Well it’s the read I got being in the midst of it all, so… trust me on this one. That man is not checking for me like that.”

“Famous last words, my sweets,” Lovey replied with a chuckle.

“Yeah yeah,” I grumbled as we chatted a bit further and then rang off the call altogether.

Despite me putting my grandmother off, I was secretly amused and somewhat thrilled at the prospect she’d offered me. Had I just been reading his energy wrong the entire time? Were those looks of disdain just artfully concealed desire? Had I misread the snort of derision I’d heard when Wayland had called me a sibling of theirs? I shook my head to snap myself out of it. Even if what Lovey was thinking had some merit, I really wasn’t in the business of entertaining men who weren’t mature enough to just express their feelings directly instead of doing all of the subliminal shit.

Thankfully, the odds of me sharing space with him again any time soon would be slim to none, so I just needed to not even give any of these thoughts the space to roam around my brain. As far as I was concerned, whatever problem William Preston had with me was something he needed to work out between himself and God.

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A few things:

• Patreon saw this first. I tasked my patrons to provide prompts using a specific set of parameters & I wrote shorts based on ‘em.
• if you haven’t read Hunger, you should prolly skip this
• If you’re not a fan of short stories, you should prolly skip this.

Now that that’s out of the way, enjoy!

TroiI could not believe that we’d let Lenita talk us into taking this damned trip with her for her birthday. How six Black women had ended up vacationing in New Mexico was well beyond me at this point. We hadn’t done one of these big girls trip vacations since most of us had turned thirty a few years back and we’d let the nostalgia of just how much fun we typically had together no matter where we were color the fact that nobody beyond the birthday girl had a shred of interest in any of the activities and excursions that she’d planned for us.

Well, wait…let me not lie, I was very much interested in the sunrise hot air balloon ride that we’d be embarking on tomorrow morning. I was wholly disinterested, however, in this self-guided tour of the Georgia O’Keeffe Museum in Santa Fe that we were on at the moment, though.

“Troi,” my friend Safiyya whispered as she sidled up alongside me. “Is it just me or are these paintings looking a little…”

She and I were the only two left here at the museum while the rest of the crew had gone on a little excursion that took them out to Georgia O’Keeffe’s residence when she’d lived out in these desert streets. Neither of us cared for another ride of over an hour when we’d already driven about ninety minutes to get here from Santa Fe. So we’d decided to just hang out at the museum and await their return, but honestly? I was ready to beat this joint and go check out one of the local dispensaries. I always liked to keep an eye on what others in the industry had going on, even though my job wasn’t really involved with that part of our business. Plus, I’d damn near run through my little stash of gummies I’d brought with me since I’d decided to be hospitable and share with the other girls who were interested in partaking. I was lamenting the fact of having not brought any flower along.

I looked over at Saf expectantly, waiting for her to continue her sentence, but she just lifted her brows in a suggestive manner and said nothing more.

“Color me slow on the uptake today, Saf, but I’m not picking up what you’re putting down today, babe. You gotta state it plainly.”

Safiyya’s lips curled into a sly grin and I knew I’d just set myself up for some bullshit.

“Nita brought us to a museum full of pussy!” she said with a devious chuckle. “Are we supposed to be getting some hint from this or something? I mean I knew statistically there had to be at least one more of y’all on my team and honestly, I’d pegged Shea as the scissor sister adjacent one. Gotta get my gaydar checked coz Nita didn’t even ping!”

I let out a sharp crack of laughter before shaking my head at Saffiya before replying, “I’m pretty certain that Nita, of all people, would have been told us if she was bi or lesbian, fool! Have you forgotten that we know damn near every detail of every nigga she’s fucked since 2008???”

Saf nodded slowly like she was considering my point, then fervently shook her head. “Nah, it’s way too many pussies on these walls for this to be coincidental.”

“They’re flowers, Safiyyah,” I replied, with a chuckle.

“Tomato, tomahto, let’s agree to disagree,” she shot back with a shrug.

“Well babe, not all of us consistently have pussy on the brain so…I mean…”

“Woooooow, so that’s what we’re on now, Troi?” Saf said, rolling her eyes at me. “C’mon, you don’t see it?”

She pointed to the picture in front of where we were currently standing. I cocked my head from side to side, trying valiantly to see what she was seeing, but falling short.

“Sorry, boo! My pussy doesn't look anything like…” I trailed off and squinted to see the plaque alongside the painting with its name. “...oriental peonies.”

“All right, maybe not this one, but how about that one over there…”

I followed her pointed finger to a painting that was just about six feet away from where we were standing and…shit, Saf might have been onto something. I couldn’t see its name because the writing on the plaque was too tiny for me to decipher, but the soft yellow flower with its folds delicately draping against one another and a distinctly prominent bunching of petals near the top that vaguely resembled a woman’s love button was definitely giving vagina monologue. And as my eyes flitted from that one to the next few paintings in succession, each growing more and more vaginaesque to my viewing, I turned back to a smug looking Saf.

“Mmmmhmmm, you see it now right, pussy as far as the eye can see. Damn, I wish Linnea had come on this trip, this muhfuckin’ gallery got me feeling a way now,” she said with a low moan.

“Ugh, Saf really? Can you not?”

“Whateva heffa. Lemme go FaceTime my love and see if she’ll show me a titty or something to tide me over.”

I expelled a sharp bark of laughter that caused the few folks that were in the space with us to turn in my direction. I turned to scold Saf for bringing attention in our direction, but her ass had already gotten ghost on me. I should have known she was serious about FaceTiming Linnea. Hell those two rarely did anything without the other and I was lowkey surprised that Saf hadn’t pushed the issue and made Nita invite her along. The only rule that we’d had with our girls trips was that no one was to bring a significant other—even if said significant other was a woman.

Ironically enough, it’d been enacted when one of our other LS called herself convincing a dude she was fucking to plan a trip with his guy friends to New Orleans when we were going for Essence Fest so she could have the option to dip out on us for dick. He fell for it after she had him fooled thinking that the rest of us would be gang to entertain his ragtag group of friends who looked straight outta the gutter. And I didn’t meant that as a pejorative for being from the hood, but that them niggas—including the one that Nicki called herself obsessed with—legit came off like they’d just crawled out of hiding with Leonard, Donatello, Michelangelo, Raphael, and Master Splinter.

I wasn’t mad at Saf for missing her wife though, lord knows I could relate to that. This little birthday trip was hella inconvenient timing in my life since right before it, I’d been on a trip away from home, overseeing the construction of a new dispensary for my company. What was meant to just be a few days turned into me spending over a week in a different city so the few days I’d planned on being face down ass up with my fiancé were interrupted. And when I’d gotten back home, he wasn’t there because he had a fitness conference that he was attending in Durham. Considering that when we were in the same space, we tended to me all up under one another as our schedules permitted, having gone nearly two weeks without any one-on-one time with my man had me feeling a way.

And Tyse knew it too with his little thirst traps and suggestive innuendo comments in every conversation that we’d had in our time apart. Any time I’d tried to shift our innocent convos into naughtier territory, he diverted our course.

“Save it, mama,” he urged me just last night. “And when you get back, you might as well call in some PTO because I’ma be tearing that ass up.”

And because he had my ass wrapped around his thick ass fingers, I’d done exactly that.

Until I was four Casamigos-based beverages deep, immensely horny, and in need of release before I completely exploded. So I’d dipped off from the girls and made my way up to my room on a mission, locking the door behind me. I’d showered and changed into lounge clothes after we’d returned from our Santa Fe excursion and we were supposed to be keeping it lowkey tonight since we had to be up before daybreak for our hot air balloon-ride, but one thing had led to another and I found myself in the current circumstance. Clumsily toppling onto the bed, I FaceTimed Tyse, each ring that passed seeming like it took an eternity, only for him to not even answer.

I gritted out a frustrated groan before I made the executive decision to just get myself off to relieve some of the tension that had my body taut. Since he knew me like the back of his hand, I was certain that Tyson would immediately be able to tell that I hadn’t held out until we were back together and honestly, just the thought of whatever “punishment” would come after he realized had me clenching my thighs together tightly. I didn’t even bother with any external stimulation, letting my imagination lead the way as my hands slid one strap, then the other of the tank I’d paired with leggings to sleep in. I’d just begun to pull it over my head when my phone suddenly sounded off. Flinching like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar, I righted my shirt and picked up my discarded phone immediately, swiping to connect the call.

“Hey honey,” I crooned as soon as the call connected and his handsome face was splayed across my screen.

He’d let the facial hair that he typically kept low, grow out a bit, and the scruff was giving him an even more rugged than usual look. I bit down on my lip to suppress the wanton moan that threatened to bubble up from my throat at just the sight of him.

Damn I had it bad.

“What’s good with you, love?” he asked before squinting into the camera and taking full stock of my appearance. “What have you been up to?”

I could tell from his tone he’d known exactly what I’d been trying to get up to before I answered his call, but I tried playing it off anyway.

“Oh, just laid down after having one too many,” I replied breezily, “Wanted your handsome face to be the last thing I saw before I drifted off.”

Tyson smirked. “Are you sure about that?”

“Y-yeah,” I stammered, shifting my position in the bed a bit.

“Your head is in the arm hole and one of your titties is damn near hanging out, babe. I think you were doing a little bit more than drifting off. What’s up with that? I thought you were saving it for when you got home.”

“I can’t hold out any longer,” I whined, not even attempting to fix my clothing.

Tyson’s only response was a low rumble of laughter that went directly to my sweet spot. My chest heaved and clit thumped as we stared at one another wordlessly.

“You gonna make me beg for it?” I whispered after the silence dragged for a little bit past my comfort.

Shaking his head, Tyson replied, “And here I thought we’d finally gotten your willpower up to par. Guess you need more training.”

That one word emitted from his lips instantly sent a shiver up my spine. My mind was instantly transported to the very first time he’d initiated a new element into our lovemaking a few months back. Minutes passing that felt like hours, three scarves, and a nearly unbearable amount of teasing by way of Tyson’s hands, mouth, and dick had come together in unison to make me lose my entire mind in ecstasy when he’d finally allowed me to give into the orgasm that he had been prematurely truncating until he’d finally allowed me to be fully pushed off the cliff of desire in a drenched, babbling lump of woman. His earlier directive of “saving it” for him was pushing the limit and he knew it considering that being brought to or bringing myself to orgasm was one of my tried and true methods of relaxation.

“Tyse, please…” I groaned, already knowing that despite things eventually going my way, it’d take a little bit for me to get the happy ending I so desperately sought.

“You got something you can use to hold up your phone?” he asked, ignoring my plea.

I nodded before jerryrigging my phone against the lamp on the nightstand and repositioning myself so that I was fully in Tyson’s view. I sat with my legs folded beneath me, butt touching the soles of my feet and hands resting atop my thighs, assuming the position I knew he’d have me start in. A few beats of silence passed before a sinister grin spread across Tyse’s face as he directed me to play with my nipples through the thin fabric of the tank I wore. At the first brush of my thumbs against them, my nipples beaded instantly and I let out a low moan at the first feel of the simmering cinders of sensual awareness building in my core.

“All you had was one more day before you got home, mama. You couldn’t even wait that long huh,” Tyson crooned, the sound of his voice instantly increasing the speed of my movements. “Uh uh…nice and slow circles, baby. You know the drill.”

I groaned hard in frustration, but just nodded my head and acquiesced to his directive to continue to circle each nipple with a thumb.

“You mad baby?” he asked in a teasing lilt.

Since the only sounds I emitted were the increased intake of air from my breathing and my face was screwed up into a scowl, he knew exactly what the answer was to that question. With a chuckle, he sat back in his chair, lacing his hands behind his head. His shift in position brought my eyes directly to his lap where I could see the outline of his dick coming to life in the thin shorts he wore. Unconsciously I licked my lips and Tyson laughed once again.

“Now if you’d held out, instead of having to recollect exactly how my dick feels against those soft ass lips of yours, you’d be feeling it. But naaaaah, you wanted to be on some other shit.”

“You get on my nerves,” I grumbled, a pout taking over my features as Tyson just shook his head at me.

“Get your ass undressed and let me see my pussy,” Tyson said.

Like I was a winter soldier who’d heard their trigger word, I snapped to moving instantly, flinging the tank I’d been tangled up in over my head and tugging off my leggings in rapid succession. Without waiting for his directive, my hands settled between my thighs instantly seeking out my pussy as if they were magnetized to the area.

“Aht! Did I say you could touch my pussy yet?” Tyson teased.

With the last of the restraint that I had in my body, I rested my hands on my thighs, still spread-eagle, my pussy on full display for Tyson. The simmering lust in his eyes set off a fire within me that burned with wanton insistence.

“Tyse, please,” I moaned, now lightly running my fingertips along my inner thighs.

“One hand on clit, other hand on tit,” he said, then laughed at his silly ass rhyme.

I’d heard it before, already knowing not to get too carried away with my movements at either site or there’d be consequences. I gently flicked my nipple with my right hand and used the middle finger of my left hand to slide against my clit in tandem. Since I was already pathetically sopping wet, the first glancing touch of my finger against my clit made my stomach concave as I cried out sharply. With a strength I mustered out of who knows where, I continued teasing myself much to Tyson’s pleasure as I observed his increased breathing and lowered eyes when I looked up to make eye contact. Feeling bold, I swiped my clit one last time and then brought my hand to my mouth, swirling my tongue around my finger and sucking it like it was the longer and girthier tool that resided in his shorts hundreds of miles away. I smirked when I heard Tyson’s impatient groan and looked up to see that I’d been rewarded with the sight I’d been aching to see. Tyse had rid himself of all of his clothing and the only thing I now saw in the phone’s frame was my beautifully veiny dick with his hand wrapped around it in a tight grasp.

Removing my finger from my mouth, I lowered my hand to my pussy once again, teasing my slit with the finger that had been working my clit earlier. Tyson began to move his hand up and down his shaft. My eyes were riveted to the screen as his disembodied voice encouraged me to fuck myself with my fingers keeping pace with his strokes. He alternated between short, rapid-fire jerks of his hand and long languid caresses with no rhyme or reason. I could feel myself getting wetter with each tempo shift as I let out a series of modulating, keening cries that only consisted of his name and the word yes being repeated in succession.

It must’ve started feeling too good to him as well because instead of making me hold out, Tyson gritted out, “Lemme see my pussy cum for me.” With those words, my hands went to work, bringing me to climax no more than thirty seconds after his command, the walls of my pussy contracting and releasing around my fingers in vain, milking them for a secretion that would never spurt forth from the digits. I heard Tyson’s increased breathing and low groans that let me know he was close to cumming and my eyes were riveted to the small screen of my phone as he shot off, his cum seeping from the tip of his dick in a massive gush. I licked my lips and hummed, wishing I was savoring the flavor of him in my mouth instead of being separated by way too many miles and hours before we would be reunited.

I collapsed backward onto the bed, eyes pointed upward watching as the blades of the ceiling fan swirled about until I had come back into my body. A few moments later, I heard Tyson call my name and I drug myself back up to grab my phone with a silly grin on my face.

“Are you happy now?” Tyson asked with a smirk on his face.

I couldn’t do shit but nod with a big grin, my eyelids feeling heavy with the weight of being completely sated and imminent sleep.

“Gon’ and take your ass to bed, mama. And be ready to make up for not saving this one for me when you get in tomorrow night. Love you.”

“I love you more, honey,” I replied around a yawn.

The sound of the FaceTime disconnecting was all I got back as I settled beneath the covers, giddily falling into slumber knowing that many orgasms greater than the one I’d just had awaited me as soon as I touched down at home.

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Welp, allegedly I have a new novella coming sometime this month, so I suppose a sample would be nice, eh? LMAO! Meet Tyson (a personal trainer) and Troian (his favorite client and current obsession). [insert all of the normal disclaimers of this not being the final product, unedited so there may be errors, etc. here] Enjoy!

“There’s an open bar, food on the back wall, and T will be here soon,” Raya called over her shoulder to me as she rushed up to a gathering of three other women near the back of the room.

[***]

I didn’t have long to wait as the door opened and a tall, willowy woman with bright teal hair walked through the door followed in quick succession by Troian and…goddamn. I’d thought she was fine fresh out of the office and soon after a workout, but I was not prepared for “night out on the town with her friends” Troian. She was downright dangerous in the body-hugging dress that hit her mid-thigh and sky high stilettos she wore. I felt like a damned middle schooler, with the way my body just involuntarily responded to her nearness. I had to will my dick to behave as she made her way around the room, greeting everyone who’d gathered. When she reached the group with Raya in it, I saw Raya pointing in my direction as she whispered something in Troian’s ear. Whatever it was made her face light up with humor as she threw her head back in a loud laugh before shoving Raya away from her.

Her greetings to the rest of the folks in the room were briefer than her initial contacts and soon she was standing right in front of me.

“You made it,” Troian remarked with a shy grin.

“Of course, I’m a man of my word,” I replied, reaching into my back pocket to retrieve the small gift box I had for her, “Congratulations, again.”

“You didn’t have to…” she trailed off, her eyes ballooning as she took in the name engraved on the box, “You know what…actually, I’m just gonna be gracious and say thank you because anything Louis Vuitton is way more than you needed to get me.”

“Nothing but the best for my favorite client,” I vocalized smoothly, bringing forth a quick grin to Troian’s face.

“Oh, I’m your favorite, huh?” she quipped, tucking my gift into the clutch she grasped. Moving closer to me, she sniffed at the remnants of the drink I had in my glass, “What you been over here drinking to make you tell that tall tale? No way am I your favorite with the way you torture me!”

I laughed along with her, insisting, “It’s not torture, Troi. It’s me knowing you can do it and pushing your limits.”

A quick look of something I couldn’t quite discern flashed in her eyes before she excused herself to greet the remainder of the folks in the room that she hadn’t personally spoken with.

Before walking completely away from me, she said, “I want you to meet my friend, Jay. He’s looking to break into personal training, and I think you could give him some good insight.”

“Wooooow, so now we get to why you really invited me here,” I joked and Troian aimed a playful punch to my arm.

“Shut up! I invited you here because I wanted you here,” Troian replied, her eyes low and her lower lip pulled between her teeth. “I’ll be right back with Jay though, okay? So don’t get lost.”

Shaking my head, I laughed at her once again, trying to figure out what seemed different about her. At the gym we always had our little back and forth banter, but something about her tonight seemed unlike our normal dynamic. Perhaps it was the two of us being somewhere beyond the gym. I couldn’t quite put a finger of what had shifted though it was definitely noticeable. Before Troi made her way back to me, the volume of the music being piped in from the main space decreased and Raya – flanked by five other women – tapped a mic to get everyone’s attention.

[***]

Troian made her way up to where her girlfriends were gathered amid cheering and clapping from everyone in attendance. When she reached for the mic that Raya held, Raya shook her head.

“Not yet chica, I got one last thing to say to you and I want you to listen to me when I say these words. You’re brilliant and talented and I am proud to call you my sister. There is nothing in this world that you want that you can’t get, you hear me? Nothing. Love you, T,” Raya finished before pulling Troian into a tight hug and whispering some other things that the rest of us weren’t privy to directly into her ear.

[***]

All the women near her pulled her into a massive group hug as a dude approached me.

“Tyson?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Jayveon,” he said, extending a hand for a shake, “TT said she was gonna introduce us, but I got a little anxious. Since yours was the only face I didn’t recognize I figured I’d do the honors myself.”

“Nice to meet you, man. Troi briefly mentioned that she’d wanted us to speak—said you were looking to get into training.”

That was all he needed to launch into his long-winded explanation of how he’d come to looking at fitness and training as a viable career option and now was looking for a mentor of sorts of shepherd him through the process of getting certified, working in a gym, and eventually opening his own gym in the future. I loved what I did so it didn’t take long for me to get caught up in the conversation, offering to step in and help Jay along in his process. Kenny and I had been talking about expanding and hiring more trainers, so this meeting was lowkey right on time for the both of us. We’d been rapping for about twenty minutes when Troi walked up saying, “Oh good, y’all met, so I don’t have to do all of that.”

Jay laughed at her statement, remarking, “Please don’t tell me your lightweight ass is drinking tonight.”

“Blame your sister and her insistence that we do shots,” Troi said with a little giggle.

“They know damn well you shouldn’t be doing shots of anything but water,” Jay said as Troian rolled her eyes at him.

“Anyway, if you’re done monopolizing Tyse’s time…” she said, working her way between us, wrapping an arm around my waist in a move that surprised me. “I’d like to spend some time with my friend.”

Recognized he’d been dismissed, Jay dapped me up before promising to holler at me on Monday via text since we’d also exchanged contact information.

“Ooh, this is my song. Come dance with me!” Troian said suddenly, clasping my hand into hers and dragging me into the middle of the space with no room for me to decline if I wasn’t into the idea.

I didn’t recognize the shit playing through the speakers, but to be fair if the music wasn’t hip-hop made prior to twenty oh six, the chances of me recognizing it was slim to none. The lil beat was smooth though so I kept it simple with a slick two-step as Troian moved with her hands in the air, hips winding, ass grinding against my groin as she sang the lyrics at the top of her lungs along with every other woman who had started dancing and singing along shortly after Troi had turned up. We kept that up for a few more songs, Troian’s moves becoming more and more risky as each song transitioned, her girls cheering her on from the sidelines as she lost herself to the music.

Each sway of those luscious thighs and that fat ass that was just barely covered by the itty-bitty dress she wore sent me closer and closer to the brink as I tried putting a little bit of space between us so that she wouldn’t feel the evidence of what being this close to her was doing to me. I hadn’t felt this out of control of my own shit since I was a damned shorty; employing tactics I hadn’t resulted to in about twenty years so I wouldn’t be sporting a fuckin’ woody for the world to see. I leaned down to speak into her ear, about to beg off for a quick drink break so I could pull myself together. A move I quickly regretted as that brought my dick flush against the pillowy softness of her ass, the already painfully hard muscle growing even tighter at that quick brush. Tossing a naughty smirk at me over her shoulder, Troi grabbed my hands, lacing them across the slight pooch of her tummy as her hips wound, inviting me to catch her rhythm and grind.

I gave up trying to resist, allowing myself this brief moment of indulgence—knowing that the softness of her skin combined with the floral sweetness of the fragrance she wore would be forever embedded in my spank bank for later reference. We weren’t trainer and client right now, just a man and woman engaging in a powerful exchange of sensual energy fueled by the music of the moment. Turning in my arms, Troi looped her arms around my neck, pulling my head down so she could speak into my ear.

“Has all of my hard work so far paid off?” she asked in a breathy sort of whisper as she moved in closer to me; the answer to that question hard and heavy against her thigh.

“Troi, I don’t think…” I started, but she cut me off with a fleeting press of her mouth against mine.

“Don’t think; just act,” she implored me before turning back around, an arm carelessly flung into the air to bring my head down to nuzzle her neck.

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Social media is for the highlight reel right? You’re supposed to brag on yourself, show off the shiny things in your possession, high moments only.

Well, not for me.

Sometimes I like to share missteps, failures, tales of falling just short because those things are helpful. At least I find them to be anyway. The above picture is my whiteboard that sits on my desk that I’m supposed to use to:

a) help me keep track of what day it actually is (meaning of the week AND date since WFH life has me in a perpetual state of every day is Saturday)

b) help me keep up with deadlines (both self imposed and those handed down from others)

You’ll see that I have the “release date” for my forthcoming project on there twice. Because when I feel grounded in the story that comes to me, I set a release date. It’s weird and I wouldn’t recommend it for everyone but it typically keeps me focused enough to see a thing through til the end. But what I didn’t count on was malaise. It slowly crept into my life just days after the euphoria of beating my January deadline and completely upended my February plans. FAAFO was supposed to be a Valentine’s weekend release, as you can see, but how about the bulk of it wasn’t written until well after the 14th had passed. 😂

And chile I was over here sick about it. Never mind about the fact that I’d LITERALLY just released a project—instead I chose to obsess about not meeting some arbitrary deadline that nobody but me and Jesus knew about. And honestly? If I had met that deadline? I don’t think I would be as in love with the final project as I am now. While I hate that I had to plummet into the depths of sadness that I’d experienced, this was a true blue lesson in slowing the fuck down & breathing.

Remembering my purpose and recalibrating. Exorcising emotions that didn’t serve me well.

Because sometimes we get so caught up in what we aren’t doing (well or at all) that we don’t celebrate what has been done. And as someone who constantly encourages my friends to take a moment to remember just how fucking dope they are, I wasn’t doing that for myself.

Quelle tragique.

But we off that. I remember now. And by sharing this, I hope that you too will take that moment to remember your dopeness. And that where you are is where you are supposed to be in the divine plan of it all. What’s for you to have is just within your grasp. No need to rush it because it WILL come. You just gotta exercise a little patience and wait for it. Keep doing the work in the meantime though. Because the reward follows the doing; not the whining/complaining/what iffing/why not meing.

That’s my $.02 anyway.

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hi friends. been gone for a minute, now i’m back with the jump off. first things first, i gotta say that i had no designs on writing this story…more on that later, but for now, here’s a wee sample of my forthcoming release, fck around and find out - a companion novella to a crowd favorite, fck and fall in love. this time we’re following Jane’s bestie Ebonée & her journey to happily ever after. of course we get snatches and peeks of Jane & Nigel along the way, but they’re not central to this narrative. FAAFO is now up for preorder, releasing on Friday the 26th! ok enough of my spiel, keep reading if you’re interested in getting a lil sample!

There were nearly ten years between Emory and me, so he was like my little baby as well as my little brother. With the age gap between us, however, our friend circles had never really overlapped so while I’d remembered his homeboy, I wasn’t exactly close to him, especially with them being on the tail end of elementary school when I was graduating high school. I probably couldn’t pick him up out of a lineup these days since I hadn’t seen him in so long and Emory wasn’t one for social media, so it wasn’t like I’d seen any recent pictures of Floyd via his profiles or anything. Curiosity had me doing a quick Google search of him as I made my way over to Palmer Alley and…gahdamn.

Baby boy had grown up.

Rocking just beyond shoulder length, pencil sized locs, Floyd was handsome as hell with his smooth Nutella colored skin, deep-set, almond-shaped, deep-brown-damn-near-black eyes with a gaze so intense that it felt like this picture was staring through my soul. All of that combined with an aquiline nose, full, pouty lips, and a chiseled jaw made him look like he’d been handcrafted in my wet dreams and delivered to me on a silver platter. Maybe doing my little brother this favor wouldn’t be as much of a hardship as I’d initially thought. The moment that thought crossed my mind; my phone buzzed with a text from Emory snapping me back into reality. The last thing I needed was to get wrapped up in another man any time soon.

After a disastrous marriage and an even more disastrous rebound relationship, I was on a miatus—a man hiatus. The immediate attraction I’d felt from just glancing at a picture of Floyd was out of the ordinary. I wasn’t a woman typically easily swayed by looks, preferring to get to know a man on a deeper level before giving myself over to being taken in by his level of attractiveness. And where the hell has that gotten you, I thought ruefully. Absolutely nowhere. All of that, “I’m looking for substance over everything” bullshit that I’d ascribed to had only led me to consistently getting my face broken by men who seemed to be one thing, but turned out to be a wholly different other.

I approached Palmer Alley seeing what looked like folks dispersing instead of gathering for an unveiling. Staring up at the hundreds of twinkling lights and twisted, colored metal that looked like an approximation of Santa’s Workshop in the North Pole, I pulled out my phone to double check the time. Seeing the time that Emory had sent me and noting that I still had about ten minutes before that hour struck, I was confused as hell. The installation was beautiful as I peered up at it while counting down from ten to soothe some of my irritation. It was then that I noticed that some of the elves were moving, “fixing” the toys in their possession.

“Ebonée?” I heard a male voice ask in a low timbre.

I turned and was face to face with Floyd who managed to look even finer in real life than he had in the pictures I’d seen online. Before I could open my mouth to confirm I was me, he was hauling me into him, banding his arms around me, pulling me flush against the firm chest of a man who definitely didn’t take any days at the gym off. I felt my eyelids flutter as he pressed a quick kiss to my cheek, then pulled back. “You are…a sight for sore eyes,” he breathed looking down at me.

His brand of forwardness was something that usually turned me right off, but there was something about his touch that felt…familiar.

“It’s,” I squeaked before clearing my throat and continuing, “it’s good to see you too, Floyd. It’s been so long.”

Licking his lips, he murmured, “Too long.”

I raised a brow as he shook his head, chuckling.

“I was trying to come show support since your boy Emory couldn’t be here, but I guess I got the times mixed up,” I said from the comforts of a loose embrace Floyd had still held me in.

The mention of my brother’s name made him release me, setting off a feeling of some sort of loss that I quickly tamped down because what in the entire fuck, sis?

Shaking his head with a grin Floyd said, “Typical Em. That man just refuses to understand how time zones work. He definitely sent you off. We just wrapped not too long ago.”

“I cannot wait to cuss him out later,” I tutted with a roll of my eyes. “Well, I won’t keep you. It was good seeing you. And this,” I trailed off gesturing to the decorations floating above our heads, “looks amazing. How did you even come up with this idea?”

“If you know somewhere I can get a decent Old Fashioned around here, how about I tell you about it over drinks?” Floyd replied.

I pointed ahead of us. “About a block that way is my favorite happy hour spot. I’m sure they can hook you up with your Old Fashioned while we catch up.”

“Shall we?” Floyd asked, extending a hand in my direction that I looked at for a second before settling my hand into his massive one.

“Let’s.”

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this’ll be a bit stream of conscious, so I hope you can roll with me.

i battled with myself about whether or not i wanted to do an end of year wrap up mainly because i have worked very hard to stifle many parts of this year from my memory. i thought about doing it in video form but i look like brother shaquille sunflower by the head and i’d rather not subject y’all to that, so instead you get the words. a behind the curtain look at how all of the projects i released this year came to fruition and my hopes for the year that’s on the horizon. but before we get there, we first must revisit 2019 also known as the year in which i decided to go full-time as an author. it was a decision made with much fear, but also a heaping spoonful of faith.

i knew that my first release of 2020 would be my 20th project and i was very excited for it to be The Restart. Miss Blair was one of my favorite heroines to write because she was really unfiltered. her story’s trajectory took a turn and gave me the fits while it was unfolding, but all in all i was very proud of where it all ended up. and then i decided that I wouldn’t dither and get Parker’s story out immediately after. and baby, when i tell y’all these characters direct the flow and not the girl? believe it. Parker went mums the word onna bitch QUICK. and then Chenoa popped up like “hey, i got a lil freaky sneaky tale you can share with the masses” and thus y’all got A Dirty Valentine and the birth of the Falls Sexy Holiday Shorts Series.

a twitter friend suggested i take time to write a st. paddy’s day story and since that holiday holds a special place in my heart, A Good Luck Fck happened. and while i was writing AGLF…a fucking pandemic happened.*

& as writers are wont to do, a group of writer friends and i collaborated on a group of stories that faced the ideas of the pandemic and quarantine head on. not to make a quick buck or make light of a serious situation, but in order to channel our anxiousness (in my case, anyway) into the one place where we can always make the world make sense. the luminous cruise chronicles featured stories by AshleyNicole, Chencia C. Higgins, D. Rose, Diana W, Honesty Price, T. Key, Turtleberry, & me. My story, Love Under Quarantine , was supposed to come out near the beginning of the releases, but shortly before we were set to launch my father was rushed to the hospital and there for days - thankfully nonCOVID related - but no less scary since because of protocols we couldn’t lay eyes on him beyond a phone’s screen. as such i feel the stain of my utter panic and anxiety all over that tale, but collaborating with those ladies was a fun ride, one of the year’s highlights for sure. :)

you know how we all thought on/near 3/13/20, “oh we’ll be locked down for a couple weeks then it’ll be business as usual?” lmfao. all of the cool shit i had planned for the year? all of the ways i thought i would be able to expand my brand and ascend in my career? poof. gone. i didn’t adjust well, but made do with what i had available to me.

through it all, i kept writing. if you’ve seen the broadway musical hamilton, you’ll know that his relationship with writing was categorized as an almost pathological act. and i felt that shit. i needed the normalcy of opening up microsoft word and then listening to the characters. it wasn’t always the things i wanted, needed, or expected, but i turned to the words for solace. through my absolute frenzied thoughts in the beginning stages of the pandemmy i was able to release what was my favorite release of mine this year, release some tension. the story came to me while listening to the swv album of the same name that’s a smooth like twenty-three years old. Ayumi’s trajectory was singing loud and proud to me through those lyrics though, so i hunkered down to see what i could see.

i tried going back to Parker and Kelly’s story in June and July. they kept telling me to fuck off. I was an unhappy camper, but then DJ sauntered her ass onto the scene and was like “ok sis, i know you’ve always wanted to write a book inspired by your fave, so saddle up, bitch!” the pleasure principle took me on a ride. what i thought it would be and what it ended up being were two separate circles; instead of a venn diagram. but DJ’s journey was something really special that i hoped readers could follow, maybe relate to in some ways, and perhaps pick up a gem or two along the way. unfortunately, i’d never know since i also doubled down on my resolution not to read reviews.

i’ve been beat over the head with the messaging that reviews are for readers and not authors, so i try to stay in a child’s place and eschew reading any that are not placed upon my doorstep via tagging on the various socials or what have you. every now and again, i give in and take a peek at reviews and undoubtedly see one that makes me wonder what the hell i am even doing. it’s wild that the dissonant voices always ring the loudest, right?

after DJ came another word drought til mickey and vic decided to stop playing and come with it in bounce back. i gotta say…i am a little disappointed at how disconnected folks seemed to be from that book, but it’s my own doing really. because yes it was a romance, but it wasn’t just a romance for me as writing about Micaiah’s professional trajectory was equally as important to me as her reconnection with Victor, but apparently I was too hyperfocused on that and fell short on accurately portraying the kinetic energy between my leads. i can eat that, but i also wrote the fuck out of that book, so there is also that. LMFAO.

and apparently all it took was Victor having a kid for Parker and Kelly to trust me because they legit started yelling almost immediately after i typed the end on bounce back. the recovery fka the sweet spot was probably my second favorite book to write this year just because of the FUN i had with parker and the stewards. not to say that i don’t have fun during my writing process all the time, coz i do, but this one hit different.

and i think it’s because they taught me my biggest lesson of this year. which is i don’t own these characters, they own me. they may pop in and say hi, but that doesn’t mean they’re ready to sit down in the red table of my mind and unload the intricacies of their lives quite yet. and as much as i think i know what they got going on, i really don’t know a damned thing until they’re ready for me to know it all. this year also caused me to interrogate my writing rituals and approach to what is achievement wrt to writing. i couldn’t get far in any project if there was no point (to me). as soon as i found the point was when the words started bubbling over.

which takes us to my thanksgiving short (which i knew would be my final contribution to the holiday shorts series) that i’m certain folks that would be a bit sexier considering its predecessors and girl me too. but instead, a feast for the senses saw a sneak peek into the beginning of Ant & Ari’s ceding to the undeniable power of love. were i given more from them, it would have been longer, but alas they just wanted to give us a taste.

which was another lesson learned this year. i can’t control how much these folks give me no matter how hard i try. it was something i learned with bounce back especially as i fell short of a self-imposed minimum that the title needed to hit & they were like “nah sis this all we got, be #blest”.

my final release of the year, eight naughty nights, was honestly me just letting go and having some fun. i legit went into it with the mind frame “no strict plot, just vibes” and baby, octavia and lance showed up like “oh no worries, mama. we just finna fuck our way until some thangs jump off”. i ain’t gonna front like i was mad about it because (whispering) sex is one of the most fun parts to write, but of course i wonder how many people will write it off as unrealistic instalove whatever.

which…well, we won’t even get into that.

at top of 2020 i declared my word for this year to be “bag”. as in i would get in and stay in my bag, writing my ass off and hopefully introducing y’all to characters, plots, and experiences that were enjoyable. despite the pandemmy trying to convince me that i hadn’t done just that, i think that i’ve done a good enough job of hunkering in my bag this year. i leave 2020 with a sense of unsteadiness. i haven’t the slightest what 2021 will bring (don’t have a word in mind for it quite yet), but i can only hope for abundance and a real live settling into my current occupation in more fulfilling ways.

whew okay this is long as hell. so i’m out til the new year. may you and yours stay safe, secure, and well-hydrated. gently sets mic down

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coming soon…blah dee blah dee…here’s a snippet of a scene between my heroine and her bestie who is a whole ass mess LOL!

“So what’s the word with this Victor guy? You finna let him slam dunk in your pu—”

“Ky!” I broke in before she could finish her statement.

“It’s a valid question.”

“I’m here for work. The only slam dunks I need to be worried about are ones that happen in that ninety four feet of hardwood.”

“I don’t know about ninety four feet, but I’m certain he’s got plenty inches of hard wood.”

“Kyra Denise…” I groaned, laughing.

“So you’re not gonna let him penetrate your lane is what I’m hearing.”

“I swear sometimes I hate that I even asked you to learn proper basketball terminology so you could understand me when I went on rants post-game.”

“C’mon Mickey…you gotta admit those were some good ones. I’m proud of myself for it, honestly,” Kyra cackled.

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hey y’all. been gone for a minute now i’m back with the jumpoff…or yanno a sample sunday! my fave & i are back in n&t-ville! coming when? soonish. for now, meet mic & vic.

lightly edited. subject to change.

**

“Well damn, look at us. The whole lot of us single as a dollar bill,” Victoria observed.

Something about the way she’d said it and nudged her brother had me on edge, but I shook it off. I was sure that she was just making conversation, but I didn’t necessarily want to continue this conversation so I sharply veered the subject onto something else.

“Victor, was that adorable little girl with you earlier yours?” I asked, turning the conversation from me onto him.

“Yeah, that’s my baby,” he replied with a proud, broad grin. “Navijah Victoria, my pride and joy.”

“How old is she?”

“Eight going on thirty-eight it seems some days,” he replied, that grin still stretching his face.

“She wasn’t not happy with whatever was going on earlier, which was why I hightailed it out of there,” I cracked.

She’d streaked up to us running .38 hot and all I’d heard was “I do not like her” and that told me everything I’d needed to know.

“Girl, that nurse bitch got a little too familiar with niecy pooh. But you know how the girls have always lost their minds over Vic,” Victoria chimed in with an eye roll.

Unfortunately I’d known just how much the girls lost their minds over Victor Covington since I’d gotten into it with one of the most popular girls in fifth grade when she tried to get me to stop being friends with the twins because she wanted Victor to be her boyfriend. It was so silly because one – we were children, but two – and most importantly – I didn’t know who’d raised her to harbor an insecurity behind the guy she’d set her sights on having female friends, but I wasn’t the girl to try about that. The Covington Twins and I had gone way back and I wasn’t ending my friendship because she couldn’t handle a little competition. Not that I was really competition for her since I had carried a crush on Victor from the first time I realized what a crush even was, but he never gave any indication that he saw me as anything but a friend. I wasn’t too pressed over it, but Jenice Franklin was steam pressed. So much so to the point of setting up a fight with me on the playground. I wasn’t really the fighting type as a kid, but I definitely didn’t back down from somebody trying to punk me, though. Only one of us regretted that fight after school. Let’s just say the cute little pink bows that held Jenice’s ponytails together ended up a casualty that day as they were scattered all over the playground before the aftercare ladies were alerting that we were fighting and broke us up. The only people who’d known that fight was about Victor were Victoria – because she was my bestie at the time, and another girl named Carmen Jenkins who was Jenise’s bestie.

“Maaaan, get outta here with all of that,” Victor said, throwing a hand in the air brushing off his sister’s teasing. “I ain’t down here for any of that. I’m here to work, dassit.”

“Okay Ebony,” I cracked up at his impersonation from The Players Club, “but speaking of…how in the hell did you end up working in the W as a trainer? I thought for sure you’d be in the league, too.”

“So did I,” Victor replied sheepishly, “but a crazy ass landing from trying to do too much on a dunk completely shattered my patella and I was never the same on the court after that, so I hung it up. While I was rehabbing my knee though, my PT was cool as fuck and I ended up bonding with him and we’d kept in touch after I was healed. After getting my first degree in accounting and being bored out of my mind working as an entry level accountant at an oversized firm, I went back to school and got a second degree in physiology.”

“Oh wow,” I breathed, “it’s dope that you found a backup plan to your backup plan, though.”

“Oh, see the league was actually my backup plan. Unlike you and Lisa Leslie over here, I wasn’t ‘the man’ on the court. I just happened to be big with nice hands,” he laughed.

“Well, it coulda been different. You coulda been ‘tall for no reason’ like Mikey’s clumsy ass,” I quipped and we all burst into laughter at my brother’s expense.

Micah was the only Kennedy who wasn’t athletically inclined in the least. Jojo had played soccer and could have done so professionally, but it wasn’t his passion. Zebby and I were the basketballers, following in our father’s footsteps, and Jahel was into gymnastics and dance.

“Oh my god, your twin was legit the worst. The only reason why he was in the rec league was because your pops was coaching,” Vicki laughed, “How has he been though? Hell, all of your siblings? Well, not Zeb because I know exactly how that fool is doing, but Jonah, Micah, Jahel…they all good?”

I spent the next couple minutes updating them on my siblings and we just sat there talking until the staff was tryna usher us out of the café so they could clean up for the night. I hadn’t expected to run into these two, but spending the night reminiscing about the old days with the Covington Twins was much better than sitting in my room sulking about the earlier events of the day.

“Aight y’all, I gotta try and catch a shuttle back over to the villas. I’ll see y’all,” Victoria said as we were walking out.

“Oh, you’re not staying here?”

She shook her head. “I’m the den mother in a house full of rookies,” she cracked with a grin. As we were walking out we saw one of the trams pulling up. “Actually, let me try to convince them to give me a ride.”

“Hey, I thought you were gonna take Navi’s bag over to CP’s for me.”

“Sorry, bro. You shoulda brought it with, I gotta blast,” Victoria called over her shoulder.

Shaking his head, Victor angrily mumbled under his breath.

“I’ll see ya,” I said, heading toward the elevators.

Victor strolled after me. “Yeah, in the elevator. I’m staying here.”

“Oh,” I said, dumbly, pushing the call button and then staring up at the LED screens above the three elevators in the bank waiting for one to reach us.

All during dinner and our shit talk afterward, I’d had to stop myself from damn near drooling over Victor. Like, he was cute as hell when we were younger and that, along with how kind he always was, made up a major part of why I’d liked him so much back then. But that cute had morphed into grown man fine and it had me feelings things with a capital T. Victor’s skin was the color of manuka honey, a warm, light brown tone that was stretched across broad shoulders, a taut chest that tapered into a narrow waist, powerful ass thighs, calves that were so well developed that whatever injury had occurred in his past clearly hadn’t gotten him down for too long. His facial features were the perfect mix of both parts of his heritage, the slight slant of his eyes belied his maternal Filipino lineage paired with his dad’s snub nose and sensually full lips. And of course there were the curls. I should have been turned off by the man bun, but at some point during dinner he’d taken it out and shaken his curls free and I’d had to swallow back an audible groan. I’d never been into long hair on men, but he made the shit look appealing. I’d wanted to do nothing more than run my fingers through the long ringlets as his lips placed lingering kisses all over my body.

I blinked and shuddered, shaking off that thought as we stood side by side in silence in the elevator bank until the ding let us know that one had arrived at the lobby level. We stood aside to let folks walk off before Victor braced a forearm against one side of the doors and gestured for me to enter before him. I walked onto the elevator and headed straight for a back corner, standing there looking silly before Victor turned to me and asked, “What floor?”

“Oh…my bad, I just got on like you knew where I was going. Seventeen, please.”

Victor turned to me with a grin after he pressed the button. “Oh, me too, actually. When did you say you got here? I’m surprised we haven’t seen each other at all and we been right here in the same place…on the same floor.”

“First day out, remember?” I squeaked.

He gave a slow nod as he trailed his gaze over me. “Right.”

Once again silence descended on the elevator as we rode up to seventeen. My eyes were darting all over the elevator before finally focusing on the climbing numbers on the LED screen inside of the car. I could feel the heat of Victor’s gaze on me and I finally stopped being nervous long enough to meet his gaze head on. If I thought that would intimidate him in any way, I couldn’t have been more mistaken. Instead I got lost in the clear desire that was apparent in his gaze as his eyes traced every inch of my form from head to toe before biting his lip and shaking his head.

“What?” I asked, unnerved by his silent perusal.

“Just…enjoying the view,” he crooned in a low rumble.

That simple statement sent a zap of arousal straight to my core and in a flash, he was no longer standing on the other side of the elevator, but right in front of me as he lowered a hand toward my face, cupping my chin to reestablish our eye contact.

“Still the prettiest girl,” he said in a hushed, almost hallowed tone.

Before I could gather a response, the doors to the elevator opened at our floor and he stepped back, letting me go ahead of him.

“See you around,” I said, scurrying off the elevator and heading in the direction of my room. Victor was right behind me, his room apparently in the same direction. Luckily I reached my door before I made an even bigger fool of myself. I swiped my keycard in front of the sensor and damn near rocketed into the room. I could hear Victor’s chuckle as he called out for me to have a good night.

“Real smooth, Mic. Reaaaaaaaaal smooth,” I said aloud to myself as I began peeling off my clothes to head directly into the shower.

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unedited. just a small peek. v smol. coming 08.18, allegedly.

Damn, DJ are you really sitting here longingly gazing at dude as he sleeps? And bitch, are you the big spoon right now? What in the world…?

If any of my friends had walked in on this scene right now, I was certain that those would have been close to if not exact of the words that came out of their mouths once their brains processed exactly what it was that their eyes were seeing. If this were a movie this would be the part where the motion paused and the voiceover came through like “yep, that’s me. You’re probably wondering how I ended up here.” I chuckled to myself at that thought, and the slight jostle of my body did nothing to disturb the rest of the other occupant of this oversized bed. I couldn’t help but grin at how despite having more than enough room for us to each have our own space with some left over in the middle, we ended up smack dab in the middle of this bed every night. Bodies wrapped around one another like gnarled vines, only the slight variance in our skin tones making the start and end of one body from another discernible.

If anyone would have told me that after all of this time that this was who would be it for me? I’d’ve fought them tooth and nail. No way possible that my life was meant to be spent with a person who was so much like he was.

But you know what they say right?

We plan. God laughs.

And baby I knew that the celestial bodies were up there having a ki at me and my life’s trajectory for sure. Growing up I’d always thought that by age twenty-five I’d be done with college, settled into my career, and on my way to wedded bliss with the guy next door who I’d been dating since we were in diapers. However, there was one major flaw with my fantasy. There was no guy next door, as a kid and teen I was painfully shy and barely spoke more than three words in succession at a time. It was a wonder that I’d managed to make a friend let alone find the love of my life.

But by the time I was halfway through high school, I had – made a friend, that is. We were yet working on that love of my life thing. Cherie was one of those people to whom folks just flocked, she had an inner light that shone brightly and for some reason, she chose me of all folks to be her lab partner in our chemistry class sophomore year at Lewis High. I asked her almost immediately why and she simply replied, “you looked like you could use a friend”. She wasn’t lying and from that day onward we were pretty much joined at the hip. Where you saw one you saw the other. And that’s all I was – seen until we went off to college and Cherie inspired me to spread my wings and fly.

“DJ, your mama didn’t name you after one of the baddest bitches on this planet for you to be so damned, mousy. Come on, baby! Live a little,” she said as she danced in front of the floor length mirror in our cramped dorm room on a Friday night.

She was trying to convince me to attend yet another frat party with her and I was trying to get out of it. I bristled as I rolled my eyes at her bringing up my namesake.

When I was younger, I went by my initials more often than not because my full name either got one of two reactions – “you must be from down South with a name like that?” or “wow, your mama was a Janet Jackson fan, huh?”

Imagine being a child of the early 90s – at the height of Janet Damita Jo Jackson’s career – being named Damita Jo Jackson and having to live up to that. I was just thankful that I had been born a girl, honestly. My mother was a Jacksons superfan – Tito was her number one and if I had been born male she was definitely going to name me Toriano. I shuddered to think of having to maneuver through life with that name and praised all of the deities for being born and identifying as female.

Yeah, I definitely did everything I could to avoid even having the comparisons to Janet made as I grew older though. I lacked that level of confidence…sheer magnetism that she possessed, no matter how hard I wished I’d owned it all. Cherie knew that more than anyone, but she also loved needling me until I acquiesced to her will. So, I eventually gave in went to the party. We did it big, I used the contacts that I rarely wore up until then, Cher did my makeup and hair, and I cosplayed confident, sexy co-ed in borrowed clothes. That night ended up being one that went down in history, actually. It was the birth of Damita Jo Jackson the Second.

My current incarnation.

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so, i’m big on the whole concept of “giving flowers while one can smell them”. in light of that fact, today’s a pretty special day, guys. she’s prolly gonna be wild embarrassed at this, but whatever i do what i want. so today is the anniversary of the birth of one of my favorite writers and dearest friends, mrs. christina c. jones.

big fact: there’d be no nicole falls w/o chrissy jones. she always downplays her impact - her influence - but i’m deadass. she was so instrumental in helping me when i got serious about writing a full project and willingly listens to my stupid ass whining every time thereafter when i keep saying i can’t do it again (spoiler alert: it’s a lie every damn time). her presence in my life is immeasurable and so, so vital, honestly. ‘tis proof that i’m outchea living as the Lort would want to be blessed with a friend of this capacity, tbh.

some of y’all may know that i do this thing with her middle initial all the time where i give her a random ass c-name or c-word as middle name despite me knowing her real middle name because it amuses me greatly. so on this good day, i’ve decided to construct an entire blog of descriptive words that start with a c that could be substituted for her middle c.

without further ado, i present -

an ode to christina c. jones: the c is for…if you’ve ever read any of her work, i think the first c word is quite obvious—creative. like, y’all i won’t even front, you should be jealous of anyone within her inner circle that really gets to see how her mind operates because it’s just brazy to witness. this isn’t limited to writing, but everything sis puts her hands to, she puts her own unique spin on it to make it her brand of awesome. ugh, i stan.

the c is also for clever, which goes hand in hand with the creativity. turns of phrase, the visual art she creates, random ass inside jokes and one-liners all prove the depths of knowledge hidden within that big brain of hers that coalesce into magic.

the c is also for…confident. self-explanatory, honestly, but my good sis KNOWS just how amazing she is, but still remains shy of another c word (cocky). ask her and she will definitely let you know that her faith in her abilities to conquer a task she sets her mind to is always steadfast.

the c is also for…cheerful and charming and charismatic - i’ll lump these ones together because they all describe her aspects of her personality. if you’ve had the pleasure of meeting her at an event (like the lovely girlhaveyoumet that she co-hosts with the homie Alexandra Warren), then you already know. if you’ve listened to the either of the pod interviews i did with her, these qualities are all evident there as well.

the c is also for candid. sis is a huge advocate for Black romance getting its just due and doesn’t hesitate to talk her shit from time to time over on her tweeter about it. created a whole website to celebrate it. she also doesn’t hesitate to give you the real when it comes to offering her viewpoint as a seasoned author in this indie webspace via videos on her youtube channel.

i have about fiddy’lebum more c-words i could rattle off, but y’all get the point. she’s dope, mane.

so, in conclusion, to you, miss christina: i say happy mothafuckin birthday, g. thank you for being you and for being my friend. love youuuuuuu. hope your day is filled with nothing but things that bring you joy. xo.

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“Are you even listening to me, Kira?” Jazz’s voice broke into my wandering thoughts as I sat at the table watching the ice melting in the already watered down vodka soda I’d ordered when we first arrived.

No, I wasn’t listening to him. Hadn’t been listening to him since we’d sat down since I wasn’t even sure why in the hell I took the time out of my day to even meet him. Finding your boyfriend…well, now ex-boyfriend in bed with the woman who he’d claimed was a cousin doing some very uncousinly things tended to make it a bit hard to hear anything that was coming out of his mouth. In my mind he sounded like the adults in Peanuts cartoons – a muffled squawk with zero recognizable word sounds spewing forth...

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“Relax,” Blaine whispered directly into my ear, his breath tickling my lobe, causing me to shiver involuntarily.

This was my own damned fault honestly. I’d been complaining to him about having a gap in my schedule that didn’t accommodate me being able to leave this immediate area and make it back in time for my next meeting due to the ridiculous traffic in this city. So when he’d sent me a text with an address and the simply stated message to fill the hour, I acquiesced without knowing exactly what I was getting myself into. When I’d first arrived, I was reticent to actually give into his big surprise, but after an impassioned plea for me to finally put myself first and a small glass of wine, I gave in, stripped, and donned the robe that he’d left hanging on the back of the door.

In addition to being my best friend since we were in diapers, Blaine was also a masterful masseur, having studied techniques from all around the globe before coming back here to settle and open up his shop. He’d been begging me to come back since the grand opening, but my schedule just never quite seemed to allow for it. Every time we got together he somehow managed to comment on the way I held tension in my body, encouraging me to let him work his magic on me. Fact of the matter was I’d wished that he’d wanted to put his hands on me in less of a therapeutic and more of an all-consuming, unstoppable passion kind of way, but he never saw me as that girl. Would never see me as that girl.

Which was why I was surprised when instead of putting me in the hands of one of his more than capable employees, he insisted on massaging me himself. The moment his hands met my bare skin, however, I felt myself tense instantly, knowing that this would be an exercise in serious restraint on my end.

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I loved looking at my husband. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about him that sent my pulse racing and set off a hallelujah chorus in my love below, but in the eight years that we’d been together – four married – it had never waned. I was grateful for it, particularly as I thought about the stories I’d heard from my married girlfriends about scheduling sex and leading lives that were so busy that they always felt disconnected from their mates. Maybe Hersh and I were still in the honeymoon phase, but I’d thankfully yet to experience any of these growing pains that friends had warned me about before we jumped the broom. Prayerfully we’d never get to that point.

“Earth to Skylar, do you read me?” my friend Dru’s voice broke into my lust-filled thoughts as I watched Hersh pick her son up with one arm, effortlessly tossing him back and forth with Dru’s husband, Hank. Hank Jr. an overactive three year old who could be a holy terror unleashed was getting his entire life, screaming with laughter as he bounced from one man’s arms to the others.

I turned back to face Drucilla – my prettiest friend with the ugliest name – and her sister Ariadne. Ari’s perma-scowl was stretched across her face as usual and I wondered if the bitch ever expressed any other emotion but discontent. She wasn’t simply one of those women who suffered from resting bitch face, she was just always in natural bitch mode. Completely opposite of Dru which honestly made me wonder how they could have been raised in the same house. A compelling argument for nature versus nurture would be studying these two polar opposite women and how they came to be their adult selves. I wasn’t Ari’s biggest fan, but I suffered through her for Dru’s sake.

“Should they be tossing Lil Hank back and forth like that? That doesn’t seem safe or logical,” Ari droned, her nasally twang instantly setting me on edge. I suppressed an eye roll and clamped my lips together so I wouldn’t say anything that would start a back and forth. I’d like Dru handle her sister.

“Now Ari, do you really think my husband and child’s father would engage in any activity that he thought would bring eventual harm to the child that we worked very hard for years to conceive? Damn, do you even know how to have fun?”

“Tossing a child in the air recklessly doesn’t seem like fun to me. My natural response to witnessing something like this between my mate and child would be fear, but I mean do you.”

Dru craned her head to look around the backyard.

“What are you looking for?” Ari asked.

“Your man and child. Oh…they’re both nonexistent? Cool, you let me worry about me and mine while you keep searching for you and yours.”

Ariadne sputtered, offended, before quickly rising from the table and stomping off back into Dru and Hank’s home. Knowing her she was going right into the house to tattle on Dru to their mother who’d undoubtedly appear and bless Dru out for daring to say something to her precious baby. Dru usually teetered on the edge of control when it came to Ari, so I was surprised by this little outburst.

“Everything okay, sis?” I asked as Dru picked up her wine glass and slammed the remainder of the wine slushy that we’d been sipping on.

“I’m so fucking sick of her running commentary on everybody’s lives, but when you call her on her shit, she wants to tuck tail and run off,” Dru huffed.

She wasn’t lying. Ari had it bad for judging the hell out of people. I’d been under that scope of hers more than once in the few years that Dru and I had known one another, which was usually why I avoided coming to any gatherings where I knew she’d be present. But Hersh eagerly accepted Hank’s invite to their cookout before consulting me. This impromptu gathering was the brainchild of the men after one too many bourbons at their lil poker night they had with some of the other fellas.

“One day she’ll learn that nobody cares about her little ‘live from above it all’ ass commentary and she’ll stuff it up her ass,” Drucilla continued, way more fired up for this to have just been about what just transpired. I let her get it all off her chest though, knowing that sooner or later she’d get to the root of what her sister had done that made her go off like this.

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A loud crash resounded through the first floor of my house. I was upstairs in the master bath, supposedly relaxing while my husband handled everything downstairs with our hella busy fourteen month old.

“I’ll be fine, love. I’ve got it all under control, cosita. Go, relax,” my husband insisted.

I’d only just settled into the piping hot bath he’d drawn for me when the noise broke me out of the zone in which I was trying to settle. I was tired, could use this respite, but I’d be goddamned if…

As soon as I made up my mind to get out of the tub and investigate the madness that I was certain was occurring below me, my husband popped his head into the bathroom, a sheepish grin on his face.

“Do not get out of that tub, Valora. You’re supposed to be relaxing,” Frankie insisted.

I rolled my eyes. “How in the hell can I relax when you and your child are downstairs doing…whatever it was that caused that noise. And where is she?”

“She’s right here,” he responded a little too quickly.

“I would like to see my child, my love,” I pressed, faux saccharine coating my words.

No one could ever say that my husband was slow on the drop because the look on his face let me know that he knew that I knew that his and her ass were up to no good.

“Mama, I help!” Giselle sang as her father finally shifted her in his arms so that the both of them were now visible.

I bit my lip to stifle the laughter that wanted to erupt as soon as I saw my baby covered in… “is that flour?”

“Um…yes. We were supposed to be making Mommy some pancakes for breakfast, but somebody got ahead of herself.”

A shit eating grin spread across Frankie’s face as Baby Gigi continued to make even more of a mess of whatever else was in the mixture that covered her hair, face, and hands.

“Give me my baby.”

“Valora, it’s fine. I’ve got this. Just keep relaxing,” Frankie insisted.

I shook my head, holding my arms out.

“You’re just going to have to clean her up anyway. Two birds, one stone, babe. Strip her and bring her over.”

Frankie grumbled something about me being stubborn under his breath but did exactly what I’d asked.

“Bubbles!” Baby Gigi exclaimed as her father lowered her into my outstretched arms.

“Only until I’m done cooking, I’ll be back for her.”

“Yeah yeah, whatever, man.”

“All right, I got your whatever,” Frankie responded, leaning down to press a quick kiss to my lips before heading back downstairs.

“I kiss?” Gigi said, after Frankie pulled back from me.

I couldn’t help but swoon a little as he pressed kisses to both of her cheeks and forehead before exiting the bathroom altogether. He was so good with her and she was one smitten kitten with her pa. I didn’t know what he was thinking with letting her help him out as he attempted to cook down there. He shoulda have just strapped her into her high chair and hooked her up with the iPad and a video that would have kept her attention instead of tryna bring lil mama into the mix. She was at the stage where she felt confident enough to destroy every damn thing that was within reach, which meant we had to keep every eye in the house on her at any time we let her roam freely. I’d already lost two pairs of AirPods, a phone case, and a shoe to Gigi the Destroyer.

Looking down into her little angelic face as she splashed and blew bubbles into the air entertaining herself, I couldn’t help but feel a sense of completeness. She’d been hard to conceive, despite her father and I trying our damndest. I squeezed her a little tighter in my arms, pressing a quick kiss to her chubby cheek before grabbing a wash cloth and wiping her down.

So much for mama’s relaxation, I thought.

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shoutout to leslie knope and the fine people of the fake town of pawnee, indiana. this fictional holiday, initiated and popularized by the former (and brilliant) NBC hit series parks &. recreation, is a day for ladies to celebrate ladies, as the episode in which it first appeared qualifies. if you’re unfamiliar with the series, leslie knope was unabashedly pro-woman and propped up the women around her (mostly…it’s questionable when it comes to her interactions with donna if i’m being perfectly honest but that’s another story for another day), rooting for their successes and triumphs.

when thinking about my own work, a compliment that i often receive is that i write women’s friendships/platonic relationships just as well as i do the ones between the heroine and hero in the projects. this is literally because i am surrounded by wonderful women who are supportive, caring, kind, and genuine. the bonds you see between my characters are very much reflective of the real life relationships i have with friends on different levels that honestly are a major part of me being able to continually do this thing called write.

it’s why cadence and celena are able to snatch devorah’s edges with love and care when she’s tripping about ellis.

or why aeryn just wants to see cali get back to happy.

or how corin and tina talk kailene into not being a scardey cat.

the bonds between the women i write are impenetrable. they’re unafraid to root for each other unabashedly, gather wigs when their homegirls are tripping, prop them up when they need a little boost. they’re full of agape love in its highest order, proving that not only is the central HEA romantic love essential in these books, but also how the love from your chosen family is just as essential to creating a life that is fulfilling.

so on today, i wanna say a special thank you to all my gal pals. because of you and your multi-faceted dopenesses, i am able to shine. love y’all.

xo.

nic

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hey y’all. so check it. i was sitting here on Beyoncé’s internet minding my business and not doing my work (I’d urge you to mind your business at the latter half of that fragment) when I saw something that made me pause for a moment as I cycled through being annoyed then upset then sad then back to annoyed. it was a book review (for whom is irrelevant) and in the course of the effusive praise the person was heaping on the author they began the review on a wrong (imo) note. juxtaposing the author they lauded against other authors for no discernible reason but to throw shade.

the title of my post is a a phrase my mouth (and fingers) has uttered many times, most often in jest. it’s a remnant of stan culture, a way to state that your favorite has exceeded expectations in their craft, with a product that’s beyond superior. it’s also a thing that kind of makes me hate a lot about “stan culture”. just moments ago i posted a status update on facebook that stated: We all have our faves, but I’m a firm believer in you do not have to tear another person down to prop your fave up.

obviously if i felt moved enough to type it on Janet Jackson’s internet, it’s a belief i hold near and dear to me. the more i sit with the thoughts that i had when i read that book review, the more i wish that more people held this same belief. i shoutout my faves all the time. to the rafters and through the rooftops because i am also a firm believer in the giving of roses while the recipient can smell them. but that juxtaposition thing…man is it a double edged sword.

comparison is a part of life, i get it. we all do it. i am not claiming to be exempt. however, when you set out to make these comparisons, your thoughts don’t always have to be loudly proclaimed for all to see. sometimes you can keep it in the group chat. particularly, if the comparisons carry a hint of shade.

jmo tho.

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Every year I always say that when I do events I want to read the work of my fellow scribes who will be there alongside me. I feel like it’s lip service to say “oh I look forward to reading your work”, so I’ve actually done The Work™ this year and read something from every author attending an event that I am featured at. I won’t front, it was easiest to choose #GHYM2020 because I’d read a vast majority of these writers already, so it was just a matter of delving deeper into catalogs of folks I’d only cursorily read.

This list isn’t…like their best novels or even my favorite works by them in some cases or, hell prolly not even what they would recommend, really. It was me - during a night fueled by insomnia - compiling a list of projects that are sort of the heart and soul of these writers by my estimation. They are shining examples of their writing styles, what to expect from their typical projects, in my opinion anyway. It was a fun exercise, combing my brain for suggestions and without further ado, I give to you—Nic’s Essential #GHYM20 Reads:

AC Taylor - Worth the Wait is the second book in Taylor’s Hightown series, a friends to lovers tale that follows Channing, a charismatic bar owner and Solé, a bartender at his establishment. Placed in each other’s orbit due to their siblings’ relationship, these two try to deny the inevitable in a battle of wills. But we all know, when that love jones comes down, it’s impossible to stop.

Anita Davis - Hues is a multi-faceted story of a woman named Liv Summers, a supermodel to whom there is more than meets the eye. Famed photographer Parker Anderson is STEAM PRESSED to get Miss Liv to be his muse for his annual shoot and will stop at nothing to ensure that he gets his way. As their tale unfolds, a sweet bond that leads to happily ever after kicks off the inaugural book in Davis’ Limelight series.

Alexandra Warren - Wins and Losses by Alexandra Warren is easily one of the books that I tip back to reread every now and again because it’s just so masterfully crafted. Carmen’s world is turned upside down with the death of her father and at his funeral she sorta reconnects with a former classmate who is now her younger brother’s basketball coach. Nasir has taken a shine to Carmen’s brother and together the two of them work to keep him on the right path after the death of his father. As Carmen struggles to keep her brother on the right path, she and Nasir grow closer, letting the natural attraction between them unfurl into a tale filled with heartwarming sentimentality as well as glasses fogging steamy moments.

Alexandria House - Anyone who’s everyone will tell you to read the McClain Brothers series by the legend that is Miss House, however—I’m a contrarian and I’m telling you to pick up Book 3 of her Strickland Sisters series—Be With Me. Nicky Strickland is a handful in the best and worst of ways, but her lifelong friend Damon Davis’ large capable hands are more than up to the job of containing her.

Bailey West - Serving Time by the hometown hero Bailey West is the story of two lawyers brought together due to Samuel, the hero, needing Averie, the heroine’s help. These two headstrong litigators soon find common ground and build a lovely relationship. This book does end on a cliffhanger, but lucky for you book two is published for your reading pleasure.

Bianca Xaviera - Take Me As I Am by Bianca is a standalone in which the heroine, Avian, literally falls into the hero, Casyrius’, life. Reeling from her husband springing that he wants a divorce on her, Avian embarks on a trip to Mexico that was supposed to rekindle her relationship. While at the resort she and Casyruis cross paths and though he is planning to marry someone else, the chemistry between these two is undeniable. Escandalo!

Bria Felicien - Care for Me is the second in Felicien’s Postgrad series and is a heartfelt tale of two twenty-somethings navigating some pretty traumatic personal issues, but are drawn to one another when they become co-workers. Kenn is hyper focused on professional success while Derrick is dodging demons of his past as he maneuvers day to day.

BriAnn Danae - My Heart Was a Fool brings us Esmin and Greigh, a couple who is as unique as their names are. Es tries his hardest to not forge a connection with the alluring Greigh, but the best laid plans are just a plaything for the universe’s bidding. So what starts as mutual attraction evolves into an all-consuming rollercoaster of a ride to love.

Chelsea Maria - Our Type of Love introduces us to rapper and family man KC and his lovely wife Delilah. The couple is deeply entrenched in their love and happy as can be, with one noted exception. And this exception becomes exploited when a blast from KC’s past comes to town and gives him the one thing his wife can’t seem to. As they come to grips with the surprise dropped at their doorstep, KC and Delilah go through it, but in the end make it through all of their storms.

Christina C. Jones - #relationshipgoals is the GORL from CCJ I’m picking. This was difficult because sis’ catalog? The power that it has. The intelligence that it has. The influence that it has. Anyway I digress, #relationshipgoals brings us Nick and Noah who meet in a very unconventional way that could have gotten the cops called on Nick if Noah wasn’t so zen, LOL. Their by chance meeting morphs into such an organic and beautiful budding relationship that just makes me smile just thinking about it.

Love Belvin - In Love Delayed, LB introduces us to the rockstar bad boy, basketball superstar Stenton Rogers aka StentRo. A chance encounter puts the goodest girl of them all Zoey Barrett in his path and instantly he likes what he sees and wastes no time going after what he wants. He’s irrepressible, that StentRo, and will stop at nothing to get what he wants. A true alpha male, Zoey’s nearly powerless to resist and they embark on a journey that is wrought with ups and downs. This book is the first in the two book series and you’ll be ready to slide on over to book two immediately after you finish.

Nicole Falls - Moving along, nothing to see here. I’m not that much of a Leo. SIKE - yes I am! LMAO! Though I will say I was torn what to recommend of mine until I remembered I always tell folks to start with Sparks Fly—five short stories. The first and last are interconnected, the three in the middle are independent of those two and each other. Some sweet, some heat, and all trademark Falls feels.

Phyllis Bourne - We all know Phyl as the queen of the romcom, but I’m going back in the archives for my pick, Taste for Temptation!Neighbors Brandi and Adam make each other’s acquaintance when the sinfully delectable smell of chocolate sends Brandi to Adam’s doorstep and pretty soon chocolate isn’t the only temptation Brandi is facing.

Sherelle Green - Claimed By Crayson’s titular character is something else. Crayson Madden is definitely the baddest of the brothers with his filthy mouth, penchant for straight shooting, and irrepressible charm. He meets his match in Jordyn Jameson who’s trying her damndest to not give into the pull of attraction she feels toward Cray. But when his latest cigar lounge opens adjacent to her bar, it’s only a matter of time before she succumbs.

Té Russ - Irresistible is book five in Russ’ Coalton, Texas novellas series which tells the tale of Brooke, a widow who returns to her hometown with her two adolescent children in tow. Upon settling in at home she is reacquainted with her childhood friend who has gone from geek to chic a la one of those old school Jenny Jones episodes. Trevor had always had a thing for Brooke, so her reemergence is the perfect time for him to finally take his shot at her.

Welp, that’s it that’s all. If you’ve read any of these ladies, tell me—what are you favorite titles by them? What one book would you recommend to a friend who was new to their works? Talk back to me, I really do wanna know.

-Nic

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Tonight I was mindlessly scrolling on Facebook when I saw a book club ask the question “What would you tell a new author who is about to release their first book, to save them a headache?” And since I rarely eschew a chance to espouse my opinions on things I answered. Then I thought it would also make a pretty good blog post, so I decided to expand upon each point that I made in the Facebook post a little further to underscore why I think that these are important things for a person to know before deciding that they want to publish a book. I won’t even get into things that one should consider when thinking about wanting to write…maybe I’ll come back to that. Anywho, here’s my $.02 on the matter…in no particular order.

1. Spend that bread on an editor. It’ll save you a lot of headaches in the long run. Let me put ten on twenty for you, having your homegirl who always got As in Mr. Feeny’s English class take a gander at your document and offer suggestions is cool, but also seek out a professional to run their gaze across the words before you hit send. Editors (should be) well-versed in not only grammar/syntax, but also story structure so that they can provide comprehensive feedback regarding your work.
2. Canva.com is THAT GIRL if you can’t afford a graphic designer. No matter what folks say many do judge a book by its cover, stay woke! I am visually challenged and even I have managed to make two of my own covers utilizing the services of Canva. Play around with it a bit, get to know the features, and learn how to create good looking covers for the freeski.
3. Don’t take reviews personally. Everything ain’t for everybody but that isn’t an indictment on your pen. You have to learn two things when reading reviews. The first is that there are very arbitrary reasons for which people do not like things and you’ll drive yourself crazy trying to understand the logic where there is none. The second is that opinions are like assholes, everyone has one. Just because it’s what they feel does not make it fact. Forget having thick skin, you need skin made of teflon so that shit just rolls off. I’m not saying that no critique has any merit because that’d be foolish, I’m saying move with the discernment to know what to leave and what to heed.
4. Know your own voice. Don’t come in the game tryna be the Great Value version of so and so because it’ll bleed through if folks who are avid readers of the person you’ve modeled your work after consume yours. It’s easy to fall into trends or want to write what’s getting so much praise, but trust and believe your unique viewpoint has someone out there with whom it will resonate. Don’t be afraid to stand on your own.
5. Do not apologize for promotion on you social media pages. You are your own street team, baby. If you don’t pub who will? However I will also say…
6. Be a person, not a robot on social media. No one wants to keep following someone who is promo only. Allow a peek behind the veil, but be cautious w/ how much you share bc baby people get FAMILIAR. And if you’re like me? You’ll have to stop yourself from saying, “hold up pardna, you think you know but you don’t really know me. Remember your place.” often LMAO! In all things, balance is key.
7. Do not rely on people who aren’t readers to share, buy, engage with your work. Idk if it’s ya mama, daddy, granmaw, papaw, etc. it isn’t their responsibility to prop you up. If they do share your links? That’s awesome. But remember—it isn’t their job. Go reread number 5. You back here now? Good. Don’t begrudge anyone in your life if they aren’t your 24/7 street team. i can almost guarantee they’re supporting you in a multitude of ways that aren’t directly related to link sharing.
8. Know who and what you’re writing for. That means your audience and your purpose. If you decided to pub bc it looked like a quick way to make money? LOLGURLNO. It isn’t, but Jah bless if you think it is. It’s hard work, but very satisfactory if you have a clear goal and objectives in mind. Keep these two things at the forefront of your mind at all times and you’ll rarely go astray.

There are so, so many other things I could list, but I’ll stop here because eight is my favorite number and I gotta go see a man about a dog.

-Nic

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unedited. subject to change. yadda yadda…

“L-losers lead, right?” I fumbled over my words.

Noah nodded slowly, a grin stretching across his face before he turned away to go to the end of the table with his cue and commence the last of our games for the evening. I shook off the haze of whatever these currents flowing between us was and paid attention as he broke. It was an excellent break – with Noah sinking the eleven and thirteen balls in opposing corners with the break.

“Stripes it is,” he declared with a wink before walking around the perimeter of the table to determine his next shot.

He sank two more balls before finally missing a shot and giving me a chance at the table. I wasted zero time sinking three balls in short order, dusting my shoulders off after every made shot.

“Light work, light work,” I said, walking around the table where Noah stood to line up my next shot.

I leaned over the table, then glanced back over my shoulder to talk more shit when I noticed that Noah’s eyes were focused squarely on the curve of my ass and not the game at hand. I wasn’t the only one who noticed as Sarai tossed a look and giggle my way when she noticed Noah’s laser sharp focus.

“Use it,” she mouthed, indicating I should use his obvious attraction to my advantage.

I was so out of practice and thrown that Parker’s earlier assessment was so spot on, I had no idea how to even do that. I stood upright again, momentarily flustered thinking about having more than Noah’s eyes on me.

“I know we’ve got all night, Robinson, but that doesn’t mean you’re at liberty to take it,” Noah drawled, coming to stand right behind me as he spoke directly into my ear.

I shrugged him off. “You’re not scaring anybody, boy,” I replied in a tone that was breezier than my building nerves should have allowed, “Just reevaluating my shot.”

And with that I moved from where I’d previously been trying to shoot the five ball into a corner pocket, rounding the table and going for a trickier shot that would require me to be damn near laid out on the table, arching my back and tooting my ass more than necessary – trying like hell to “use it” like Sarai had suggested.

“Fuck,” I heard Noah expel on a low breath and knew that I’d succeeded.

I ended up missing my shot, but I’d successfully rattled him enough that he missed his next shot as well.

“Time out,” Jonah called out, signaling for Noah to come over to where he stood.

“There’s no time outs in pool, Jo,” Sarai protested, seemingly realizing something that I hadn’t picked up on.

They ignored her, huddling together and she hustled over to me.

“Don’t lose it,” was all she was able to get out before Noah and Jonah broke apart and I set up to take my next turn.

Right as I bent over and situated my cue, Noah came right up behind me, placing one of his hands on my arm that was guiding my shot and the other on the table on the other side of me, effectively boxing me in.

“Your form is terrible,” he whispered into my ear, “you won’t sink another shot holding your cue like that.”

My cue slipped, barely nicking a ball and Noah and Jonah cracked up laughing, slapping high five.

“My turn,” Noah said, brushing me aside.

“You…cheater,” I said, turning around and getting right in his face, “You purposely distracted me.”

“I was just giving you a little advice, Robinson. I have no idea of any of this other mess you are talking about. Now if you’ll excuse me,” Noah replied calmly, moving his hands in a shooing motion for me to step away from the table.

I narrowed my eyes at him, “Aight bet. You wanna play foul, we can play foul. Sarai, is it warm in here to you?”

She grinned and nodded, “A bit.”

“Yeah, me too,” I said before removing lightweight, off the shoulder sweatshirt I was wearing over a tank and tying it around my waist, “Ahhhh, much better.”

Just as I knew it would, Noah’s gaze landed on the low-cut neckline of the longline tank I was wearing, centering in on my titties. To up the ante, I leaned over on the table, damn near spilling out of my top as I goaded Noah.

“I thought you said we don’t have all night.”

He opened his mouth to say something in reply, but seemingly thought better of it as he stepped back, shook his head and lined up to take his shot again. In rapid succession, he sank the remaining three balls that he needed to before aiming at the eight ball to win.

“You know,” he said while lining up to make his last shot, “as fine as you are, you overestimated how easily I can be distracted.”

I was so caught on him thinking I was fine that it barely registered to me when he sank the eight ball in a corner pocket, winning the game.

“And that, ladies and gentlemen, is what they call game,” he said, walking up on the camera that Jonah held flexing obnoxiously as the both of them cheered.

“Winner on a cheat,” I called out.

“The game is the game, baby,” Noah shot back, strutting around the pool tables like a peacock.

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So it’s Halloween and I figured we should check in with our little fave who looooooved her some Halloween, Ciel, Kirk’s niece from Last First Kiss. When I went back to the text to see where their tale had ended I discovered something I’d forgotten, which made writing this short even more delightful. Anyhoot, hope you enjoy. xo, Nic.

October 30, 2019 4:30 pmCalistaI’d felt the eyes on me for the past five to seven minutes and it was to the point that I could pinpoint from whom the gaze originated. I stayed quiet for as long as I could, but quickly became unnerved so I finally spoke up.

“If you are coming in here to tell me that I’m doing too much, you can turn your behind around and leave me alone,” I chastised, turning in my chair from the sewing machine in my office.

When my eyes fell upon my husband, he stood braced against the doorframe, hands aloft as if a robber had told him to stick ‘em up.

“I’m not saying anything. I just came to see if I could bring you anything. See how you were feeling.”

“You know how I am feeling. I’m feeling like you better be lucky I ever let you impregnate me because the way this one is taking up residence as if he or she never needs to leave? This ensures that we won’t be doing this ever again.”

“Not even…practice?” Kirk joked and I couldn’t help but crack a grin at his ribbing.

I was cranky for a multitude of reasons. The first was that our first child together had overstayed their time in my uterine hotel and refused to actually make an appearance in the real world. I was due a week before Halloween, October 24th, a fine day. Aeryn’s birthday, which she was super excited about when I told her. But then the 24th came and went…then the 25th, 26th, 27th…and so on. Coming up on nearly a week overdue, I was exhausted. But I had to ensure that despite my state of being that our…diece Ciel was handling all of these changes well. She had endured entirely too much trauma over the past year or so and I knew that a new baby coming on the scene would just add to her feelings of upheaval. She was excited, at times it felt like even more than Kirk and I were, for the new baby to be in the house, though. She was front and center at every appointment, helped us get the nursery together and everything. But still…I was careful to make sure her world remained as close to intact as possible.

“You know,” I said, rising from the chair slowly, my lower back killing me as I tried to act like I was unbothered, “they say practice sometimes helps induce labor so…maybe later. Where’s Ci?”

Kirk met me halfway as I tried exiting the office, “Eating her snack and doing her homework. I came up here to make sure you were all good.”

I slid into his open arms, breathing a sigh of relief when he immediately pulled me into him with a tight grip.

“Just finished up our costumes. Did you get that paint for mine?”

“Babe,” Kirk said, as he leveled me with a stare.

“Doc said I should do some walking.”

“I’m pretty sure she meant a bit of pacing within the confines of our home, love. Not traipsing all over the neighborhood, trick or treating.”

“So, did you get my paint, yes or no?” I pressed sweetly, tipping up on my toes to drop a quick kiss on his mouth.

I should have known that would turn into him taking control of my mouth completely, plying me with slow, tongue lashing kisses that definitely made me want to take him up on his offer of practicing making more little succubi like the one who had planted his or her flag in my uterus currently. We’d decided not to learn the sex of the baby, preferring to obsess over delivering a healthy child rather than obsessing about names and all of the additional stuff while the baby was cooking.

“Hey Auntie Cal…ugh, here you guys go again,” Ciel groaned.

Her presence broke up any of my previously lusty thoughts as I broke out into giggles and pulled back from Kirk.

“Hey Cici Ma, how’s my girl today?”

“I had a great day. Stayed on green all day. Is that my costume?”

“Sure is, lil mama. I was just about to tell Uncle Kirk to go get you so we could do your last fitting. You excited for tomorrow?”

She nodded with a wide grin on her face, “I can’t wait ‘til we go out trick or treatin’. Camari said her mama said they couldn’t do a family costume because it’s too many of them. I’m glad it’s just enough of us.”

I laughed again because my sister in law was right, trying to coordinate something that her entire brood would go for was an undertaking that I definitely would not want to have to do. She was better off letting everyone do their thang individually. Ciel was insistent that we remain one unit and quite frankly, that little girl had me so wrapped around her finger that I would go along with whatever she wanted for as long as she wanted. Since the Langley’s neighbors who usually threw a party for the kids in the neighborhood were out of town this year at Disney, we would just be showing our costumes off around our little part of town. Surprisingly, the idea for our group costume came from Kirk. We were going to be characters from Monsters Inc. Ciel was Boo, Kirk was Sully, and since I had this big ass belly, I was going to be Mike Wazowski – my bump being his oversized eye.

“Come on, let’s make sure this fits you, boo,” I said, leading her over to the fabric draped bench where I’d laid her costume out. She was going for the look when Boo was the little monster in disguise in the silver and light purple contraption cobbled together by Mike and Sully. The outfit we saw Boo in for most of the movie was easily accomplished as she had tons of t-shirts and leggings. I helped Ciel slip on her faux monster costume and my heart damn near skipped a beat at her squeal of delight as she twirled in the mirror taking it all in. Over her head, my eyes locked with Kirk’s as I mouthed, “See…worth it!”

His response was nothing but a smirk and eye roll in return. He thought I spoiled her and maybe I did a little, but Ciel was a special child and she deserved to be made aware of it at every turn. I winced a little, feeling what I now knew not to be a contraction, but this damn baby just digging itself into a more comfortable position and making me uncomfortable as hell in the process. Doc said that if I didn’t go into labor by November first, we’d have to induce, which was fine by me. I was ready for this little sucker to make his or her grand entrance.

[***]

Hours later, after we’d eaten dinner and Ciel was tucked in tight, Kirk and I sat in the living room watching the evening news when our doorbell rang.

“I got it, baby,” Kirk said, rising up with a confused expression on his face that I was sure mirrored my own.

We weren’t expecting anyone, and our family nor friends weren’t the drop by on a whim type. So, I was extremely surprised to see a bubbly Aeryn and shell-shocked Dustin making their way into my living room.

“Hey guys, just in the neighborhood?” I asked.

“Guess what?” Aeryn trilled.

“I…” I started but trailed off into a grimace as the baby shifted and sent what felt like a direct shot to my ribs, “You’re just gonna have to tell me, Aer.”

“We’re pregnant!” she shrieked.

“Are you serious? Oh my god!” I wanted to jump up to celebrate with her, but my movements were much slower than my brain wanted them to be.

Nevertheless, I pulled Aeryn in for as tight a squeeze as my big belly would allow, and squealed, “Congrats, mama!”

She pulled back, beaming, “Now we can have babies who are besties too!”

We embraced again and over my shoulder I saw Kirk bringing Dustin a short, squat glass of some brown liquor or other.

“Baby daddy shook?” I whispered into Aeryn’s ear.

“He thought we’d be honeymooning a bit longer,” she giggled.

She and I broke apart and I sat back on the couch with Aeryn falling in right beside me.

“When’d you find out? How did you know?”

“So many questions. I’d been feeling…off this past week but thought maybe it was just my normal pre-menstrual exhaustion until I sat down trying to recall my last period and couldn’t. Opened up Clue and it told me that I was well past the normal time period of being overdue, so I went and bought a ClearBlue.”

“Are…you sure D’s okay?” I asked, peering over to see him and Kirk embroiled in what looked to be a pretty serious conversation.

Aeryn waved a hand in his general direction, “Meh, he’ll be aight.”

“Aer, I’m so, so happy for you, friend. The both of you,” I gushed.

“It’s unexpected, but I’m thrilled, Cal. Absolutely over the moon.”

October 30, 2019 10:13 pmKirk“Cap, how the fuck am I gonna be a father?” Dustin gritted out, casting furtive glances over to the couch where Cali and Aeryn were sitting deep in conversation.

“Man, it’s an on the job learning type of situation. Hell, you think I was ready to step into these shoes with Ciel when Kyle and Daya passed?”

“That’s different though…you had help, man.”

I shook my head, “Nah, it was me and Baby Blue in the trenches, dawg. Moms was tryna be hands on, but I needed her to step back and let me get acclimated.”

“And you got one that was damn near full grown. Mine finna be fresh outta the…”

“Aye, man!” I broke in.

“I was gonna say womb, man. Fresh outta the womb outchea. You know I don’t really get along with kids kiddingly.”

“That’s not true, Ciel loves Uncle D.”

“She’s the exception, not the rule bro. What if the baby come out with bad vibes?”

I guffawed, “You are wildin’, D. What’s this really about?”

“You know I’ve never…really had a father or father figure in my life to show me what this Dad shit looks like. You grew up with fuckin’ Uncle Phil, so even though you didn’t know what you were doing with Blue, you at least had that example.”

I shook my head, muttering under my breath, “Uncle Phil. Wow, Pops couldn’t even get that Heathcliff Hux comparison.”

“Really, that’s what you’re taking away from this now,” Dustin screeched.

“Bro, you’re really freaking out about this, huh?” I chuckled.

“Uh…yeah, nigga. And you ain’t helping.”

“Aye man, breathe. Let me grab you a drink.”

I left the area in the living room that we were in, going to my bar and hooking him up with a couple fingers of scotch. I’d barely passed him the glass before he drained it, face still looking as white as a ghost.

“D, I got one question.”

He looked up at me, silently.

“When Aeryn first told you that you were going to be a dad, how did you feel?”

“Before the fear?”

I nodded.

“I was geeked, fam. A junior or perhaps a little princess that takes after her mama. And you know no matter what our baby would be cute as hell. Give you and CaliCal a run for your money. But that feeling was short lived, g. All the ways I wouldn’t measure up, crept in faster than Michael Johnson’s gold footed ass in a two hundred.”

“You gotta let that shit go, bro. I’m telling you…it’s gonna be some days where you wonder if you getting any of it right, but the rewards greatly outweigh the risks. And you got a smooth…how far along is she?”

“We’re actually not sure yet…got a trip to the doc lined up in a couple days.”

“Well, let’s say it’s about three months. That gives you six months to cram all you can learn about parenting before your little bundle of joy comes into the world.”

“Man, here you go with this sage advice, Dr. Phil spiel. You ain’t nervous? For whenever Lil Kirk decides he wants his free from his mama’s womb?”

I shook my head, “Nope because I know two things for certain – I will do everything in my power to ensure that my new son or daughter will have everything that they need in life to be healthy, happy, and successful. And my wife is going to go even harder than me. That’s all I need to know that we got this. Do you have that same trust in Aeryn?”

“Implicitly bro. It’s me that’s the uncontrolled variable in this situation.”

I shook my head, “Nah, man. You aren’t. You’re one of the most self-composed and confident cats I know out here. You finna let a fetus have you shook? Damn, you hate to see it.”

Dustin scoffed, “Man, get outta here with that.”

“For real, dawg. For the record, I think you’ll make an incredible father. But you need to talk over your fears with Aeryn – work together to ensure you all will be on the same page with this parenting thing and it’ll be a wrap. The Dustin I know always says it’s impossible to fail, so I know you won’t let your kid down, bruh,” I concluded with a clap to his shoulder.

“If you say so, bruh,” he sighed.

I looked over at Cali and Aeryn over on the couch – Aeryn was going a mile a minute and Cali was trying to keep up, but I could see her lids drooping as she fought to stay engaged.

“Say bruh, I’m happy for y’all, but my lady is about to fall out where she sits. We’ll get up with y’all a little later, yeah?”

“Aight bro. Hey…thanks.”

“Ain’t nothing to thank me for,” I replied, watching him stroll over to get Aeryn and convince her to let us get some shut eye.

Cali tried insisting that she was fine, but I could see the day wearing on her face the more she protested. Seconds later, Dustin and Aeryn were on their way out of the door and I was locking the door behind them before leading Cali upstairs. They’d completely thrown salt in my game, but I couldn’t front on them because welcoming new life into the world was always amazing news. It was also news, however, they could have delivered over the phone so I could have possibly convinced my wife into getting a little more practice in. Sex with Calista had been magnetic from jump, but sex with pregnant, hormone raging Cali had transformed our bedroom in ways I could have never imagined. As soon as she settled into bed onto her side, with a pillow tucked between her knees, she KOd. I slid in right behind her, resting my hands on her belly and pressing a soft kiss onto her neck as I settled in for the night as well.

October 31, 2019 2:45 pmKirk “Baby, you know you don’t have to do this, right?”

I thought my tone was conciliatory but from the glare Cali sent my way, maybe it was more condescending. She was completely adorable though, dressed in bright green fabric from head to toe, with a hole cut out of her shirt to display the big eye on her belly that made the Mike Wazowski costume. Ciel flipped when she saw Cali all done up when we made our way into the house after she’d gotten out of school. The kids had a half day since Halloween also coincided with parent teacher conferences. I’d spent the last seventy-five minutes trying to convince Calista that coming with us to trick or treat wasn’t the best idea, but she was hell bent on coming, despite being supremely uncomfortable. She tried to play off her wincing, but I knew she was in pain from her labored breathing.

“My love, are you going to keep our diece waiting or are we gonna get to it?” Calista gritted out.

I had to smile at the word she and Ciel had come up with the designate Ciel’s relationship to us since we were well beyond the normal aunt/uncle/niece relationship. So, they decided on combining daughter and niece into diece instead of the alternative – naughter, which sounded too much like naughty for anyone to get on board. I blew out a breath, knowing that short of an act of God, nothing would move this willful woman.

“Okay, baby. What you say goes.”

“Oh, here you go with this condescending mess.”

“Blue!” I called out, not even letting myself be baited into this argument that Cali was spoiling for, “Let’s fly, baby girl.”

Ciel came flouncing into the kitchen and I brought up the rear as she and Cali exited our front door. We were a solid three steps out of the door before Cali yelped sharply in pain.

“Uh…Auntie Cali? Maybe you should change, it looks like you wet yourself,” Ciel piped up as we all looked down to see the spreading of darkened neon green taking over Cali’s lower half.

“Calista Marie Langley…” I groaned.

She threw on her most pitiful face as another contraction, now what I knew those winces of pain that she’d been trying to hide were, flowed through her body. I said nothing more, helping Cali down the stairs and into the car. We clearly needed to get to the hospital asap if she was far enough along that her water had finally broken on its own. On the way to the hospital, I called my parents so they could come get Blue since I had no idea how long Calista would be in labor and what I could do to keep her occupied while we were busy birthing a baby. I also made a call to Cali’s doc to give her a heads up that we’d be pulling into the ER pretty soon.

By the time we made it to the hospital, my parents had beaten us to collect Blue and they were all sitting in the waiting room with Cali’s mom, brother, sister in law, and their kids. Cali and I were currently in a delivery room, as she was fully effaced and dilated to eight centimeters. The contractions were coming in good and strong now and with each one Calista called me everything but a child of God as she vowed to never put herself through this pain again to birth one of my big-headed babies. Never mind the fact that the baby had yet to make his or her debut, she kept saying that she felt it in her shundo that this baby was gonna have a moonpie head. My mother had told me that I needed not take anything that Calista said in the throes of labor personally, but I was definitely looking at my head in the mirror, questioning if it was abnormally shaped or oversized.

October 31, 2019 11:47 pmCalista After all of the hustle and bustle of today, the room was finally quiet. Between both of our families and various friends dropping in once they’d heard I had the baby; my room had been a hotbed of activity beyond normal visiting hours of the maternity ward. I wasn’t quite sure how any of them had gotten away with lingering for as long as they had – likely a product of Dustin throwing some weight around – but I was glad they were gone. We needed time to ourselves. And so now it was just my little family left – Ciel knocked out on the second bed in the room that I’d somehow managed to have all to myself and Kirk pacing back and forth cradling his namesake as he spoke softly to him. I smiled at the sight of our son in his arms – my baby daddy looked good as hell with that little baby enveloped by his large frame.

“Babe,” I called out softly, garnering Kirk’s attention and gesturing for him to bring our son back toward me.

Kirk Aron Langley II.

He was perfect – all eight pounds, six ounces, and twenty-two inches of him.

He moved slowly, as if he were savoring his time with Deuce already before he needed to hand him over to me. I greedily held out my arms once they were in reach, snuggling closely with my baby boy, inhaling the sweetness of his fresh infant smell, pressing my nose to the downy, dark brown curls that dominated his little head. Just as I pulled back, Deuce opened his eyes appearing to stare right into mine and stealing my entire soul – an item given with no reservation. I’d always heard that the depth of love you felt for your child was unlike any you’d ever feel in life and they told no lies. I was completely smitten, overcome by just how much of my heart so little of a human had already captured in such a short period of time.

I sighed deeply, causing Deuce to stir a little. I should have laid him down in the little bedside bassinette, but I wasn’t ready to let him go quite yet, already obsessed with him. The activity of the day – having a whole ass baby – weighed heavy on my shoulders and I was exhausted, but I didn’t want to miss a moment with him. I snuggled him closer to my bosom, resting my eyes for just a second before I’d hand him off to Kirk to place him in the bassinette. That was the last thing I remembered before awakening the next morning with Kirk trying to keep Ciel quiet to not disturb me. They’d been going back and forth for a few minutes about Kirk letting her hold her brousin by herself, as awareness filtered into my consciousness.

“Just let her try, babe,” I croaked, alerting them that I’d joined them in the land of the awake, “You remember how we practiced, Ci Ma?”

She nodded furiously, then held her arms out for Deuce who was, unsurprisingly, nestled in his daddy’s arms. I’d bet dollars to donuts Kirk had cradled him all night long, already spoiling the boy. Ciel sat up straight, back braced on the couch arms cradled ready for Kirk to lay Deuce in them. Just like we’d practiced with her baby doll, one of her little arms nestled under his neck to support it and the other was braced at the base of his spine. And when she leaned down to nuzzle her nose against his, cooing sweet words to Deuce I was upset that my phone wasn’t in arm’s reach. Luckily, Kirk captured the sweet moment between the two until Deuce got a little fussy. Kirk picked him up from Ciel’s arms and brought him over to me.

“Hey mama’s baby,” I cooed softly.

Kirk leaned down, wrapping the both of us in his embrace, pressing a soft kiss at my temple before leaning down to speak into my ear.

“How you holdin’ up, mama?”

I grinned up at him, “I’m doing just fine, babe.”

“Can you believe we have two kids now? Holy…”

“You better not curse in front of my babies,” I broke in.

“Okay, Mama Bear,” Kirk laughed, “I was gonna say cow, though…”

“Mmmmhmmm…”

So many changes had happened in my life in such a short period of time, but all of them were for the better. In just over a year’s time I’d not only met and married my soulmate, but we had now expanded our family. I was looking forward to the road ahead of us, marveling over how all of the troubles of my past had led to this beautiful, damn near fairytale like ending. Ciel got up from the couch to join us and as I looked over at my little family, my heart skipped a beat.

“Thank you,” I whispered, just barely audible. A brief exhalation to the universe paying homage to all of the positive energy that had been sent my way. It was overwhelming, but oh so deliciously satisfying.

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work in progress. no release date in mind ,so don’t ask. unedited, so don’t trip on typos. Meet Kailene…***

“You’re not still mad at me, are you? It was an honest mistake,” my cousin Tina said, standing at my front door looking completely pitiful as she clutched a handful of bags, “You don’t even hold grudges. You said they give you wrinkles in Kai’s Korner a couple months ago…so I know you’re not mad.”

It had been a week since I’d asked Tina to get my personal ad into the paper and she got it in there all right. Instead of it being just a plain text ad wedged between someone selling a used piano and someone else looking to give puppies up for adoption, it was a four by six-inch full color ad—with an accompanying picture. I’d never been so mortified in my life, when I grabbed a copy of the paper to ensure they’d gotten my ad right and came across my face splayed through the pages of the Gazette.

“Dogs go mad, people get angry,” I replied, leaving the door open as I turned on a heel and left Tina standing at the front entrance of my townhome.

“You didn’t slam the door in my face either, so you definitely can’t be ma—angry,” Tina continued, following me into my living room and sitting on the couch a little too close for comfort, “You can’t ignore me forever, Kailene Michelle. I apologized like fifteen times. I even got Jacques to call you and apologize!”

“I just wanna know where the hell y’all even got a picture to put with the ad, Tee? All I sent you was a text. With words. Dassit!” I exclaimed, shoving her lightly away from me before I turned and pulled my legs up under me as I faced her on the couch.

“I asked Jacques where in the hell he got a photo and he claimed that he googled and that was one that came up where he thought you looked nice. He thought the lack of a photo was an oversight and you wanted the same kind of ad that you’d run in the paper before. Bright side,” Tina said, holding up one finger, “he didn’t charge you after realizing his mistake though!”

“You’re damn right he wasn’t gonna charge me for embarrassing the hell out of me in front of the whole damn town,” I groused.

“Well technically our circulation is only about forty-three percent of the town’s popul…” Tina started, but quickly amended when she saw the murderous look that I was sure was etched across my features right now, “Well…ok, you know what? Not important. Yes, embarrassed in front of whole town. Again, super mega sorry. For that. Our bad.”

“Hell yeah, it’s y’all bad. Would you like it if I made a mock-up of a wanted poster with your photo on it and plastered it all over town? Because y’all might as well had done that!”

“Whew, you are truly your mother’s daughter,” Tina mumbled under her breath, “I mean…how’s the response so far? Any luck?”

I flung my hands toward the table in front of where we sat toward the mounds of envelopes that were stacked on it. Tina’s expression brightened, “This looks like a good twenty, thirty replies. That’s an amazing response for a week’s time!”

“Gon ahead pick one up and read it, sister-cousin,” I said, gesturing toward the pile again, “Pick an envelope, any envelope…”

“Oh boy,” she said, before picking up an envelope and investigating its contents, “Is this a flash drive?”

“Yes! Between half of these folks thinking I’m looking for a music producer who can catapult my aspiring rap career to success and the other half being old ass grandpas tryna shoot their geriatric game…this was a horrible idea. Why would you agree to use up one of your favors with Jacques for this? Why didn’t you talk me out of this supremely stupid idea? I thought you always had my back, Tee!” I whined, dramatically falling back onto the couch and throwing my arm over my eyes.

“Nope,” Tina said, pulling me back upright, “You’re not putting this off one me, Kai! I tried to warn you, but your obstinate ass refused to listen to reason. You were hell bent on getting this ad in the paper. Going analog to find your woodland creature bae, or whatever the hell, who only read the paper by moonlight every third day. Now, we might have messed up the delivery of the ad, but the actual insistence and initial placement of the ad in the paper. Oh no baby girl that was all you. You brought this response on yourself. Period.”

“Wow, who ordered logic?” I said, waving a hand frantically in the air, “Waiter…I didn’t order the logic tonight.”

Tina shook her head laughing at me, “Of all these replies, there is nothing good? Not one kinda sorta solid lead? I can’t believe you went complete goose egg, cuzzo. I refuse.”

“Well, there was one kinda sorta interesting reply,” I said, rifling through the mess until I found the envelope that had just arrived today.

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Hi friends! Figured I’d hit y’all with a lil #teasertuesday action on today! Release date is still TBD, but just know it’s a-comin’! Enjoy!

I didn’t need him for backup, but I definitely wasn’t just going to leave him in a very nice car in this unfamiliar neighborhood by himself. Who knows what would happen if a trigger happy cop on patrol just happened to breeze through? An extreme thought, but I preferred to be safe rather than sorry when I had the opportunity to control the narrative. I walked up and saw an ornately carved lion head knocker decorating the door. I used it, knocking three times before I stepped back with hands in my pockets as we waited for her to answer the door. A few moments passed with no indication that she was coming to answer the door. I stepped off the small porch that was in front of her house to peer into the front window. There were slivers of light coming through her blinds, so I assumed she was home and walked back over to the door. This time I noticed a doorbell that I’d missed the first time and pressed that instead of using the knocker again.

“Say, maybe we shoulda called first?” Pharris mused.

“Perhaps, but we were already in rotation, so I mean…” I trailed off, when the door finally opened and Jayde peered from behind the massive teal door.

Her eyes were narrowed in confusion that quickly turned to recognition as she looked me directly in the eyes and stepped from behind the shelter of the door. Despite being completely sleep rumpled, she was still bad as hell in a tank top and itty bitty shorts that showed off her dope ass frame.

“Can I help you?” she asked, leaning against the door, annoyance clear on her face.

“Hey…I was…we were wondering if you had a few spare minutes. To discuss some business?” I said, gesturing to Pharris who’d backed a little off the porch once Jayde appeared.

“How did you even know where…I am going to kill Ny,” she gritted out before addressing me again, “I thought you said that whatever business you had with me before was dead now. What was it you said…my overinflated ego had you fucked up? Or something to that measure? Nah, I’m good Nikolas. Y’all have a good night,” Jayde said before stepping back and closing the door to her home.

“Jayde, please. Give me five minutes, that’s all I ask. I think this could end up being mutually beneficial to us both if you’ll just hear me out. I…admit that I didn’t exactly handle my approach in the right way when I first thought of you for this opportunity, I’ll own that. But…if you think I’m about to get on bended knee and ask you to work for…no…with me, then you’ve got another thing coming. I think your talent is rare—top notch, bar none—but I’m not exactly the type of man who will grovel over a simple misunderstanding. Now, with that being said, can we bug you for no more than five minutes or nah?”

“I’m not exactly dressed for company,” she said.

I chuckled, “We’ll give you a few minutes to make yourself presentable, so long as it doesn’t cut into my promised time. C’mon…I can see it in your eyes that you’re intrigued by what would bring me all the way over here to bother you tonight? I actually went to the Shamrock first…but clearly you weren’t there, so I had to use other means. By the way, you all right?”

Looking at Jayde a bit more closely, her eyes were reddened and a little puffy, not completely due to being asleep before we arrived unannounced. Her nose was also pretty red as well and she’d rubbed it a couple times while I was giving my little speech.

“Allergies,” she groaned, “been kicking my ass all week and today I finally let them win. Thanks…for asking.”

“You’re welcome. So…you gonna let us in or nah? It’s a little breezy out here,” I joked, giving Jayde the same smile I’d laid on her homegirl earlier.

Only this time I received the desired response, even if only for a split second. Jayde quickly schooled her features into a mask of nonchalance, but for a moment a faint blush of red covered her cheeks as she bit down on her lower lip. Wordlessly, she unlocked the storm door, and then backed into her townhome waving us through the entrance.

“Well I’ll be damned. That shit really worked,” Pharris muttered under his breath, following me into Jayde’s place.

View Details

You know the deal, this work is in progress so it’s unedited and subject to change.

My boy Langston and his new girl Nyema were in town for this game tonight. They were supposed to be meeting for dinner at my loft tonight—with one of his girl’s friends. I wasn’t really in the mood for entertaining tonight, but I knew that if I cancelled on them, I would just be sitting around watching all of the coverage of our loss on ESPN and obsessing. I had plenty of time to do that shit, but not as much time to hang out with one of my best friends from childhood since I didn’t get back home that often.

Plus, I’d gotten to meet Nyema’s homegirl briefly before the game and shorty was bad. Couldnta been no more than about five one, five two—brown skinned, thick as hell, hair in long silky waves down to her ass. And that ass…I hadn’t gotten to properly check it out in its entirety, but from the glimpse I’d been given pre-game. Shit, I could definitely use the distraction of a pretty ass woman and catching up with my guy after this shitshow of a game. I showered and made my way to the press room, catching up with Kage as he was walking in as well. We were both pretty shocked to walk into a room that greeted us with an ovation, thunderous applause that we gladly welcomed—voicing our thanks before we both sat at the podium. That was exactly the energy we needed, our hometown press embracing us and the ones there for national coverage were asked questions that were thoughtful, respectful, and more importantly didn’t seek to goad us into any negative reactions. Kage kept them in stitches with his signature quips and I filled in the gaps when questions were asked of me directly, but I didn’t have too much energy for the shit overall and was extra excited when Mark indicated to a reporter to ask the last question of the night.

“Niko, we know that you’re a free agent this summer. Any plans of moving beyond the Trojans and ring chasing next year?” the last reporter, Brian Jacobs, asked.

I took a deep breath before responding. I hated this dude. He always came out of nowhere with some left field shit and tried to play the innocent when someone called him on it.

Before I could get a word out, Kage piped up, “That’s really how you choosing to serve the Lord right now, bruh?”

The entire room, including me, burst out into laughter. Brian’s idiotic attempt at baiting me into giving a stupid soundbite completely forgotten as Kage went on and on about how he needed to be a better person and looking within for whatever made him such a lame ass. I was too damned weak to even think about formulating a reply, thankful for Kage’s humor and quick wit deflecting from what could have been a terrible moment. Mark thanked everyone for their time, dismissed us and we headed out of the room.

“Kage!” I called out.

He was a bit ahead of me and turned around with his signature smirk, “It was nothin’, fam. But uh…I got somewhere I’m tryna be right now, so we’ll have to save this Sister Sister bonding moment you tryna have for another time.”

I just laughed and waved him off, letting him get to whatever was so important. I needed to be getting home anyway to make sure everything was in order for tonight’s festivities. When I invited Langston and his girl down, I definitely thought we’d be getting together under very different circumstances, not a season ending loss. I thought about calling my assistant and having him nix the champagne that was set to be served with dinner but forget it. This season was still one worth celebrating, even if the outcome wasn’t what I’d hoped or expected.

By the time I got home, my assistant Pharris was on his way out of my place.

“Sup Nik,” he greeted as we passed each other in the hall.

“You got it, bruh,” I said in reply, “You sure you don’t wanna stick around?”

Pharris was more than my assistant after working together all of these years. After Langston, I’d probably consider him to be one of my closest friends. He was the nephew of my undergrad coach, a sort of fuck up that Coach was helping guide through life. Luckily, he ended up being the perfect fit as assistant. The flexibility of the job worked well with his temperament and his organizational skills were out of this world. He kept my life running smoothly as hell; a well-oiled machine.

Even though I was cool with Langston inviting his girl’s friend, I didn’t want this shit to seem like an awkward double date. I’d been in one of these setups too many times before and the mess always ended up awkward as hell. Pharris sticking around would kill that vibe, in a good way though.

Pharris shook his head, “Nope, got a hot date tonight, boss man. Ain’t no fifth wheeling and playing interference for you tonight.”

As usual, Pharris saw right through me.

“Besides, I saw ol’ girl earlier, she looks like a perfect distraction, g.”

“She was bad as hell, wasn’t she?” I mused.

“Yessir. Enjoy that,” Pharris laughed, touching his hand to his forehead in a two fingered salute before turning and walking toward the elevator.

I stepped into my condo and it smelled damn amazing in here. I gave no instruction for tonight’s meal, so I headed straight into the kitchen to see what we’d be dining on tonight. The chef grilled some steaks, shrimp, scallops, and lobster tails. To accompany that was grilled asparagus, mushrooms with garlic in a butter sauce, baked sweet potatoes, and a spring mix salad with a raspberry vinaigrette.

Against my better judgement I sat down and turned on the tv while I waited for my guests to arrive. Of course, I ended up on ESPN where they were rehashing the game I’d played in, the commentators examining all of my team’s mistakes and insisting that our first-round win was just a streak of luck. I quickly changed the channel, landing on BET showing Baby Boy once again. I fell into that, trying to get my mind off of the bullshit of the ESPN commentary so I wouldn’t be in a messed up mood when everyone pulled up. I laughed at Jody and Yvette’s antics…and thanked my lucky stars that I’d dodged my own version of a Yvette way back in the day. The concierge called up to let me know that my guests had arrived, and I went to open the door to let them in since he’d already directed them onto the elevator.

When I opened the door, however, there was only one guest there, Nyema’s fine ass homegirl.

“Jayde, right?” I said in greeting.

“That’s me. Nikolas, right?” she parroted back, stepping past me into my place, “Your boy and my girl are running behind. I got a text from Ny while I was in my Lyft. I’m almost certain that when they show up, DJ Nyla will have that freshly fucked glow that she greeted me with earlier at lunch.”

I laughed at her candor, following her deeper into my place where she settled onto the couch.

“I hope you don’t mind me making myself at home, immediately,” she said, her eyes darting around the space, appraising everything she saw, “I tend to do that.”

“You’re good, sweetheart,” I replied.

“This is a nice place. I love this building so much. My friend stays down on the third floor and every time I come over to his place I want to stay forever. Your floor plan looks a bit different than his though. Definitely bigger.”

“What’s your friend’s name? I might know him,” I said.

“You probably don’t. He’s a weird ass reclusive songwriter dude. Doesn’t even make eye contact with strangers…even ones as well-known as you,” Jayde smiled, “But his name is Edward Kane.”

“Can’t nobody sang like Eddie Kang,” I said, without thinking. Her friend’s name was too close to a character in one of my favorite films, The Five Heartbeats.

Jayde erupted into giggles, shaking her head, “The first time he introduced himself to me, I quoted that line and he looked at me like I had two heads.”

“How did he not know that classic? Nights like this, I wish…” I sang, trailing off when she joined in, “that raindrops would fall.”

“You sound good,” I complimented.

“Well I should hope so. Singing for my supper pays the bills,” Jayde quipped, “You got a lil tone on you too, though. I heard you, Nikolas.”

“I can do a lil somethin. So, you’re a singer, huh?”

“And songwriter.”

“That’s what’s up. I love music,” I replied, sounding stupid as hell to my own ears.

Before I could say anything else, my phone rang again with the concierge letting me know that the rest of the group was here. A quick exchange of greetings and then we were all sitting around the table as I moved everything from where chef had it waiting onto the table in my dining area.

“Y’all drinkin’?” I asked Langston.

“Hell yes, we are drinking. You are too,” Jayde piped up before he could respond and I laughed, “What you got for us in here mister fancy basketball player man?”

“Water, juice, pop, wine, beer, champagne…whatever you want, basically?” I said.

“Whatever I want, huh?” Jayde queried, biting her lower lip.

“Jay!” Nyema giggled.

“The man said whatever, friend. I’m just asking for clarity,” Jayde replied laughing, turning to grin at Nyema.

I smiled to myself, shaking my head as I headed back into the kitchen to grab red and white wine, along with glasses. This girl was a lot…but I liked that. A lot.

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it’s been a minute since we’ve had one of these here, huh? this is a snip of my WIP. release date: tbd. name of project: tbd. unedited and subject to change. i think that covers all the bases, yeah? ok, enjoy!

LangstonI’d been in some pretty awkward situations, but the one I found myself in currently was quite possibly the most awkward one that I’d been in in quite some time. I glared across the table as the current source of this awkward shit held court with our group that was gathered around the small table in the dimly lit lounge. Nyema had reserved us a table near her set up and of course Sharice was the first to arrive, which I’m sure caused some confusion on Nyema’s part when she saw a stranger sitting at the table she’d reserved for her folks. And Sharice making a big ordeal of giving me a hug once we’d finally arrived really didn’t help my case here.

Nyema had yet to come to the table, but the daggers in her gaze as she looked over to us several times in the fifteen or so minutes we’d been here let me know that she was not pleased. And Lena, bless her heart, was trying to make Sharice feel welcomed as I tried to, discreetly move further and further away from her. When she first started working for our firm, Sharice made it very clear that she was interested in getting to know me outside of work and I’d halfway entertained the idea because she was definitely a baddie--smooth deep brown skin, coke bottle shape, and an ass that wouldn’t quit. But after I overheard her in the break room arguing with her baby daddy, I knew that was a bullet that I needed to stay clear of. That didn’t stop her from continuously trying to come on to me.

Neill’s ass knew this...and how I felt about her, so I was not sure what the hell he was thinking with this set up. When I questioned him about it, he feigned ignorance. Saying he just wanted me to not feel like a third wheel and that Sharice wouldn’t read too much into it. He absolutely couldn’t have been more wrong as Sharice had already made mention of this being our first date at least three times, allegedly joking. Our waitress was a little slow, so when I saw Nyema headed toward the bar I took it as my chance to try and grab her ear briefly. I took the table’s drink order, shook of Sharice’s insistence of accompanying me and made my way to the bar quickly. I strolled up to the bar, and rested against the bar top facing Nyema who acted like she didn’t see me at all.

“Nyema,” I said, gently tapping her wrist.

She took her time acknowledging me, turning her head and giving me a wan smile, “Langston.”

“You got a minute?” I asked.

She shook her head, “Not really. It’s almost time for me to get going.”

The bartender came back with a tall glass of sparkling water, garnished with limes and a cherry, and passed it to Nyema.

“Thanks, Jimi, keep these coming,” she said warmly, grabbing the glass and flashing him a brilliant smile.

Aight, so the cold shoulder was just for me as I expected. I flipped my wrist up noting that we still had a couple of minutes before her set was really slated to begin. Instead of asking again for permission, I grabbed Nyema’s unoccupied hand and led her around the corner from where we currently stood so that I could speak with her in semi-privacy.

“Langston, what the fuck? I told you I didn’t have time right now.”

I held a hand up, “All I need is one minute to tell you that what you see right now isn’t what it looks like. I didn’t invite Sharice here tonight.”

“Langston, you’re a grown man. A single grown man. You do not have to explain anything to me.”

“I just thought that after the other day…” I trailed off.

Nyema laughed, sort of mockingly which took me off guard, “Again...you don’t have to explain yourself to me at all. It’s all good and I’ve gotta go.”

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Since becoming an author I am hyper aware of reviews. Definitely more than when I was an avid reader, with a review blog that gave a handful of bad reviews. And when I say bad reviews, I mean like 1-2 stars. 3 stars, in my opinion, is not bad. It’s not great, but I’m not tossing and turning and losing sleep over 3 stars. It simply means that you think I’ve done an adequate enough job. You were entertained, but not blown away. Which…if we’re being totally honest…I can accept. Mainly because there is always room for improvement, so you might think project A is 3 stars, but when I hit you with that 5 star project C, will we even be thinking about project A anymore? Probably not!

I've gotten a lot better about being super obsessive with reviews and not taking the bad ones too much to heart, but...can we talk about when you don't like a book and want to leave your feedback on a public forum for the writer of said book to see?

Can we pleeeeeeeeeease talk about that for just one minute?

I'm gonna rewind for just one second. Once upon a time I was a book blogger. And when I was a book blogger, I prided myself on giving honest reviews, even when I wasn't the biggest fan of a book. And I remember one book where I haaaated everything about it from the title being misleading to the characters being downright unlikable and it was just terrible...so I wrote all of that out on my little blog and let the writer have it, basically.

Well, she found it. And read it. And let me have it right the fuck back in the comments section and honestly? I had to eat it. My review was poor form and I really didn't have to go that hard about the book. And if I did feel like going that hard, I could have offered ways (in my opinion) that the author could address some of the things I had beef with in works going forward. Instead I chose the asshole route and lit her aflame.

Years later I look back on that and think, "wow you sure were arrogant, sis. What makes your opinion mean that much more than anyone else's? were you even the target audience for this book?"

And I know this is informed author me thinking this way and not book consumer me. But also, it's just logical. I get it--I GET IT. Sometimes books are annoying or infuriating or just don't quite hit the note & they aren't such a good time. And maaaaaaybe you want to warn the next reader or whatever, idek, i'm spitballing here. BUT. can you just take a second before you press submit on the amazon or the goodreads or the tweeter with my fucking @ in the tweet and think about how your words may impact the person behind the ones you so despised. Or...OR...keep this lil tenet in the back of your mind:

The function of critique is for the person receiving said critique to absorb, assess, & adjust.

So, for the person who is leveling the criticism: You don't have to be a jerk, my g. Deliver what you're trying to say with clarity and resolve. Ensure that behind the tear down is a hint, a peench of something that the person you're criticizing can use in some way.

For the person who is receiving the criticism: The absorb part of this is simple--take it all in. The assess part of it gets a bit more complicated. For example, there is a loooooooooooooong goodreads review on one of my first projects in which the person picks apart everything they didn't like about the book. Some of the things are nitpicky and personal to that reviewer, but others are valid critiques that I could objectively understand. So when I say assess the critique, I don't mean to either decide the person leveling the crit is a hater and brushing it off, but actually dissecting what is being said and really determining the level of value that it brings towards helping you elevate your craft. And finally comes the adjustment, which is where you decide after assessment which elements are actually impactful and making modifications to do what you need to do in order to fix any areas in which you've fallen short.

Also, for the person offering critique (again, I like a good double back): If you know 20% of the way into the book that it ain't your tea and crumpets, you can just stop reading, baby. I promise no one will shoot you in the pinky toe if you don't. And if you continue to read and compound your irritation? you'll most likely end up trashing a person over an experience that you were in FULL capacity to control.

IDK, this is just all my $0.02, and your mileage may vary...

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I stood next to Charli and the rest of the bridal party as the DJ announced the arrival of Mr. and Mrs. Seth Gardiner and the happy couple entered the reception space. Rocki’s face was the epitome of happiness and I turned to nudge Charli to comment on it, but her face was marred by a grimace. I guessed she was having another one of the Braxton Hicks cramps that had been plaguing her all morning. Poor thing, I thought as Wesley leaned over to speak into her ear before they both took off in different directions.

Soon my attention was pulled from Charli and Wes to the dancefloor where Rocki and Seth were having their first dance. As they swayed to the music, I couldn’t help but grin broadly. The love that radiated between the two of them was palpable and contagious if the looks on the faces of everyone around me was any indication.

“I know we’re supposed to think the bride is the baddest woman in the room today, but you are wearing that dress, baby,” Roosevelt said, coming up behind me and wrapping me in a loose embrace.

I giggled before turning around so that we were face to face, “You don’t look too shabby either, mister.”

Since he wasn’t in the wedding, we’d been split up for the majority of the day, so it felt good to finally be wrapped in his arms once again. We swayed to the music of Rock and Seth’s first dance, completely engrossed in one another that we’d kept right on dancing when the music faded into something a bit quicker. Roosevelt opened his mouth to say something, but then there was a loud commotion in the hall just outside the room in which the reception was being held. Rocki and Seth blew past us to investigate whatever was going on out there and I was immediately on their heels. When we got into the hall, Charli was in Wes’ arms as he carried her.

“Her water just broke,” Wes said, “We’re on our way to the hospital.”

Rocki and I immediately jumped into action, with Charli weakly protesting for us to keep on enjoying their reception. But there was no way on earth we could have gone forward with partying the night away while our girl was in the throes of labor, so we—myself, Roosevelt, Roxanne, and Seth—piled into a limo and followed Wes and Charli to the hospital. The ride in the limo was quiet, all of us lost in our own worlds. Charli wasn’t due for another six weeks, so the littlest diva making her entre into the world today had us a bit worried.

I gnawed on my lip, trying not to yell at the driver to get to the hospital quicker—red lights and traffic laws were of no importance in my mind, currently. I just wanted to get to my friend and make sure she, her husband, and newborn would be okay. When we arrived at the hospital, we were greeted by Charli and Wes’ parents, as well as Charli’s grandma Honey, who’d somehow beat us all there. There wasn’t any update on her labor progression as we walked in, so we sat, waiting for an update from either the staff or Wesley at some point.

“Hey,” Roosevelt said, soothingly, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “I’m sure everything will be just fine.”

I smiled weakly, praying that his words would be all right, but still tense as hell until a nurse came and gave us an update. Charli was definitely in real life labor, dilated about halfway. We all sat, absentmindedly watching tv with intermittent updates from the nurses. I texted Grace to let her know that Charli had gone into labor and she came up to the hospital to bring Roosevelt and I more comfortable clothes to change into as we settled in for the long haul.

Around ten o’clock I got a little restless, so I convinced Roosevelt to get up with me and take a quick walk.

“Hey,” I said, tapping Rocki on the shoulder as we passed her, “I’ll be right back—text me if the baby comes before I come back!”

“I got you, boo,” she replied, laughing.

Roosevelt and I wandered aimlessly around the hospital before ending right back up in the maternity ward staring at a room filled with random equipment that had a large picture window. I assumed that this used to be the nursery area like the ones you’d see on television, through which folks could view newborns. I stopped just aside the room, leaning on the wall and heaving a sigh.

“Hey…what’s going on with you?” Roosevelt asked, “You’ve been kinda…off since we got here to Ragston. Did something happen with your folks?”

I shook my head, “No, nothing like that. They actually want us to come by for dinner one night before we get outta here.”

Since we were in town for the wedding, Roosevelt and I were staying at the Winterborne instead of at my sister’s place. My relationship with my parents was still in the very early stages of being mended, and I knew that while we were working to get to a place where we could resume being as normal a family as possible—there was no way on Jehovah’s green earth that they were going to let an unmarried Roosevelt and I share a room under their roof.

“Okay,” Roosevelt pushed out slowly, “So…what is it?”

“Do you want kids?” I blurted.

Despite having gotten increasingly closer as our relationship progressed, this was one subject we’d never broached directly. We both made references to our lives together in the future, speaking as if marriage was a certainty, not just a possibility. But the subject of children hadn’t been one that we’d talk about in depth. And quite frankly, I’d been…hesitant to broach the subject, namely because the last man that I thought would be my forever and the father of my children ended up being the biggest dud. So, I called myself not putting too many eggs in the Roosevelt basket, trying to play it cool. I didn’t want him to think I was applying pressure; didn’t want him to cut and run if I was coming on too strong.

Roosevelt smiled, the appearance of his twin dimples immediately sending frissons of heat through my body, “Yeah, I can definitely see myself being a dad. Getting it right, you know? Being as good to them as my grandparents were to me. Yeah, I can definitely see convincing you to pop out about four or five of my lil nappyheaded babies, no doubt.”

My face heated at the sureness of his tone that his hypothetical children would be a result of our union. Biting back a grin, I spoke again, “I…wasn’t always so sure I wanted to be a mom, you know? I just knew that it what was expected of me should I ever get married and I mean…I’m not opposed to it, but honestly the thought of motherhood scares the shanana out of me, babe. And seeing Charli go into labor this early…I am…this…whew, this is a lot.”

“Hey,” Roosevelt said, gathering me in his arms, “Just know that whenever and however our time comes, I got you. No matter what, I got you, okay baby?”

I nodded before sinking further into his embrace as he pressed a kiss to my forehead. We stood there for a few moments in silence before I spoke again.

“Roosevelt?” I said, pulling back so I could peer up into his eyes.

“Emerson?” he prompted when I said nothing further.

“I’m pregnant.”

A few seconds—that honestly felt like hours—passed with us staring at one another silently before I blurted out, “Well…you gotta say something!”

“You’re having my baby?” Roosevelt asked, awe coating his words.

“According to the sixteen over the counter pregnancy tests and the urine and blood tests at my doctor’s office it seems that way.”

“Sixteen?” Roosevelt chuckled.

“I needed to be sure!” I exclaimed, unable to contain a few giggles myself.

“To the point of compulsion, obviously. Wow.”

“Is that a good or bad wow?” I asked, gnawing at my lower lip, trying to play it cool.

I was kind of vexed that he’d not responded to this news with any sort of extreme emotion—good or bad. That made me a little nervous…oh heck, who was I kidding it made me extremely nervous. We were in a good space in our relationship, but that didn’t mean that this news would continue to keep us in that space.

Roosevelt reached out to stop me from gnashing my bottom lip to the white meat, capturing my mouth in a sweetly soft kiss.

“It’s an extremely shocked and in awe, but utterly grateful wow, baby,” he replied when we pulled back from the kiss.

“Yeah?” I asked, softly.

“Hell yeah! I mean, it isn’t ideal because I’d planned on putting a lil somethin’ somethin’ here,” he said, lacing our hands together and squeezing my ring finger, “before we made any little Emros, but nothing about our relationship so far has been traditional, so…you know. But hey…how long have you been holding onto this?”

I lowered my head, breaking our eye contact. I’d found out almost a month ago, but hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone, but Miss Denise. She and I had grown increasingly closer over the past year and I looked at her as a maternal figure of sorts. Those first positives on the home pregnancy tests had me completely shook and she happened to stop by my house to bring over some plants she’d been telling me that I needed to brighten my place up—despite me telling her that I had a brown thumb. When I answered the door shell shocked, she immediately knew something was wrong. And just like she got me together in that darn club bathroom, she pulled me out of my stupor about being pregnant, reminding me of how much of a blessing it was to be a mother—distracting me with tales of each time she found out that she was pregnant with one of her girls. She and I talked for at least four or five hours that day as I went back and forth between being scared out of my mind and feeling completely blessed to be on the cusp of building a family with the man that I loved with everything in me.

“Ummm…” I hedged.

“So, a while,” Roosevelt replied, his grin replaced by a brief grimace, before he continued, “Baby…”

“I know…believe me when I say, it had nothing to do with you. I just…I needed some time to get used to it…I mean the idea of being pregnant and eventually being someone’s mama. And honestly? I was all right with it and planned on telling you before we came here, but then it was time for us to come out here and…”

“Emerson, you’re rambling,” Roosevelt cut me off, “I’m not upset, baby. Just…I want you to know you don’t have to keep anything…and I mean any-damn-thing from me. Whatever you’re facing, I’m here for you and we will handle together, okay?”

I nodded.

“Good…now that we’ve got that understood, baby mama,” Roosevelt said, “I hope that besides Miss Denise, no one else knew this before me.”

I giggled, shaking my head, “Nope, baby daddy. I had to tell you before I burst. I certainly didn’t expect for us to be on a maternity ward when I broke the news, but…here we are.”

“Wait…but you were drinking this weekend?”

I shook my head, “I had sparkling water or juice all weekend. I gave off the appearance of drinking like everyone else, but don’t play me. I wouldn’t ever endanger our baby like that.”

“I like the sound of that,” Roosevelt said, grinning.

“That I wouldn’t give our child fetal alcohol syndrome. Dang, baby, you think that little of—” I said before Roosevelt cut me off.

“Nah…I like the sound of those two words in succession—our baby,” Roosevelt said, the grin on his face spreading even more broadly.

I was powerless to stop myself from cheesing just as widely, immensely grateful and thankful for this moment, his reaction, our connection—everything.

“Yeah…I do, too.”

“Aight, lil mama, let’s get back over to the waiting room with everyone. See about this new lil baby that’s on the horizon. Hey…when are you gonna tell the other Divas? About our little one?”

“I had planned on telling them before Seth and Rocki took off on their honeymoon, but I also hadn’t planned on Charli going into labor so early, so…I might just wait until things calm down a little bit more,” I said, leading Roosevelt back into the direction of the waiting room by the hand.

“Wait…before we go…” he said, bending in front of me onto one knee.

My hands flew to my mouth, “Roose—”

“Not yet, mama. I just wanted to get up close and personal with my baby,” he said, shaking his head and placing one of his large palms across my belly as he leaned in to press soft kiss to the nonexistent bump and whispered a few words that had my breath catching in my throat as I tried not to burst into tears.

He straightened up after chatting with the baby for a couple minutes, and then grabbed my hand, leading me back toward the waiting room, “Now we can go rejoin everyone.”

About an hour after we rejoined everyone, Charli and Wes’ new little bundle of joy made her entry into the world. Born at 12:01am New Year’s Day, Celestial Elaine Philips was the spitting image of Charli, the cutest little thing I’d ever seen. When we were allowed to go into the room to see mama and baby, Wes was cradling his baby girl, looking down at her with awe etched into his features.

“Congratulations, Wes,” I said, “She is a beautiful addition to the REC Shop Divas.”

“She really is,” he replied, with a note of wistfulness in his tone.

I left him to be continued to be bewitched by his brand-new baby girl before checking on Charli. She was knocked out, which was to be expected since she’d definitely exerted herself tonight bringing new life into the world.

“Congratulations, mama Charli,” I said, bending down to kiss her on the forehead before leaving their little family to bond and adjust to life going forward.

Having been up since early in the morning before the wedding ceremony I was darn near dead on my feet, so Roosevelt saying that he’d had our rental delivered to the hospital while we were waiting was music to my ears. Even though we’d ridden over here with Roxanne and Seth, it was still their wedding day and they deserved a bit of alone time as they began their honeymoon. Roosevelt recognized that when he made the arrangements for us to have alternate transportation back to the hotel and I was once again blown away by his intuitive nature.

The hospital wasn’t but a short ride from the inn, where we were staying, but I knocked out almost as soon as I buckled my seatbelt. The extreme fatigue was the only real change in my body with this pregnancy so far. The doctor said that I’d been extremely lucky to not have experienced any of the nausea that usually comes with the first trimester of pregnancy. I was just over ten weeks along, coming up on the end of the first trimester and, knock on wood, so far so good.

I awakened in the wee hours of the morning all tangled up with Emerson, despite having not slept no more than three or four hours if the time on the bedside clock was actually right. My hands resting on her belly reminded me of the bomb that she dropped on me last night. Holy shit, I thought, in a few short months I’m about to be a father. Unbidden, I felt the grin spread across my face before I could even stop it. Emerson had been acting downright weird over the past few weeks, but I thought it was due to the promotion she’d received at work and the added responsibility that came along with it. She was so wound up—tense all the time and I tried my damndest to make sure I relaxed her at any possible juncture. I can’t front…it was a little rough in the beginning before I finally moved back out to LA. Emerson was moody, short-fused, and ill-tempered the entire time that we were long distance. But my arm chair shrink PhD instantly diagnosed her behavior as a side effect of insecurity, borne of the mess she’d gotten out of with that Bobby fool.

That nigga better be lucky that I loved Emerson and my child-to-be entirely too much to find him and fuck up him, permanently because I swear, I had to deal with the ghost of him and the after effects of his manipulation of my girl a little too long for my liking. Luckily, we were past all of that now, but he could still get this work if I saw him in the streets. Moving back to LA was…interesting considering I’d waved the white flag and conceded defeat not more than six months earlier. Ryan insisted that while I could do my job from virtually anywhere, he much preferred me in LA, where the label’s home base was so that I could liaise with other folks within the label easier when it came to facilitating things for my artists. My girl being out there made it a no brainer, but I decided that if I was gonna do this for real, I was going all in. So, it took me a few months to get my things settled in Chicago before leaving again—for good. I was positive that my job was going to be the catalyst for my blast onto the music scene. I knew that nothing short of a catastrophic event was tearing me away from Emerson. All signs pointed towards LA being where I would land and stay forever.

Nat was salty, she’d assumed that when I moved back home that I would be there for good, settling into a life that was just okay. But I couldn’t let that be my fate. Not after I’d worked so hard to leave a broader impact on this world. And…damn, leaving an impact on the world was an understatement when it came to being a parent. For that kid, I’d be his or her whole world for a great while…which, honestly had me scared as shit. I mean, I had the greatest example in my grandparents, but what if I had some of those latent tendencies of my dad lying dormant, waiting to be activated by the birth of my own seed.

“Mmmm, you look deep in thought,” Emerson murmured, peering up at me through half raised lids.

I hadn’t even noticed that she’d awakened and had turned in my embrace, molding her body to mine even further.

“Just thinking about you, baby mama. And how grateful I am for you. I love you,” I said, kissing her softly.

Her eyes brightened, the way they did every time I uttered those three words, as if she was shocked that I really did love her. Loved the damn girl to distraction.

“I love you, too, baby daddy,” she giggled, as I nuzzled her neck, raining soft kisses down the column to her collarbone.

Emerson sighed softly as I rolled her onto her back, bracing my weight on my forearms as I hovered above her. She looked so damned beautiful—hair all over her head because she’d said screw a scarf last night. Fresh-faced because no matter how tired she was, she washed her face nightly—especially when she’d been in heavier make up than she normally wore. Her hands cupped my face, bringing my mouth down to hers for a sweet kiss that soon turned fiery as she traced the seam of my lips, begging for her tongue’s entrance into my mouth. I opened instantly, deepening the kiss as Emerson purred in delight. With hands as rapacious as my tongue, I quickly undressed both of us and slid into Emerson’s warmth.

“Mmmmmm,” Emerson moaned as I doled out slow strokes combined with lingering kisses on the tops of her breasts, “Sheesh Ro…you feel so good.”

I chuckled, picking up the pace of my strokes because she felt too damned good to keep slow stroking it, “Nah, that’s all you. You and this pregnant pussy bout to make me a one-minute man.”

Emerson gasped, then giggled as she clenched tightly around me, “That feel good to you baby?”

I groaned, burying my face in her neck as I pounded into her. She knew good and damn hell it felt good to me, hell that was how we got in this predicament in the first place now that I thought about it. We’d met Nat and Kiki out in Vegas for Nat’s birthday and a little too much drinking and…other substancing led to us playing a little loosey goosey with the condoms while we were away. Emerson had taken a Plan B pill after our oops, and I assumed that was enough, but clearly not so much. She’d felt like heaven on earth when I was buried deep within her while elevated, but stone cold sober? Shit, this pussy was good enough for her to ask me to do anything and I’d do it. If this is what I had to look forward to for the next seven months, she ws going to have a hard time keeping me off of her.

“Ro…mmmmmmm,” Emerson moaned again, in a decidedly high putch than before which signaled to me that she was near climaxing. I slowed the tempo of my strokes again, teasing her with incremental withdrawals, then slowly sliding into her wetness, damn near cumming myself because she was dripping with it. Her hands slid down my back, nails driving into my ass cheeks as she panted in my ear for me to stop teasing her and fuck her faster and harder.

Who was I to deny her pleasure? Or my own? I stopped teasing her and built up my speed again, slipping and sliding into her more and more rapidly, spurred on by the high-pitched yelps and squeaks she emitted. Her thighs trembled as she tumbled into release, clasping around me in a tight grip, sending me blasting off right behind her. Gingerly, I lowered myself onto her body—still inside of her, but with my weight braced on my arms so I wouldn’t crush her. I just…wasn’t ready to no longer be enveloped by her depths quite yet.

Emerson sighed contentedly, urging me to rest my full weight upon her.

I lifted a brow, “The baby?”

“Wants his daddy close too?”

“Wait,” I said, finally pulling out and laying down beside her, but still remaining as close as possible, “You already know the sex of the baby?”

Emerson giggled, “No, not officially…but I’ve been feeling some masculine energy up in here.”

“Well, I mean…” I started.

“Not like that, silly. Call it mommy’s intuition or whatever, but I feel like I’m cooking little Roosevelt the Fourth up in here,” she said, still giggling.

“Ugh, I groaned, “we’re going to dead that legacy if you are carrying my son. I know that much.”

“You wouldn’t wanna name him after you, babe?” Emerson asked, genuinely curious, “Why not?”

“The name comes with a burden I’d rather not have little man endure, you know?” I said.

Emerson was quiet for a few moments before murmuring an answer in the affirmative.

“You know we won’t be like them, right?” she said suddenly, “Like our parents? We know better so we’ll do better.”

“You sound very certain about that,” I said, skeptically.

“I’ve had a little longer to sit with it than you, but you’ll get there eventually,” Emerson replied soberly, “I’m serious though. We’re going to get this right, baby. Or die trying.”

I looked down at her and there was a ghost of a smile playing around her lips, but her eyes looked serious and filled with worry. I shook my head, clearing it of the thoughts that were swirling around that were the exact opposite of the words that Emerson spoke aloud. Leaning down to kiss her softly I replied, “You’re right, baby…we’re gonna kill this parenting thing.”

We were at my parents’ house, having lunch with them, Grace, Tamia and Ted before we headed back to LA. The guys had gone off to watch some sports game and us women sat around in the kitchen snacking on my mom’s famous sweet potato pie and catching up on general gossip. This morning before we left come over here, I told Roosevelt that I wanted to tell them that I was with child. He wanted to make it a whole thing where we told the whole family at once, but I definitely didn’t want my dad to have a flashback and freak out about us expecting a child with no ring in sight. So, we compromised on me just telling Grace and then the both of us sitting down with my parents before we left.

But then as my mother sat here, not so subtly dropping hints about hoping that this thing between Roosevelt and I not turning into the situation I had with Bobby dragging our relationship out for over five years and us not ending up in marriage I’d had enough.

“Well, even if we don’t work out, mommy, we’ll be tied together for at least the next eighteen years if not for the rest of the time we’re both on this earth,” I snapped.

The room fell silent as Mommy, Grace, and Tamia all gaped at me open mouthed. I lowered my head to my hands, frustrated that I’d let her comments get to me and lead me to blurting that out like that.

“Nay…you let the axe murderer knock you up!” Grace screeched at the same time Tamia squealed, “You’re gonna have a baby, Tee?!”

“I really wish you’d stop calling him the axe murdered, Gracie,” I sighed.

“Oh please, you know jokes trump facts in my world, baby sis. You might as well get used to it. Ro’s forever the axe murderer. And apparently he’s been out here murdering that axe wound…”

“Yoooooo, chill,” I said, laughing, “Mommy is right here!”

“And so is your daughter, Grace, jeez,” Mommy said, scandalized, “My goodness, can you act like I raised you to have a crumb of sense about yourself?”

Grace said nothing, merely raised her hands in a shrug as she laughed.

“Yes, Shug, I’m having a baby,” I said to Tamia who looked like she was trying to figure out what her mom was talking about being murdered.

“That’s so cool, Tee! I’ve been trying to convince my mom to have a baby for like five years because I hate being the youngest,” Tamia gushed.

Beyond chastising Grace, my mother had yet to say anything about my revelation.

“Mommy?” I said, peering at her.

She sat, mouth still agape, eyes glossed over with a sheen of unshed tears, “My baby’s having a baby?”

The tears she’d been trying to hold at bay, spilling over as I nodded, feeling my own eyes well up. She yelped, jumping up and coming over to embrace me. We both rocked back and forth, crying tears of happiness as Grace crowed loudly about how she was gonna spoil Tete’s baby. Soon the men came into the room, the ruckus we were making drawing them back into the dining room to see what was going on. I met Roosevelt’s eyes over my mother’s shoulder and he just shook his head.

“I should have known you wouldn’t be able to hold water,” he laughed, before asking my father to step into his study so they could talk.

“Babe, wait,” I said, shrugging out of my mother’s embrace and trying to follow him.

Roosevelt turned back, raising a hand, “It’s aight baby, I got this.”

My father looked puzzled as ever but led the way into his study. About fifteen minutes later both men reemerged and my father made a beeline to me, wrapping me in a tight embrace, kissing me on the forehead.

“Congratulations, baby girl,” he whispered tightly, shocking the hell out of me.

Pretty soon all of the emotion had me wrung out and ready to lay it down, so we said our goodbyes to my family and headed back to our room at the Winterborne. Not even bothering to do more than remove my shoes, I collapsed onto the bed wanting to take a nap before we were set to head over to the Philips’ to see Charli, Wes and Baby Celestial this evening. Seth and Rocki were still in the area too before they were heading to their honeymoon in the Maldives, so this would be our last little hurrah all together. Our flight out in the morning was pretty early, so the plan was to bring them dinner, and have a nice chill night before we headed back to the hectic mess that was our life back home in LA. No sooner than my head hit the pillow, I was completely out, only awakening when Roosevelt softly shook me out of slumber so that we could make our way to see our friends.

I got up, refreshed myself and then followed Roosevelt out to our rental to make our way over to Charli and Wes’ house. He had been acting strangely since I’d awakened, and I was nervous that he was upset with how everything shook out with telling my family about the baby. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up because I didn’t want us to bring tension into our gathering with everyone. I reached over and squeezed Roosevelt’s hand that was holding onto the gear shaft as he drove. He glanced over briefly, shooting me one of those panty wetting grins and I immediately knew that he was fine…and we were okay. When we reached Charli and Wes’ I moved to get out of the car, but Roosevelt stopped me.

“So, you know how you were waiting for the right time to tell me about the baby before we came here but could never seem to find it?” he said.

I nodded, not quite sure where this question would lead us.

“I’d also been holding something back from you that I couldn’t seem to figure out the timing about. But then a wise man told me that timing means nothing when you know what you want so…” Roosevelt said, reaching into the pocket of his jacket and retrieving a ring box, “Emerson Renee Parker, will you do me the honor of being my wife in addition to being my baby mama?”

My mouth dropped, wholly surprised because this was the last thing I’d expected.

“Roosevelt…I…”

“This isn’t a knee jerk reaction to you telling me you’re pregnant or anything, babe. Your dad didn’t pull out the shotgun when he and I chatted, quite the opposite actually. I’d been carrying this ring around for weeks and was going to seek his blessing when we came to town for the wedding anyway, but…”

“YES!” I shouted over his little speech, not giving a care in the world about anything else but letting the man of my dreams know that I wasn’t going to let him go any time soon.

“Yes?” he asked, shell shocked.

I nodded my answer, tears streaming down my face, unable to vocalize anything as I held out my hand for him to slip the ring onto. The ring was beautiful and simplistic, a princess cut solitaire on a rose gold band. He slid the ring onto my finger and I gaped at it in awe, then drew him into me for a kiss that said all of the words my teeth and tongue couldn’t seem to work in conjunction to expel from my mouth.

Breaking apart, Roosevelt rested his forehead against mine, “This is the best start to a new year that I’ve had in a long time.”

“Ditto, baby. Ditto.”

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wow, this website can hold words, too, huh? who knew. i haven’t used it as more than a storehouse for episodes of the podcast in a very long time. but this morning i woke up with a song on my heart. or some words on my fingertips…however you wanna phrase it.

i made the above image this morning because i needed a visual representation of the hard work i’ve put in over the past couple of years. i have this really bad habit of consistently undermining myself in regard to my levels of accomplishment. i’m a chronic overachiever and overfunctioner. i do not like being idle for too much time because that’s the devil’s playground or whateva. but honestly it’s coz if i give myself too much time to think about things that are not productive i slide down into a place where i do dumb shit. what kind of dumb shit you may ask? well, i’ve got a list pal:

• compare myself to other people around me doing the same things
• denegrate myself for not doing more (despite having less time in general; not in comparison to others)
• overbook myself trying to be everything for every body
• lose myself in trying to live up to some standard that has been set by no one but me

and all of these things can lead to burn out. which, i rarely experience, but when i do? oh baby. it’s shut down city. the kid ain’t even tryna go that route, so every now and again i check myself. i’m a visual learner with a fake photographic, yet short term deficient memory, so i have to do things like make charts/collages/etc. to remind me of what i’ve done in so little time.

for the first year and a quarter of my publishing career i juggled working full time, being in graduate school, and writing. but i would see my contemporaries with new releases every other fortnight and i’d berate myself. convinced that i could be doing more, despite having more than enough on my plate. because at some point this nicole falls thing went from being “oh that’s cute, i’m published” to “ok bitch now you need to dominate”.

& let me tell y’all something. i’m a survivor of gifted & talented programs of the late 80s and 90s. used to always being at the top of the heap, star of the show, center of attention for being fucking brilliant, you dig? being average in this book writing thing? it wasn’t working for me. i needed to come harder. dig deeper. release more projects. be in more faces. do all of the events. make everyone love me. blah blah blah bullshit. more unnecessary and undue pressure to live up to an impossible standard.

i’m never gonna be everyone’s favorite. i’ll get to #1 status eventually. might even get a stan or two along the way. but i won’t get there if i keep thinking that my success has to look like her success or her success or her success. if i keep worrying about what author a, b or ccj is doing, how does that help push MY brand forward? if i’m focused on writing what i think people wanna read instead of listening to my intuition, where does that get me? who am i doing this for? what is even the purpose? when will i ever reach whatever peak or summit i deem to be the highest, thus being satisfied?

the answer to those questions (in order) is: it doesn’t. nowhere. your ego. ain’t nan. never.

& quite frankly, none of those are satisfying to me. what is satisfying, however, is reveling in accomplishment. seeing every new project as a way to grow, and learn, and expand, and progress, and thrive. zooming out every now and again to take a look at the larger picture and being grateful for gift, talent, drive, and creation.

so now i work to actively do those things. CONSISTENTLY. and honestly? that shit’s harder than the writing.

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Hi kids, it's me, Nicole. So...listen right...

All of my best stories start with those three words, haha. If you'll notice it's been a couple weeks since i've done a Sample Sunday. It wasn't purposeful, but it wasn't happenstance either. See for the past few weeks I've put together a little writing schedule for myself that includes daily and weekly word count goals and I've been toiling tirelessly to adhere to those goals. But then the day after Labor Day my last class in my graduate school program began--the capstone. A goal I've been working toward sine July 2015 was finally here...and coinciding with the same period in which I promised myself that I would complete and release a book.

Talk about bad luck. Sheesh.

So...I was all discombobulated, y'all. Off my game and completely unsure that I would finish this book on the time table that I'd given myself given that I was certain that this capstone will monopolize my time. Hell I still am certain that it will, but I decided to dedicate this weekend to adding a sizable amount of words to my current in progress doc. On Thursday I told myself that I wanted to write ten thousand words by Sunday evening. Then on Friday I went over to my best friend's house and watched Greenleaf while drinking red wine and scotch. Clearly I wasn't about that life.

But Saturday morning I woke up with renewed purpose. I told a couple friends who checked in on me intermittently. Then of course I got on my instastories being ridiculous as I raced toward the first day's finish line of five thousand words. It was a hard fought battle, but I emerged victorious. I woke up this morning with...a lack of the same fighting spirit that I'd had on Saturday. I even lamented that I'd probably fall short of my goal because I had lost my way a bit and wasn't sure where this story was going.

I went outside, groced some groceries, and then came back in the house to settle into this word doc. I sat here for about two hours and bupkis. I grew irritated quickly, mind shifting completely from the positive can do spirit to negative down talk about how I was stupid to even try to challenge myself to do such a thing. Before Saturday, the most words I'd written in one day was somewhere around the twenty-six hundred mark and those were hard wrought. Instead of celebrating the victory of having smoked my previous one day word count record, I stewed in the pit of possibility that I wouldn't make the big goal I'd set for myself on the outset.

But then I remembered the words of a friend about the way we approach tasks and how our mindset actively affects the manner in which we tackle challenges. (Shoutout to Sarah!) I kept the Word doc open, sang along to the Wine and Dine playlist on spotify and slowly, the words began to trickle in. Five hundred words turned to one thousand which turned to three thousand which turned to forty seven hundred words written and I saw that finish line so close that I could taste it and I persevered.

And then I made it. I wrote ten thousand words in two days. What the eff is my life even about right now? I'm exhilarated and feeling invincible. Y'all, this book...these characters, I like them a lot. Really like them. And I hope y'all do, too. Because I have taken careful consideration in crafting their story, the choices made within and the consequences of those decisions. I'm striving to write a book that is filled with not only the patented Nicole Falls humor, but also a bit more depth than previous works as I work tirelessly to make each book better than the last.

I ain't done with it quite yet. These folks are still talking. But today I leveled up as a writer. And I'm just riding high off the feeling of accomplishment and wanted to share it with y'all. Sorry there's no sample this week, maybe next Sunday will be the jam and the samples will commence. We shall see. : )

Til then...

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Unedited and subject to change...y'all know what this is...enjoy!

“Thank you, mama,” PJ said, smothering me with hugs and kisses.

I soaked it up knowing that my time before he became a too cool teen boy would come too quickly and I should relish the affection while he gave it freely. PJ ran off, to call Danny and confirm that their plan had worked, no doubt and I grabbed my tablet to make a FaceTime call. As I waited for it to connect, I examined my face in the screen—taking note of the formerly fine lines around my eyes that seemed to have deepened overnight. Thirty-fine was quickly giving way to the rapidly approaching forty and I was feeling…a bit put out by it all. Not that I minded aging because I’m definitely like a fine wine, but as the years progressed, I found myself deeply reevaluating some of my life’s choices and wondering if I made the right ones. Before I could get too far down the rabbit hole of those thoughts, the FaceTime call connected.

“So did you join?”

“Hey Raq. How are you?”

“Yeah yeah hoe, pleasantries and all that. Did. You. Join?”

I nodded once and Raquel squealed in delight.

“I didn’t think you had it in you! My girl,” she said, jigging a little in her seat.

“You didn’t think I had what in me? Did you forget Tim?”

“Oh girl please, Tim was happenstance. Before him, your girl had cobwebs on her. You didn’t even bring my godson into the world via the old fashioned way and the last time you steadily talked about getting dicked down LBJ was in office, so…”

I tried, but failed to hold back a shriek of laughter at her ridiculousness. Raquel and I went back like four flats on a Cadillac. She had been my very best friend since we met in Kindergarten in Mrs. Papadopoulos’ class. She had a Care Bears backpack and Rainbow Brite lunchbox; I had a Rainbow Brite backpack and a Care Bears lunchbox so in a stroke of brilliance she convinced me to exchange lunchboxes so that we wouldn’t be mismatched. My mama tanned my hide when I got home, but it was worth it. Raq and I had been thick as thieves ever since. She knew almost all of my secrets and where most of the bodies were hidden. Outside of my sister, she was the one constant in my life that I could always count on.

“You know I can’t stand your ass, right?”

“But you love me,” she replied without missing a beat.

That was for sure. She was on a short list of few for whom I’d take a bullet.

“So you ever gonna tell me how you really found out about JON.com or are we making up a new lie on today?”

Raquel laughed and quickly averted her eyes asking, “Where’s my godson?”

Patrick happened to be walking into the kitchen when she inquired so he yelled out, “Hey Auntie Rocky” as he made his way, undoubtedly, to eat up all the snacks. I swear it felt like I was going grocery shopping every three days messing around with his hungry behind.

“Hey, my love. Come over here so I can see how much you’ve grown since I saw you last.”

“You aint slick,” I said lowly, “And you haven’t sidestepped my questions so as soon as you’re done with your fake fawning…”

“Sweet Sister Patty Cake, why don’t you know how to let things go?”

“Raquel Rachelle, why do you keep trying to hold onto secrets from me? You know it’ll all come out eventually.”

“Exactly, so exercise some patience, my good sis. You’ll find out sooner or later.”

I rolled my eyes and kept the conversation moving in another direction. She was being purposefully cagey, which let me know that when the bomb was eventually dropped it’d likely be extinction level event. That was just Raq’s way. She loved to keep things bottled, then over process, and finally talk things through with me way after the fact. She always needed that space to work things out and I normally granted it, but with this site, I knew whatever it was had to be juicy. Our conversation quickly came to a close, with Raq making me promise to hit her up the minute my profile was approved so we could go through my matches together.

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This is a special guest post from K. Sadee, author of the Robinson Sisters series. I'd initially asked her to contribute to last Friday's post, but she sent me something that was well beyond what I'd even envisioned and I knew I had to gon' head and bless y'all with the young long form. I hope you enjoy it as much as I did.

xoxo,

Nic

When I was asked to write a few words for #RomanceAwarenessMonth, I started out thinking that I was going to write about my favorite romantic moments in television or movies. I have a few like when Dwayne Wayne broke up Whitley’s wedding to Papa Pope (imagine telling your kids that the love was rekindled when their daddy fought off groomsmen and security? Swoon, friends. Swoon.) Or that airplane scene in Beyond the Lights (a curse on Nate Parker’s peanut head). But the more I thought about that, the more I thought about the scenes that I wish I could see.

From my books (MVP Daddy, Hot 16, Alternative Endings—shameless plug) it’s probably easy to see that I love Black History. Love it. The National Museum of African American History and Culture is my new happy place and I send tithes and offering to it every month because of how deep my love for Black History goes. But, sadly the Black historical options on television and film tend to not feature very much Black love. They feature black suffering and even righteous black defiance, but except for a few notable exceptions—the recent Roots, Hidden Figures, and Underground—there hasn’t been very much revolutionary, historical Black love.

And I want to see it there. I need to see it there. Not because I need to have Hollywood affirm me or the wonder that is healing Negro Nosed Romance, but because I want to get my historical swoon on to people who look like me and my loved ones. With all due respect to Jane Austen and no desire to upset her altar, I want to see someone other than Darcy and Lizzie fall in love over and over. I say this as I wonder where my BBC DVDs are so I can binge on Colin Firth’s Darcy, but still.

Ok, semi-rant over. Let’s get to the good stuff. The love stories I want to see that have already been written. This list is not all of the books that I want filmed, but I did choose my top choices so that this post did not become as long as a text book. It was close. The cuts I had to make to it had me pacing.

This list would not be complete without the Queen of Historical Romance and Literary Lovin’ That’s Good Like Cornbread, Beverly Jenkins. I have several, several options here for the books of hers that I pray get turned into movies or short series. I know Black Jesus is tired of getting my praymails about this, but I’m going to choose my Top Two.

1) Indigo: This will probably be my longest referral because this book is my literary Beyonce. I’m going to stan. Listen beloveds, there are several reasons why Indigo is a book that I need the literary gods to put on screen. The first is the heroine, Hester Wyatt. She’s an invaluable part of the Underground Railroad in Michigan, and our brave couple met when she was nursing him back to health. Listen. She’s basically real fearless goals. She faces down things and people in the book that would have made me hide behind her. She’s the kind of heroine that you not only want to be friends with, but you want to emulate.

And, because it’s an important part of the story and another reason that I really want this book to be a movie, she’s dark skinned. And no, not dusky skinned. Not smedium caramel with an extra dust of cinnamon, but dark. And our brave hero (more on that later), Galen ADORES it. He describes her as having skin that “looked like the gift of an African night goddess.” Swoon. Do you hear me? Get the church ushers to heft me up and carry me away. I’m not going to do a colorism rant, but do you know how wonderful this was? The cover here is the cover I first read this book under (I had no business reading that at the time, but I already took that up with Black Jesus) and for a darker girl, this was LIFE. We rarely, if ever see a black man pursuing and loving on a dark woman in movies. At least we don’t see the healthy, “she’s not my mule and I adore every pigment in her skin” love. This book‘s heroine wasn’t runner up or second choice love (that happens with women outside of “beauty standards” typically darker or bigger women) either. She was his first and only choice and he made that clear to her and the whole town. I love a hero who is sprung like a gymnast at Olympic try outs. I’m mad at myself for losing this physical book (I have the ebook, of course) because honestly, I don’t even remember seeing women her shade on covers often, but that’s another post.

Let’s get to the hero, Galen Vachon. Honey child goin’ wild. Listen. Even outside of how he adores the heroine, the brother is IT. He was a lover AND a fighter in all the best ways. He was a rich black man who uses that privilege to be an infamous freedom fighter and lead enslaved people to freedom under the name Black Daniel. You can swoon right there. I’ll wait. He’s bout it. I’m trying not to spoil it, but “Never Scared” was written for and about this man. They just didn’t know it. And again, I’m not going to spoil it, but that moment at the end where he’s sitting on a horse with a gun and gold ready to defend his love is better than diamonds and roses. I deserve to see it on my big screen too. And when he defended Hester from colorism in his family, I hit my best shout. Put that on my big screen and collect my money.

2) Topaz: I said that I was going to stick to two novels from the Empress of Romantic Black History and while it was hard to decide on the second novel, after much prayer, fasting (I didn’t eat my afternoon bag of chips yet), and deliberation I finally decided. I wish I could do a drum roll, but the tech geniuses haven’t figured that out yet, but I decided it would be this one.

I always semi-jokingly say that if it wasn’t for Beverly Jenkins, I wouldn’t know that black people had been in the West as anything but enslaved people and Buffalo Soldiers. Pray for the children and our schools, y’all. Anyway, I would have had no beginning clue of how extensive that history was or had the desire to look further. But, let’s get into this book and why this book should be on screen.

This book while it does touch on racism and the effect that it can have on black people and other people of color—the Black Seminoles and all the reasons Andrew Jackson is probably roasting below are mentioned in it—a lot of it is just black and Native people thriving and dealing with intracommunity issues. We don’t see that in historical movies often if ever. I’m ready to see a black cowboy win his lady journalist, newspaper owner (this is important. SO much love for the Black Press in this book) love in a POC community that was thriving.

Second, it’s just funny. Not many depictions of Black people in the past on film are (purposefully) funny like this. The heroine, Kate Love and the hero, a black lawman named Dix come together in an arranged marriage and their immediate reactions to each other and the realistic difficulties their two strong personalities have joining their lives deserve to flicker across my screen. The heroine and her women friends/co-conspirators have to deal with sexism from the men in their lives and the method is hilarious in a way that again, black women in historical films are rarely depicted. Come on Hollywood and indie producers, give me my movie!

3) Be Not Afraid: This one is a little darker and shorter than my other choices, but I think it is important to see more images of black people during the Revolutionary War. So many movies, plays, and History Channel specials—when they take a break from aliens—are based on the Founding Fathers and other rich, influential men during the Revolutionary War. So, so, many. I’d like to see more about how regular people got along and survived one of the few wars on our soil. And more than that, I’d like to see more about how black people lived and loved then and the difficult decisions they made to protect their lives and loved ones. Alyssa Cole provided the blueprint here for that kind of exploration on film with this book.

The hero, Elijah Sutton is an enslaved man fighting for the Patriots to gain his freedom and the heroine is on the other side trying to escape America, slavery, and some truly awful memories. The two of them are complex characters and with the right actors could truly show the tensions that black people have felt with loyalty and this country since before the Declaration was signed.

(Sidenote: Look at this cover. Who wouldn’t want to ride up to the Regal Movie Theatre and see this plastered against the wall?)

4 and 5 Taffy and Songbird: I’m putting these two together because I feel that I’m being my late father’s daughter and getting lengthy. I love a good old family tale. Give me familial love and family tension with my romance and I’m sold. Take all my little money. Both these books give me that and both of them should be on the big screen.

Suzette Harrison’s Taffy is a love story between Taffy Bledsoe Freeman who has The Sight and Roam Ellis who is a Pullman porter in 1935. Roam Ellis, a Pullman porter. I hope you got that faster than I did the first time I read it, but it was 2 am so all slow on the uptake sins are washed away. There isn’t much I can say without giving it all away and when I say “all,” I mean ALL. The secrets in the Bledsoe family are juicy, but so is the love. Think 1935 Hope Floats without the characters that sound like they benefited from Jim Crow. Don’t get me wrong, I love the movie but we’ve seen this kind of story so many times with white characters that I’m ready to see it with black characters. And honestly, no shade. The only real comparison is that the heroine in Hope Floats and Taffy are both escaping philandering husbands and find love in a hopeless place (cue Rihanna!). But thassit. This book is full of so much more than that. The Knowing (read the book) could have its own movie. Give me family drama! Give me a loving hero who wades through allllll of that to be with his love! Toward the end of the book Roam says to Taffy, “I never wanted another woman until I couldn’t have you. But I couldn’t taste another woman now with you all over my tongue even if I wanted to.” The heart eyes I felt reading that after all they had been through? Give me lights, camera, and action!

Also, Bledsoe was the town that the characters lived in and as the author puts it, “Ain’t nothing white here ‘cept milk and teeth.” I said take my ticket, subscription money already right? Let me say it again. Take all my baby money. Here. Make the film.

Songbird is a multigenerational novel with three books by three different authors Iris Bolling, Piper Huguley, and Deborah Fletcher-Mello. So we could get a series or at least a made for television limited special. The story starts with the deathbed of the matriarch, Sparrow. Don’t let that slow you down like it did me (I’m the happy ending queen), there’s more loving than sorrow in this book. And each of the characters including the matriarch Sparrow have their own journey to love that could easily translate to film.

We go through decades starting with the 1960s and the authors do not shirk from the difficulties that the characters would encounter in these decades, but like black people in real life (where else are all these beautiful brown babies coming from?) they were still able to get some lovin’ in between and some music. Music. Obviously from my Robinson series and if you follow me on any social media, it’s obvious how much I love music. The voice is my favorite instrument and Sparrow, Lark, and Dove are highly gifted vocal musicians. You KNOW I’m willing to pay for my ticket or rush to my television right now or in the words of an old deacon somewhere ‘raht nah.” Give me a musical, Hollywood! If I can hear flat singing in La La Land, I can get some Black church humming and sweet harmonizing with Songbird. And some heroes with more to contend with than saving a musical genre that never asked to be saved.

There’s a rant there, but now is not the time. It’s all Black love right now. Anyway, this is the kind of movie that I need right now. Give me black love throughout the decades! Give me endurance and joy on the screen!

On a related note, since we know that American history is not taught well, not to mention Black History, seeing these historical novels on film could help a little with that. These ladies did their due diligent research ok? Ms. Beverly Jenkins stays with a smooth bibliography in a book and Piper Huguley is DOCTOR Piper Huguley a history professor at Spelman, ladies and gents. The work is done and it should be seen on the screen. There are no white saviors. Halleloo. Just us. Doing what we need to do FOR us.

And maybe someone will be inspired by the history they see. For instance, until Indigo, I did not know about Ellen and William Craft. Those real life events are a movie. A feature film. In 1846, Ellen Craft who was so light she could pass, dressed as a young white man and traveled with her dark husband posed as her manservant from Georgia to Philly on trains and steamboats for freedom. From Georgia to Philly. Pretending to be a man. Training herself not to give her husband any of the loving looks a woman gives her man and her husband training himself not to think of her as his wife. Listen. That’s a movie. An Academy Award winning film. And maybe if we watch Hester and Galen discuss the events on screen, someone will realize it. It’s better than Rose not scooting over two inches for Jack anyway.

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I missed week two. I was too busy doing hood rat tings with my faves in Noo Yawk! But now I'm back like I never left, lol. So this week I wanted to explore some dope romantic moments in TV/film and...well y'all...being perfectly honest? My television gets turned on once every fortnight, LOL. I used to be big into tv/movies, but within like the past five years that interest has waned mightily. So I employed the help of some of my faves to share some of their fave moments with y'all!

First up is my girl, B. Fel, author of Ready:Double or nothing - Love & Basketball. I understand the odds of you reading this and hating the movie are high, but an important note: I didn't watch this every time it played on BET, and I'd probably watch anything with Gina Prince-Bythewood's name on it. This scene and movie set the tone for me in terms of love stories well before I knew I wanted to tell them. Bless my eight-year-old heart though, because I was shook when I thought Q was truly going to give up on Monica and marry Tyra Banks' character. Wonderful.

Grumpy Old Man - Living Single. Max and Kyle were my favorite couple on this show. You remember that episode where Kyle's upset about turning 30 and Max struggled to comfort him? As an adult, my favorite scene is watching Max, who sat on a washing machine with a red bow tied around her neck, give herself to Kyle while he sulked in a laundromat and said "Happy Birthday, cheer the hell up." It's their type of romance, that no one else would/could understand, and that's why I love it.

The First Adventure, S1, E5 - FIRST (web series). This episode is the sweetest, cutest ever. Basically, a camping trip Charlie tries to take Robin on goes wrong and he makes up for it by moving the campsite into his living room. As she's reading an excerpt from Alex Elle's book, he kisses her. And as Extraordinary Love by Stacy Barthe plays, they make love. This series made me want to create a web series of my own. The characters are vulnerable, developed, and basically everything you want to see while watching a modern black love story on screen.

Next is the homie Chencia, author of the JustOneNight.com seriesMy favorite romantic moment comes from the popular Bollywood film Kabhi Khushi Kabhie Gham. There is a scene where Rahul sees Anjali dancing in the street and being an all-around carefree brown girl and as soon as his eyes find her in the crowd, everything slows down. It's that moment that we see in films all the time to let us know that something significant is happening. It's as if time stops for Rahul as he sees the woman that he knows he can't live without. He is thunderstruck by her smile, by her liveliness, and that's when he realizes that she will be his wife.

Next up is my fave the uuuuber talented Christina C. Jones, author of 5011 novels, including her latest release Determining PossessionI’ve watched a lot of black ass movies. A lot of black ass romantic movies. So, choosing a specific favorite romantic scene is a hard task, but, BUT, I think I have it. The lovely Ava Duvernay has done a lot of great things for the culture, but I have to specifically point out the quiet romance of this scene in I Will Follow between Omari Hardwick and Salli Richardson. The movie itself is very quiet – some might even say boring – but for my little romance author heart, this was very much a high point for me. The simplicity of helping her move, playing on the swings, laying out on that old mattress… it’s #romancegoals. We’ll ignore that the “hero” is kinda trash and focus on the good stuff.

Here's a little clip from that scene. https://www.youtube.com/embed/zt9pWMHM7vg?rel=0"

And finally is my girl, International Al aka Alexandra Warren, author of over 16 novels including her latest release If Only for the SummerSo I have a TON of favorite romantic movie/TV moments, but the one that came to mind first was the scene in Brown Sugar when Dre calls during Sidney’s interview with the radio station, and then shows up to the studio with the checkbox yes/no/maybe love letter of our time. swoon . Friends-to-Lovers is such a tricky, complicated, and sometimes downright messy dynamic, but I loved Dre and Sid’s relationship and was SO happy when they finally stopped playing and got together. Also, shoutout to Angie Martinez for gassing them up. lol :) [Ed. Note: This movie is one of my all-time faves and low-key was the inspiration for a particular scene in my first novella!]

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This was easily 3/4 of the way through the event and as y'all can see, I was BEAMING still.

I should have done this on Sunday. My memory is such trash and this will probably not even fully encapsulate everything that I wanted it to and it's probably gonna be all over the place, but y'all...

So Indie Love did a very good job at preparing me for the feels I'd have meeting readers of my work who showered me with praise. I learned to graciously accept compliments and deftly dodge the "when????"s, hahaha. So I went into Behind the Pen feeling like I knew what I was doing. I had a plan, a very good friend by my side, and all of the books to unload, hahaha. I was still a little nervous because I didn't know what the day would bring, but overall felt really good.

I walked over to the venue with my friend Sarah and the Joneses--Christina and her hub Byron. As soon as we walked up, Alex Warren and her bae Donte were pulling up. Seeing all of those friendly faces immediately brought my anxiety down as we walked into the venue and got everything all set up. I was a little nervous about the circular tables, but I was actually able to get my set up brackin' rather nicely and actually took a photo of the table! LOL During set up time, I was able to chat it up a little with a couple of authors and volunteers before it was showtime.

My table set up.

Wait...let me back up a little. Y'all...the space where the event was being held? Honeyyyyyyy...The sistah Girls had it decorated so dopely! There was so much glitter and pink and my heart just about exploded. The aesthetic was hella in line with my personal values and I was super here for it. There was a bevy of food, beverages, and sweet treats arranged so artfully. I'm sure y'all have seen some pics by now, but I was super in love with those sparkly champers bottles. After a pep talk from Puff Mommy aka Sharee, the doors were opened and we were off.

I'd initially planned to sit down and greet folks as they walked up, but after about 5 minutes of that I Was like "nope! that ain't gonna work!" I was up and moving around, grooving to the dope ass playlist that was piped through the sound system and living my best life. I got to meet so many people that I knew from Facebook and/or Twitter and/or Instagram and hug so many of y'alls necks. So...a confession: I don't look at avatars or profile pictures that often, my mind always hyperfocuses on words. I promise, I feel like my brain doesn't process pictures well, but those names are firmly cemented in my mind and as soon as I started writing, it clicked for me. I know that a few times I was like midway through signing a book before being like "OMG IT'S YOU!!!" for a few of y'all LOL.

There were a few times I just took a moment to glance around the room and I know I was probably grinning like a loon, but it was just so invigorating. Every single sista came to slay...there was so much beauty in that room. The love was palpable. The energy was electric and my entire life was given.

Readers of Black indie romance are the best people on Earth, I'll tell you this. I had more than one of you say to me, "I know you got some stuff going on sis, but whenever you ready--we ready!" And that...y'all I appreciate it more than words can accurately portray. This weekend was amazing and Behind The Pen was certainly a highlight.

Saida & Sharee: You ladies set out to make an event that would keep the streets buzzing and represent y'alls city to the fullest and Y'ALL DID THAT. Thank you for the intense amounts of care you put into ensuring this event would not only be great for the readers, but equally awesome for the authors participating. Y'alls dedication to providing a space for black indies to flourish is greatly appreciated. A huge thank you to y'all and the rest of the SGBC crew for a fabulous event.

Me with the head sistah girls in charge, Sharee and Saida!

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So I learned that August was Romance Awareness Month on the first and I thought, "oh how apropos!" August is also the month in which we celebrate the anniversary of my birth, so it is as perfect a marriage as possible. For as long as I can remember, I've loved a good love story. On my personal blog, I spoken at length about my obsession with love in its many forms, by romance holds a special place in my heart because witnessing true romance blossom is an amazing sight to withhold.

I've been to my fair share of weddings and I tell people my favorite part is always the bride's processional. Most eyes are keenly focused upon the woman—a vision of beauty in white (or mother of pearl wink), but I always ALWAYS have kept my attention on the groom. Men are schooled to keep a tight rein on their emotions, but on his wedding day every man I have witnessed during this event loses all control of that when he sees his lady for the first time on that day. No matter how long the couple has been together, there is a certain sparkle in the man's eye that screams "DAMN...THAT'S ALL ME. HOW DID I EVER...?!" The adoration for their beloved is tangible and really beautiful to behold.

The only other time I've witnessed such raw emotion displayed was while witnessing parents shortly after the birth of a child. Anyway...I digress. So with it being #romanceawarenessmonth and all, I figured I'd make all of you guys aware of some of my favorite things that are related to the many different aspects of romance. Today's selection will be a smattering of some of my favorite love songs. I have hundreds I could list, but for the sake of brevity I'm going to keep this list to five.

Excuse Me x Jazmine Sullivan: Every time I hear this song, my soul is stirred. First of all, Jazmine is singing from the deepest craters of her uterus on this jawn, from the top to the bottom. She comes out the gate swinging with the vocals and if you're unpartnered will have you singing it to the nearest inanimate object that you love more than anything. Favorite Lines: "and just to see you smiling at me/ don't care what the task be if it makes you happy..."

As x Stevie Wonder: Another one of those that from note one puts me on the train to Feelstown. Stevie Wonder is a masterful songwriter and if my forever love doesn't make me feel half as good as this song does, he gotta step his cookies up. Favorite lines: THE WHOLE DAMN SONG. STEVELAND MORRIS DID THAT.

Meant to Be x Melissa Polinar: I always say this is going to be my first dance song at my wedding. Melissa's voice sounds like true love feels--clear, warm, full & just damn good. Favorite lines: "new day comes/ as our life's just begun/ you're now mine..."

Contigo en la Distancia x Christina Aguilera: I had no idea what the hell Chrissy was singing on this jawn the first time I heard it, but I just thought it was such a pretty melody. So used to hearing her go for the power notes and growls, this song finds her singing notes that are sweet and delicate as they ride over a flamenco seasoned guitar. I had to travel over and see my good sis google translate to see what she was singing about tho and once I did I was like "OMGISSOBEAUTIFUL". Favorite lines: "el mundo parace distinto/ cuando no estas junto a mi/no hay bella melodia/ en que no surjas tu/ y no quiero escucharla/ si no la escuchas tu..." which essentially says shit don't feel right unless you're with me. and girl. LISSEN.

I Can't Help It x Michael Joseph Jackson: This is my all-time favorite Michael song. I normally cannot choose a definitive favorite from any of those that I hold in as high regard as I do MJJ, but this song just makes me feel so good. It is nearly impossible for me to get through the first verse without my face splitting wide open with a toothy grin. Favorite lines: "Love came and possessed you/bringing sparkles to your eyes..."

What are some of y’all’s favorite love tunes? Lemme know in the comments!

xoxo,

Nicole

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Happy authorversary to me!

If you didn't read the title to this in the key of Tony, Toni, Toné, why are you even here? LOL

Warning: This will likely be a jumble of disjointed thoughts. Welcome to my brain.

All jokes aside, one year ago today I published my first novella, Adore You and the year following has been a helluva ride. A few days ago I Instagramed a video I took of what was my highest ranking to date on Amazon. In the caption of the video I said, "[I am] so abundantly blessed to have been given a talent that has the capacity to be transformative". Sitting here now in a moment of reflection, I definitely still feel this very strongly.

Being a writer has always been a thing I've said I am, but never really felt like I was. I've always been enamored with words, but I stayed pump-faking. I could never get my rhythm, voice, tone, or point of view quite right. Everything felt hollow because I had no direction. AY flowed from my fingertips so organically, that when I finally typed the end? I KNEW I had done something. And it felt good. Didn't matter if aaaaanybody else read or got or cared about it because I had finally done the thing I'd claimed I was going to do for more than half of my life. And I'd done it in an ok manner (to my standards, I'm pretty hard on myself). I knew that it was only the beginning and it would only get better. I can't wait to be reflecting on my writing in about ten years when it'll be light years from whatever level of good it is at currently. Just the thought of it excites me.

Last night I was Marco Poloing with a friend of mine and we were talking about our writing processes and story construction and how we want our stories to be received. We were both pretty much in agreement that our writing is focused on bringing to life characters who are true to themselves and grounded in reality. There is no real...joy...for me anyway...to making someone perfect and/or unflawed. I like to write about super regular, degular, schmegular folks living their lives and finding love along the way.

But speaking of friends, can I say that I am so glad to have joined the ranks for black indie romance authors? Let me tell you this...some of these women I've met in real life; others I've only had the pleasure of knowing as they live in my computer, but the level of support and camaraderie and sisterhood and professionalism and...hell, I'ma just say it...black girl magic I've encountered is unparalleled. Authors who don't know me from a can of paint sharing my works, introducing their audiences to my ridiculousness, and just being genuinely supportive--when I tell you my heart is FULL just thinking about it? SHEESH. I'd be here all day if I were calling out people specifically, but it just makes me smile thinking about the ways in which I've seen these sisters uplift one another and I'm super happy that they've embraced me as one of their own.

And the readers...man...LISSEN. So two very important things happened in the span this year...1:I released the first of my works and b: I did my first real life signing situation. As a reader, I knew how picky folks could be. I know how picky EYE am, so I try crafting my stories with this in mind. But...my readership...gurl, chile, hunty...lemme tell you how DOPE these women are. They are a group of fiercely opinionated women who will not hesitate to tell you in detail how xyz scene or abc character made them feel. They'll lift you up when you're feeling low and drag you when you playin' games with their releases. (Shoutout to every review of Sparks Fly and Smitten that asks about Pat/Dame LOL. I PROMISE they are coming, y'all.).

In just 12 short months, my life has changed in a great number of ways, but the journey that authoressing has taken me on is the most exhilarating. It is a tremendous pleasure to be able to craft story and I am grateful beyond measure for the gift. I'll be authorpersonladying in person a few more times this summer, so if you're coming to Behind the Pen or #BlackGirlPassion, please make sure you stop by and say hello. Details for both events are on the Events tab on this here website.

xo,

Nicole

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Today I got off of work early and took a detour that took me past this place and immediately I was overcome with emotion. Idk if y'all know this but I'm a big ol' sensitive softie LOL. I stay on my MJB and Deborah Cox...reminiscing while being sentimental. I spent ages 5-11.75 in this jawn. McKinley Elementary was the basis of the beginnings of my obsession with literature. I was already reading before I stepped foot in this jawn, but my love of it was cemented within these walls. Class library trips were the dopest as I got to pick out books written by my faves and get lost in them. The Star Reader program was my jam...and I beasted it every year. I also got one of very few spankings in my childhood behind finessing the program one year.

Quick Baby Nic story time...so the Star Reader program was a book report driven initiative in which we wrote reports based on books we'd read and whoever read the most at the end of the year got to go to the BookIt! pizza party and get a pass to Six Flags. The idea, however, was that you were reading as you were writing the reports, right? Well I was always reading. I lived half a block from the public library and spent hours in there weekly. So being the ingenuitive baby nerd that I was, I figured that as long as I'd read the books I could write the reports and turn them in. One day my daddy saw me at the kitchen table, churning out Star Reader report after Star Reader report. He asked if I'd read all of those books that evening.

I replied, "No, daddy! I read these books a while ago."

"So you're lying to the people with your book reports?"

"No! I have read all of these books."

"But you were supposed to be reading them during the duration of the program, right? That is the point of it all."

sassily "The point is to read." [Bruh...clearly I was punch drunk off power!]

The conversation ended shortly thereafter and me and my bottom soon learned the difference between an outright lie and lie of omission. My daddy and I laugh about this situation to this day because he always says he was impressed by my thought process, but knew that allowing me to continue would make me believe that it was okay to cut corners and finesse my way through tasks at school. He wanted me to understand why what I was doing was wrong and that wrongdoing at consequences. Baby Nic just wanted to be the star pupil and go to the pizza party and wasn't tryna hear all that noise LOL!

McKinley is also where I got my first doses of seeing black women in professional capacity who were, in my young eyes, giants and paragons of model behavior. I always looked up to my mama, aunts and grandmas, but Mrs. Humphrey (2nd grade), Mrs. Davis (5th grade), Mrs. Rivers (6th grade) and Mrs. Nichols (principal) were idols of mine as well. I remember every morning of 2nd grade the entire class said the pledge of Allegiance and then sang "Lift Every Voice and Sing" at Mrs. Humphrey's insistence. I remember the cantankerous and motivational speeches from Mrs. Davis in 5th grade when folks were cutting the fool. I remember the effortless glamour and maternalistic care of Mrs. Rivers in 6th. Mrs. Nichols was replaced early in my elementary tenure because she had a reputation for being too stern. I only remember a larger than life figure with a no nonsense demeanor, but an obvious love for the students in her care daily. And I'd be remiss if I didn't mention Mr. Pridgeon, our gym teacher, whose daughter I idolized when we were shorties. She was a dancer and always seemed to move with grace. We were only a few years apart, but I remember him inviting us to her dance recitals and being amazed at what the folks now call Black Girl Magic.

Driving past there today I could vividly recall running through the halls with my friends, going on special errands for teachers (yep, I was a pet!), lining up to go to art or gym or the library or home and I got hella verklempt. The building is mad small to me now, but it was larger than life back then. McKinley was where I experienced my first heartbreak (David C. didn't like me as more than a friend...) and cemented my lifelong desire for learning and excelling through hard work. if anyone had told that little baby pictured above that one day she'd be writing books and people all over the world (y'all gon let my one France sale cement my global sensation status!) would be reading them and she probably would have said "Nah, I'm no Ann M. Martin!" LMAO!

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I woke up this morning missing yesterday.

For months I have been anticidreading the IndieLove event. I don't get nervous, y'all. I'm not easily frazzled but this had me SHOOK. I don't know why because I attended last year and it was nothing but a super dope collision of positive energy, but it's different when you're on the other side. All these thoughts kept swirling in my mind about whether or not I brought too many books, if people were even gonna know who I was, blah blah blah bullshit. I was a mess the morning of the event. Thank God for my friends. Their energy was a temper to my crazy high nervous energy. They kept me from jumping off a ledge multiple times that morning, lol. Trina, Sarah, Ashley...y'all are just...I love y'all infinitely.

But then the event started and folks started streaming in and my energy shifted. My table was pretty near the front so I was one of the first faces people saw. I knew I needed to be on. All of that previous nagging doubt started to fade as soon as the first person stepped up to my table. It disappeared almost completely when I made my first sale (shoutout to Marshall--the real MVP!). The afternoon was a little hectic with a panel discussion breaking up the time sitting and signing and selling. The panel discussion was such a good time. Sharee Hereford moderated and listen...y'all, I wish I had the foresight to have had the entire panel recorded because a) Sharee's questions were fantastic & 2) there were so many gems dropped by the brilliant women beside me on panel (shoutout to Té, Phyllis, DL, & my romperbewtwin Alexandra).

As the day progressed I met so many amazing people who read and liked my work. Hearing how people have connected with my work was a little overwhelming, I won't lie. But overwhelming in a good way. It wasn't the same as seeing words in a review or on a Facebook post. That face to face when you get to connect a name from a screen to a face and the connection is just...my Gs, I can't even describe it. I got to meet one of my favorite young journalists/fiction writers (shoutout to Bria!), stan for my faves who were shilling books besides me (shoutout to Bailey/CCJ/Alex/Phyllis!), meet a few authors I'd wished to connect with a little more but simply did not have the time to (shoutout to Mercy B & Rae Lamar!) and catch up with a reader I met at Girl Have You Met - Houston who was a hometown homie (shoutout to Trina!). It was also a whole bunch of black women hugging. LOL!

Jos-Renee and crew once again did a fantastic job with the compilation and organization of this event. The sheer brilliance to put together a FUBU ass event like this is unmatched. I tip my hat to the IndieLove staff for doing the damn thang, one mo' 'gin.

And when it was all over? I felt full...satiated...relieved...and low key ready to do it all over again. counts down the days to Behind the Pen in NYC

If you're unable to make to any of the places I'll be doing signings this summer/fall and want a signed book? I have a few for sale! 1 for $10 or 2 for $15--shipping included. So hit me up via email if you'd like to purchase: authornicolefalls [at] gmail [dot] com

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Today after I finished my workout, I was feeling a bit run down and mentally fatigued, but decided to take a detour before heading home. I sat outside of the library for maybe 5-7 minutes, just staring at the building and reminiscing. The memory of the excitement of having done a thing immediately came rushing back. I "published" my very first story here. It was for a summer reading group contest. I don't remember if I won or what the story was about, but I do remember walking through the front door, making two quick lefts to enter my sanctuary--the children's library and handing my complete work to Miss Mary Anne.

I spent so many of my formative years within these walls. Reading books, creeping on boys, writing, and just hanging out with my friends as we needed a cool respite during those hot summer months while we were out and about in the streets. It was here that I honed my love of the written word. Countless librarians were my pushers, informing me about book after book...each one a gateway drug to what would be my eventual writer career lane.

I needed this little visit. I was gross and sweaty so I didn't dare get out of my car to do more than snap this quick flick, but I'm planning on going back one of these days soon to take a peek inside. I'm certain it will look the exact same, circulation desk as soon as you walk in the door, adult's books to the right, children's to the left. I'm gonna sit at one of those tables on the adult's side, crack open Mackeisha, and will myself to write. I'm gonna get a lil Wiz behind the curtains here. . .

Besides Pucker Up, I haven't written more than 300 to 500 words in spurts. Y'alls lil friends Patricia and Coach D are being coy with me (& getting on my damned nerves). So I'm taking this as a hint that they ain't quite ready yet. There are some things that are still cooking in each of their lives that haven't quite come together for me to tell y'all all about. So you will likely see them this fall instead of this summer as I planned/anticipated.

Bear with me, y'all. Life been lifing something awful these past few months and I'm hoping it'll let up. I have an idea for another thing though. I'm in the brainstorming process of it all now, but I am hoping to be able to pull it all together so I can share with the masses very soon. Until then. . .

xoxo,

Nicole

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Today in a writer's group on FB, a question was posed about what things we like/dislike re: the publishing industry and books being released. The first response was from a reader who made some very astute observations about the chasm that exists between indie and trad pub writers as well as expressing her thanks for Black women writers writing stories that resonated with her. She says specifically, "I don't want someone who can't relate skin wise and lifestyle wise writing stories I want to read [...] I feel how black indie authors write is for us and by us." And I sat up in my little office chair and gave a shout like "YAS SIS YAS!" Because she was speaking the truth. And so very often when other people write us into their works, we operate in ways that are foreign to me, as a Black woman.

A few years ago one of my favorite writers, Tayari Jones, gave an interview to the website The Feminist Wire in which she says the following...

Black woman are the best readers. Nikki Giovanni told me to take care of your black female readers because they will take care of you. They’ll take care of you for the rest of your career. You can fall out of favor with the New York Times whatever and whatever…. [Black female readers] will always be there for you.

When I was in between books and I was having a hard time getting my book published, black ladies were sending me stuff in the mail, cookies, knit me an Afghan. All these things helped me write the next book, so I know who loves me. A lot of people read me, but I know who loves me.

A lot of people use the word….a lot of black writers say that a book is “just” for black people. Don’t use the word “just.” I hate the word “just,” I cringe at the word. Don’t talk bad about the base. That’s the base. You make sweet love to the base, you say hello to the base.

These words have stuck with me since I absorbed them the first time and are almost always the driving force and motivation for me to put ass in chair and hand to keyboard. I released my first book almost a year ago and the way that the readers in the Black indie romance community have embraced me is akin to that base Tayari describes.

Black women just have this way about them that often goes unnoticed when outsiders speak about us and our associations with each other. Being a black woman is like being a member of the most exclusive club in town because the sisterhood, camaraderie, and general support is unmatched. We look our for our own--holding them up when they seem to falter, championing them hardest when they win. Every single personal reader message that I have received has been from a black woman thanking me for writing stories to which they could relate.

Which is why I do what I do. I cannot tell you how much I am buoyed by the simple fact that my words are connecting with whom I had in mind as I write. So much of publishing is concerned about integration and inclusion, and...honestly? I'm not interested. Will I ever tell others that they can't read my work? Absolutely not. The work is for the consumption of everyone, but it is written specifically by this Black woman for Black women. I write to Black women because they are me.

I'm writing men with whom they could see themselves or have seen reflected in the world around them. I'm writing women that they can either relate to or see themselves being friends with. I write to Black women as a head nod of acknowledgement. A literary "I see you, sis!" And the reception? The love I receive back? The "ok sis, but where's my book tho?" snarky commentary. I live for it. Because as Tayari said, when no one else will I know one thing for sure...my sistas got my back and for as long as my pen is hot, I will forever have theirs.

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Yesterday on Facebook I was randomly tagged in the comments of a post by a stranger. This doesn't happen often, so I went to the comment and eventually wound up reading the post and other comments. The initial post was as long as one of my works and decrying the validity of the Amazon African American (AA) Romance Top 100 books and those on the list. It was a direct attack at the urban books that overrun the AA romance charts on Amazon. She made (...and belabored) a point about what she feels the romance genre is and what sorts of characters should be housed within and...essentially qualified Harlequin and Dafina as where all AA romance is made and...

hard, heavy ass sigh

(Sidebar: I abhor the term AA, but for succinctness and clarity I'll use it in this post)

I'm new here, y'all. I just released my lil books and hoped people read them. I wrote about AA folks who were regular AF, acted like me and my friends and were here for a good time. This blog and what I'm about to say about my initial reactions may not win me any new friends. And…I'm okay with that bc sometimes I just don't know how to be quiet when something sparks a response from me.

I don't know shit about the mainstream publishing industry because that is not my lane. I do know, however, that many of those books follow a very distinct template of construction and can all eventually read like the same book after a while. That’s a HUGE reason why I personally don’t buy or consume a lot of traditionally published AA romance. There are only so many rich heroes and virginal heroines and “darlings” a girl can take. I know I’m not alone in this feeling. As such, their presence not being reflected on the charts could have a wee bit o’ something to do with that fact in addition to another point I’ll raise.

Fun fact: I too am annoyed by the fact that books that I perceive not to be romance often clogging up those charts. So the OPs critique is not without merit. However, I am also really super fucking annoyed when interracial books are classified as AA romance because no. One possibly AA person does not an AA romance make. I’ve often wondered, why is there not a multicultural/interracial cate...oh wait, THERE IS. And therein lies the problem with both of these situations. You see, I'm not sure if the OP realizes this, but whoever uploads the books chooses under which category they'll be "shelved". So...it isn't Amazon's algorithm randomly selecting these books bc they're written by AA people. It's people purposefully choosing to drop themselves in a category bc they know a) it's popular and 2) they'll do numbers that keep them at the top of those charts.

I'm a chart watcher on release week. Yeah I'm only two books in, but it's now a ritual. I compare how many I've sold vs. where I land on the charts to try to make some sense of the algorithm. Idk why I bother bc "words not numbers" should really be my middle name seeing as though I don't know much about aljebuh. BUT I DIGRESS. My point is...charting is a wonky ass numbers game. Smitten hit a personal high for me (within the top 20) and I only found out bc I woke up at 3am one day during release week and obsessively checked my ranking. I only have my screenshot to prove it as it quickly went back to the mid-30s and slowly descended as the day went on.

The tone of the OPs fb post sounded very MAGA...except trade America for romance and...honestly? If we're gonna draw this hard and fast line about what qualifies as AA romance, then we also need to kick all the BWWM secret baby billionaire jungle fever muhfuckas out of our house too. I agree that Amazon is culpable in some right, but if they can’t stop people from stealing KU page views with front end matter links, do you really think this is something high on their radar? I’ma guess ISSA NO.

And I get being fed up. Truly, I do. But this is a fight for which I’d never take up mantle. Instead I’ma just stay over here not writing these words in a document and responding to Facebook posts with lengthy blogs instead. ;)

xoxo,

Nicole

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I am rarely on the guest side of the podcast thang (I co-host a super dope literary podcast called Better Than the Movie), so I was HELLA excited to join two of my faves on their super dope podcast and talk #arthurladyperson business. Click the link below!

http://girlhaveyouread.com/podcast-episode-27-dont-underestimate-your-own-talent-an-interview-wnicole-falls/

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So, can I share something with you guys? We're almost three weeks out from release & I'm feeling a little better about this book and its release. There was a li'l bit of trepidation, y'all. giggles Some reviews have come in--most good, some constructively critical & I'm taking it all in. I'm gonna start writing again soon, so some of the criticism will be in the back of my mind as I put hand to keyboard. Not in a looming or ominous way, but more like...make sure you don't leave any loose ends that cannot be tied up in this book because we are through with this set of people after this book, ma'am! LOL

I recently went to a networking event a friend threw & I found myself talking about being an author more than anything else I'm currently working on (which...y'all I recently took inventory & ISSA LOT). It felt good to be able to talk to folks about my process, my books, and future plans. One of those MAJOR future plans is Baby's First Book Event™ as an author. (Shameless plug: If you're in the Atlanta metro area, come on out to Indie Love! Tickets can be found here: https://www.eventbrite.com/e/indie-love-in-the-atl-2017-tickets-28541142325 Come on out so you can get a dose of my inappropriateness IRL) I'm very excited to do this event in particular because I attended it last year to stan out for my friends & enjoyed the time I spent there. The organizer Jos is dedicated to amplifying the voices of Black indie authors & look...I'ma be frank...there aren't many folks out there interested in doing this. In the era of diversity and inclusion you'd think. . .

But. Anyway. ANYWAY. This isn't about that. I titled this about having a secret, so I suppose I should clue y'all in to it. The secret is...I wasn't going to do this event, y'all. Or any events, really. I had all of the excuses as to why: "Girl you're not even a NAME in the community." "You only have ONE lil book. Ain't nobody coming to see you, Otis!" But then I decided that I reaaaaaally wanted to connect with people and talk about my work and their feelings and things of that nature. So I signed on to do, Indie Love...and a couple other events later this year.

I told someone at the event I attended that I mentioned earlier "I'm really fucking charming!" and I meant it so earnestly too. That wasn't just my leonine pride peeking through, I promise. I love meeting new people, cracking a few jokes, and hoping that I've enriched their day in some manner. I get it honest. My daddy is the same way. So I hope y'all will come out and get a dose of this charm first hand. I'll be handing it out in large doses not only in Atlanta, but New York and the Chicagoland area as well. I'ma add a section to this site for events with details for each. Hope to see you soon!

xoxo,

Nicole

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I sit here having just hit the publish button on my second novella.

sits back; takes that in for a second

I did it. Again. (No Britney)

Y'all I would be a liar if I said this was an easy process. Not necessarily the writing...that was surprisingly simple. But the getting out of my own head. The not letting my fear of the sophomore slump overrule my good sense. The constant worry about "is this story necessary?" "does anyone care?" "what am I even doing?" & author me probably shouldn't be sharing this here, but I felt compelled to do so here rather than real me's personal blog. Because even if everyone who reads this book hates it, I did a thing to completion. I did not let it defeat me. Anyway...

ANYWAY.

Onto the title of this post...I have a very specific plan for how many books I would like to release this year and when. This book originally was supposed to come out on 3/31, but every time I thought about announcing that date it didn't feel right. A voice in the back of my head always said, "No matter how many people ask when is the next one coming; don't post it, Nic." (That's not a humblebrag, btw. I can count the number of people who asked that on my hands and have enough fingers left to hold a flute of rosé.) I didn't know why until one day I heard that same voice say, "The 17th is the day."

And now I know I may sound a little crazy, but the 17th of March is a special day to me. It's the anniversary of the birth of my aunt with whom I was very close. We lost her four years ago. She's always on my mind, the most innocuous things reminding me of her. There's even a character named after her in this book--an unconscious, happy coincidence.

So I decided to dedicate this book to her and release it on her birthday. Not because she was a reader...bc she wasn't. But because I know she would have LOVED this for me. Seeing me slide headfirst into my dreams and living my best life. So this one's for you, Pat! Happy birthday, you fuckin' leprechaun.

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Image credit: Erol Ahmed [Unsplash.com]

This sample is copyrighted, unedited, and subject to my fickle mind making changes prior to publication...

xoxo,

Nicole

&&&

Karim and I were cuddled up on the couch watching Law and Order like every other Sunday. At the commercial break, he wandered into the kitchen in search of something sweet. I had baked cookies for PJ’s teammates, but was so distracted by the whole “meeting each others families” thing that I’d forgotten to grab them to take to the game earlier. I had also baked some special cookies for myself since I was trying to cut back on smoking. I told Karim to grab the red container from the counter near the stove, which held the cookies I’d made for the kids. The others were in a custom cookie jar that Devorah had made for me. It was in the shape of a tree house, with the words Celena’s Treets etched on the trunk of the tree.

Karim walked back into the room, wolfing down a cookie with two more in his hand. He had a worried expression on his face as he chewed.

“What’s with the face?”

“You said you have your Master’s right?”

“Uhhhh…yeah,” I replied, puzzled at where this line of questioning was going.

“You know treats is spelled wrong on your cookie jar?” he asked.

“Are those cookies from the cookie jar?”

“Yeah…”

“How many did you have?” I asked, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

“Just this one…”

I jumped up grabbing the other two out of his hand and walking back toward the kitchen to put them back.

“Hey! I was gonna eat those!” he exclaimed, right on my heels as I walked back into the kitchen.

I placed the cookies I’d swiped from him back in my jar, and then walked over to the counter on the opposite side of the kitchen, where the red container sat clear as day.

“Where did I tell you the cookies were, Karim?”

“In the cookie jar.”

“No I didn’t. You weren’t listening, were you?” I asked, grabbing the container I’d initially told him to get the cookies from. “This,” I said, holding it up, “has the cookies I told you to get.”

“What’s the difference? A cookie is a cookie is a cookie.”

“You really think I don’t know how to spell the word treats?”

“Well obviously you don’t if…oh my God. These are weed cookies, aren’t they?”

I nodded once, biting back a smile as Karim groaned loudly.

“Seriously?”

“I told you to look in this container, Karim. It’s not my fault you went full on Cookie Monster on me and tuned out everything I said after cookies in the kitchen.”

“You can’t just have weed cookies out on the counter, babe. What if PJ had opened the cookie jar?”

“PJ wouldn’t have opened the cookie jar because he knows that those cookies are only for Te-te Cel. Te-te’s hardheaded boyfriend would know that too if he listened to her when she spoke.”

“I do listen when you…wait…boyfriend?” Karim smirked.

“I mean you finally gave up the dick or whatever, so I guess you earned a title,” I replied, rolling my eyes.

I hadn’t planned on it, but Karim had wormed his way inside. I honestly thought that he could be someone that I would be cool with, the occasional fuck buddy. But somewhere along the way, I grew to enjoy his company and how I felt when he was around. It probably had to do with the fact that he withheld sex from me for so long, so I had no choice but to get used to his presence. But my gut was telling me that Karim was a good guy, so I rolled with it. I certainly didn’t think I’d be calling anyone else my boyfriend this soon after a breakup, but stranger things have happened.

Karim strolled across the kitchen, pulled me into his arms and drew me into a slow, sweet kiss. My eyes closed as soon as our lips met and I savored the faint hint of chocolate still left on his lips. He pulled back from the kiss after a few minutes and asked, “Exactly how high will this damn cookie get me?”

“Does the name Neil Armstrong mean anything to you?” I asked, giggling.

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Photo Credit: Azrul Aziz [unsplash.com]

“I told my sister about you today,” I said to Karim as we sat in his living room, relaxing on his sofa.

On my way leaving Pat’s, he had called and asked me to stop by for dessert. I eagerly accepted the invitation, not thinking that he meant literal dessert. Despite repeated dropped hints and pretty heavy make out sessions that I was sure left him in need of a cold shower, we hadn’t moved onto the real deal physical. He’d brought home another of his mom’s famous icebox pies, so we ate a couple slices and now sat cuddled up watching a SVU marathon.

“Oh yeah?” Karim replied.

“Yeah…she wants to meet you. Asked me to invite you to PJ’s soccer game next Sunday.”

“Well what a coinkydink, I was going to extend an invitation to you for friends and family day at church in two Sundays. Mama and Granny hemmed me up today. Which, I told you that as soon as old nosy ass Mrs. Barker saw us out it would get back to my folks.”

Recently, we’d stepped out to pick up some takeout from a local barbeque joint and literally ran into Karim’s childhood neighbor on our way out. As usual our fingers were intertwined, which the older woman commented on. Karim stammered through an explanation that left me quite amused as he used every manner of word except girlfriend to define our relationship. I wasn’t pressed, honestly. We were just coolin’ and had no need for labels quite yet. I didn’t think we were quite at the place of meeting each other’s families yet either. I mean, okay, yeah Karim had met PJ already, but that was a circumstance that couldn’t be helped, honestly.

“Are we…um…at the meeting the family stage?” I asked, trying to play nonchalant.

Despite my cool tone, something alerted Karim to the fact that I was a little on edge because he muted the TV and turned his entire body toward me. He raised a hand to rest at the back of my neck, tangling his fingers in my curls as he stared. As his fingers gently massaged my scalp, I began speaking again.

“I mean…not that we’re not there, but like…are we though? It’s just been a few weeks and we’re taking it slow, right? You’re giving me time to adjust and not giving me any dick, so like I don’t even know how long you’ll truly be around once you actually do; so it’s crazy for us to even be thinking about bringing families into this and bonding and–”

“Celena,” Karim interrupted me, laughing.

I kept right on talking, “Let’s say I introduce you to Patty and PJ and he takes a liking to you because he’s in desperate need for a male influence in his life and then you finally give me the dick and it’s barely adequate and I have to find a way to let you down gently and explain to my nephew that his new friend won’t ever be around again because auntie needs somebody who’s compatible with her in every way and then he hates me for banishing you from our lives and–”

Karim interrupted my stream of crazy babbling by pulling me in closer and drawing me into a slow, lingering kiss. Instantly I melted into him, sliding closer until he pulled me into his lap, straddling him. Despite my frantic, insistent grinding into his ever-hardening dick, Karim continued to ply my mouth with slow, sweeping passes of his tongue against mine. When we finally parted to catch a breath, I groaned in frustration and lowered my head to his shoulder.

After a few minutes of silence, Karim finally spoke.

“You’re something else you know that, right?”

“Is that a good or bad thing?”

“Neither…just an observation. Not sure where I stand with it, yet.”

“Damn.”

“What?”

“That doesn’t sound good. It sounds like you’re trying to decide if I’m worth the trouble of dealing with.”

“Don’t put words in my mouth. That wasn’t what I was getting at. You just…it’s never a dull moment with you, girl,” he said, biting his lip and shaking his head, “But to answer your question…from before the rant…we don’t have a choice but to be at the meeting the family stage. My mother’s invitation was less a request and more a demand. And you don’t just say no to Brenda Holt.”

“So we’re going to church?”

“We’re going to church.”

“You know I don’t really do church…”

“I understand and respect that, but…”

“You don’t say no to Brenda Holt.”

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Celena Payne was heartbroken. Ghosted by her most recent ex, she was over the whole “romance thang”. Instead she was focused on her career, family and friend, until…

Karim Holt had recently moved back to his hometown to help his mother care for his ailing grandmother. Between family obligations and opening a new business, he was a busy man, with little time for socializing. A spontaneous night out led to…

A chance meeting. Sparks flying. Romance brewing. Celena and Karim’s undeniable chemistry alter their lives in ways neither could have imagined.

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This is a thing, yes? One line Wednesday? Y'all. Celena and Karim are doing the most and getting on my nerves. Hopefully you guys will be able to get into their story soon. Until then...

“I’m not really here for dating so any thoughts you had of bagging some pregnant pssy tonight? Cancel them.”*

[insert upside down smiley here]

xoxo,

Nicole

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Image credit: Clem Onojeghuo [Unsplash.com]

This sample is copyrighted, unedited, and subject to my fickle mind making changes prior to publication...

xoxo,

Nicole

Since I had to go to the store anyway, my mother sent me with a list of items she and my grandmother needed to get through next week. Just a couple few things, Reem, she said, handing me a list of easily thirty or so items that were allegedly desperately needed. I grabbed a cart near the entrance of the store and began my journey through the aisles. When I walked into the aisle with all of the baking supplies, I came upon a familiar face. She stood in the middle of the aisle, intently examining a package of something that looked like flour, but I wasn’t totally sure.

I took a second to just stare at her before she noticed I was there. Still bad as ever, her hair pulled up on top of her head in a haphazard bun, dressed down in yoga pants, some type of pink, funnel neck hoodie, and gym shoes. Those yoga pants were doing her ass all kinda of favors that had me sending up a quick prayer to whomever had a hand in crafting those curves.

“You know it’s mad creepy to just stare at someone,” she said, startling me out of my gawking.

I pushed my cart further down the aisle and sidled up beside her.

“You looked super concentrated on whatever uh…” I looked at the package now dangling from her left hand, on its way to the hand basket in her right, “flour that is. Never knew flour was so intriguing.”

Celena let out a quick giggle, “Hush, I’m trying out a new recipe for a friend and wanted to make sure I got the gluten free flour that I needed.”

“Oh your friend is one of those?”

“One of what?”

“Gluten-free, taste-free crazy people.”

“Do you even know what gluten-free means?”

“Of course I do. It means ain’t no gluten, bih.”

Celena immediately let out a sharp bark of laughter.

“Something is wrong with you.”

“Actually, there is something wrong with me. You wanna hear about it?”

Shifting her weight, Celena reared back on her heels a little and said, “Okay. I’ll bite…what’s up?”

I looked around the aisle before moving in closer, grabbing her by the elbow, leaning in as if I didn’t want anyone else to hear what I was about to say.

“See, I met this fly ass chick, at some crazy speed dating event I got roped into doing because it was at my friend’s bar and they were short on guys. We vibed, I thought she felt it too…hoped she felt it too, but I wasn’t too sure. Before the end of the night I gave her my number…she refused to give her hers…”

At those words Celena bristled.

“But it was cool. I was letting her come around to Big Daddy…”

“Big Daddy?” Celena repeated, one delicate brow lifting in askance.

“I said what I said. Anyway…you gonna let me finish my story or what?”

She motioned with her hands for me to continue.

“So…she played me and my heart was broken. Sat in my place playing Carl Thomas’ ‘Emotional’, feeling it deeply when that brotha sang ‘look at me, I can’t stop crying’…still holding out hope that she’d call. But days turned to weeks and weeks to months…”

“Oh my gosh, it has not been months,” Celena interrupted, laughing.

“Are you telling the story or me? So…imagine my surprise when she showed up in a random grocery store that I wasn’t even supposed to be in today. Must be fate.”

“Or you’re a stalker…”

“Nah, I’dve found your pretty ass way before now if I was a stalker. Trust me,” I said, looking her directly in the eye.

Our gazes fused for a moment before Celena’s eyes lowered as she exhaled slowly. She was quiet for a few moments more, before squaring her shoulders and raising her eyes back to mine.

“So fate?”

“Kismet, divine order, something brought us together again. Only this time I’m not letting you get away without giving me your number.”

“And you’re confident that I will?”

“Hopeful that you will, there’s a difference. But be clear, I won’t sweat you, sweetheart. If this…”I motioned between us with my hands to indicate a transference of energy, “is one sided, you gotta gon ahead and let me know now. But let me down gently, baby. I don’t know how much more Carl my neighbors can take.”

Celena giggled, “You are so silly.”

“So…?”

She pulled away from me slightly, retrieved her phone out of the kangaroo pouch of her hoodie and pressed a button. Shortly thereafter, my phone began buzzing in my pocket.

“Aw shit, you already had the number saved? See I knew you’d come around to Big Daddy.”

“Don’t make me regret this, Karim,” she warned, a hint of mischief in her tone, “And for the love of all that’s holy, please stop calling yourself Big Daddy before I block your number right here, right now.

“You’ll never regret getting to know me, sweetheart. Trust me. Didn’t I tell you my mama raised a gentleman?”

“Mmmmmhmmm and the last guy that told me that? The lie detector determined that was a lie.”

“That’s one.”

“One what?”

“I’m giving you a pass. That was your one and only time to compare me to some other dude. Let’s not let this happen again.”

Celena’s head reared back, as a look of utter disgust spread across her face.

“You know what?” she began, before I cut her off.

“I don’t know, but from that change in your demeanor I can just about guess, so I’ma just say this. Whatever dude did a number on you? I ain’t him and he damn sure ain’t me. I don’t want this to turn ugly before we even get a chance to build, so I’ma bounce…give you some time to breathe, but just know…I’m coming for you. And I’m bout to court the hell out of you so hard that you’ll forget whatever nigga you dared compare to me.”

With those words, I pushed the cart past Celena, grabbed my sweetened condensed milk and kept it moving out of that aisle. As I rounded the corner to the next aisle, I chanced a glance back. Celena still stood in the place I left her, with her agape mouth slowly curving into a smile. Yep, I was definitely going to enjoy getting to know her.

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This sample is copyrighted, unedited, and subject to my fickle mind making changes prior to publication...

xoxo,

Nicole

***“So I guess we should call it one.”

Celena quickly glanced around the cafe and noticed we were the only ones left in here who weren’t workers.

“Yeah, I guess so,” she said pulling out her phone, “Let me get an Uber.”

“No need for that, I can drive you home.”

“I don’t want you to go out of your way. I’m all the way on the East side.”

“It’s not out of my way. I am on the East side too, seventy-seventh and Warren, to be exact. If you’re feeling a way about accepting a ride from a stranger, Fred and Marni can vouch for me. I’ve known Fred since we were in first grade. Hell, he’s more of a brother to me than...anyway, they can tell you I’m not gonna drive you to a secluded area and use your bones for a bonfire.”

She laughed as I grabbed her phone, tucking it into her pocket and linking our hands together, escorting her out of Perk. She had drifted to the side of the sidewalk closer to traffic so I was purposeful in shifting her to the right; placing myself closest to the street as we walked.

“Is your thing for cars something we need to get checked out, Karim?” Celena asked, a hint of humor in her tone.

“Beg pardon?”

“On our way here you maneuvered so you were closest to the street and you just did so now. I know you said cars were your livelihood, but should I also be looking into getting you on My Strange Addiction?”

“I have no idea what that is, but no. My mother always told me to make sure the lady is never in danger of traffic. It’s a protection thing.”

“Well what about now,” she asked, as we approached the crosswalk at a red light, “There’s traffic all around. How are you supposed to protect me?”

I quickly moved from her left side, to stand directly in front of her, arms wrapping around her shoulders. I heard her quick intake of breath as I pulled her flush against me.

“Feel protected now?”

Adams Rd. Walk sign is on the cross.

The robotic voice telling us it was safe to cross saved her from having to respond. I unwrapped my arms from her shoulders, grabbing her hand once again. We continued walking and arrived back at Imbibe where, to our surprise, Cadence was still sitting at the bar. She had been joined by a brotha who looked like a lineman for the Bears. Cadence made eye contact with Celena, darting a glance down to our intertwined hands and blinked a few times in rapid succession. Celena quickly dropped my hand, offering a strained smile.

“I had fun tonight, Karim.”

“Me too, hope we can do this again soon.”

“Yeah...I have your number, so…”

“I can’t get yours?”

“I’ll be in touch,” she said, reaching up to press a quick kiss to my cheek.

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I've been thinking about this question a lot over the past few days. I had a conversation with someone a while back and they said to me, "Since when do you write romance?" My answer was...well, I always have. I've always written stories that have some romantic aspect, but for some reason or another they never quite got off the ground. I was so focused on creating a conflict or some other crazy backstory, that they just never quite...curled all the way over.

So I took some time away from writing creatively. And then I set out reading all of my half constructed pieces of writing to see where I'd gone wrong and if they could be salvaged and perhaps completed. In all of the stories there was a common theme--relationships. In some pieces they were familial bonds, but in most they were man-woman love relationships. And instead of just focusing on the relationships, I was on a quest to "dig deeper" to find the motivation behind acts and behaviors.

But that's not how I'm meant to write. It's not what I enjoy to write. In writing what I do, I do eventually explore motivations and such, but in all honesty? I love writing about love. I'm a sucker for a meet cute. Audibly squeal when characters realize their connection is more than a passing feeling. Revel in that first kiss, first declaration of love, eventual marriage and happily ever after.

And it's not some deep thing like "oh we rarely see Black love in media so I've been sent here to blahblahblah...". It's...just my passion. It's what I know. It's the only experience I feel connected to and qualified enough to tell the stories of. Slang based, negro nosed, Blackity black ass love.

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Okay. So...This idea popped into my head a few days ago because I thought it'd be a cute thing. If you've read AY, this is a brief peek at the Baellis origin story. :) Hope you enjoy!

&&&

“It was blue and silver, with three silver swings.”

“Babe, aren’t men supposed to be the ones prone to colorblindness? It was white and green with two white swings and a teeter-totter thing.”

“Oh my God, Ellis. The damn thing was in my backyard for sixteen years of my life. I think I know what color it was.”

“I’m telling you, you’re wrong.”

“I distinctly remember me, Ev, and Cade being able to swing at the same time while you sat off to the side too cool to play with the ‘babies’ as you termed us. So not only are you colorblind, but also revisionist.”

“You’re wrong. Point blank. In fact, I’m not even going to argue anymore because that’s how right I am.”

We were in my car, driving…well, nowhere in particular. We’d developed cabin fever after being inside on our Netflix and chill steez over this long weekend; so I suggested we take a ride. No real destination in mind, just us, the open road and apparently, a disagreement. I’d looked down and saw a half crescent moon shaped scar on Ellis’ knee that I hadn’t noticed before and asked him to tell me about how it got there. He reminded me that he got it from my childhood swing set, trying to do tricks and failing to stick the landing. A swing set he clearly misremembered as we were now arguing about the color of the set, the original point of the story forgotten.

“I know how we can solve this.”

I pressed the voice command button in my steering wheel.

Please say a command after the tone.

“Call Cadence Garner, mobile.”

Calling Cadence Garner mobile.

As the phone began to ring, Ellis said, “Wait. You have CadyMac in your phone as not only her full government, but the old one? My god, girl, when’s the last time you updated your contacts?”

“Are we seriously having this conversation? Or are you tryna distract me so I don’t remember why I called her in the first place so you can claim your flimsy ass memory is right?”

“I just wanna know…why so formal?”

“Uhhh…hello?” Cadence said.

We were so busy going back and forth that I hadn’t even noticed she’d picked up.

“Hey boo. So I’m in the car with Ellis…”

“Obviously,” she interrupted.

Ellis began, “Will you please tell your friend…”

“Nope, nope. Hush, boy. I’m telling her because you’re going to…”

“Y’all. Seriously. What is it? I’ma kinda in the middle of something right now?” Cadence broke in.

“You remember my swing set when we lived in Mayview? What color was it?”

“Green and silver.”

“Cade! Seriously? IT WAS BLUE.”

Ellis said nothing, just sat there smirking at me.

“Nope, it was green because I remember Uncle painted over the blue to green because that was your favorite color.”

“I’m right because I said it was blue, Ellis.”

“It was blue for all of 12 hours…green the rest of our lives. I won.”

“Cade…did it have two swings or three?”

“Y’all seriously have nothing better to do right now, huh? I was lying down, relaxing. Something told me not to answer this call, but then I said ‘well self, maybe she finally done climbed off the dick long enough to check in with her miserable second trimester having pregnant friend to see how she’s doing’. But nah…y’all are having the world’s silliest argument and decided to interrupt my rest for it.”

“Thanks, CadyMac. Talk to you later,” Ellis said, reaching over to press the end call button on my steering wheel.

“Why’d you hang up on her? I’m gonna have to hear about that later.”

“Because my girlfriend drives even more like a bat outta hell when she’s riled up and I wanna live to see thirty-five…and she was about the wild the fuck out on us. One sassy mouthed woman a day is my limit.”

I looked down at the speedometer and realized that I was doing over 80mph. I eased off the accelerator; taking note to see we had crossed state lines and were less than 30 miles from a lakeside tourist trap town. I’d never explored the area before, but figured while we were here…

“Point taken. Hey, you wanna take an adventure with me?”

Ellis reached for the hand I wasn’t driving with and laced our fingers together. He dropped a light kiss on my hand and answered, “Aren’t we on one now?”

I rolled my eyes, “We’re on a drive. I said adventure. So…you game?”

“Always.”

“Just like that? You trust me?”

“Undoubtedly. With my life. Except when you’re nervous, excited or angry and driving.”

I felt my face warming at his first response. I’m certain if I were a few shades lighter, he would have noticed my blush.

“Hush, I’m not that bad! I was only ten over the limit.”

“Babe, are your math skills as bad as your memory? Speed limit is sixty-five, you were going eighty. That’s fifteen over.”

“Yeah, but like really only ten.”

“The emphasis on really. Ok, I wanna hear this. How is fifteen really only ten?”

“The no ticket buffer zone.”

“The what?”

“No ticket buffer zone. When my daddy was teaching me to drive on the e-way initially, he told me about it. You get five miles over the speed limit as a freebie, but anything after that could be ticketed. So like, if I got stopped it woulda only been a ten miles or less speeding ticket fine.”

“Bee. That’s…that’s not a thing. You can get a ticket for going a mile over if the cop out that day is that petty.”

“Oh…well that explains the other thing daddy taught me that day, then. How to cry on command,” I said, winking at Ellis.

“So where are we going on this adventure?”

“You’ll see…”

We were about fifteen miles out when Ellis asked where my phone was.

“Center console.”

He grabbed it, unlocked, and proceeded to scroll through…

“What are you looking for? And how do you know my unlock code?”

“Really? Everyone knows your unlock code is your birthday. I’m looking through your contacts. I refuse to believe everyone is in your phone by their full government names. Even Auntie Im and your dad.”

He kept scrolling, pausing briefly to do something on the phone’s screen that I couldn’t see.

“What are you doing now?”

“You have your doctor in here by her full name? I never knew you were this anal, Bee.”

“Are you seriously scrolling my whole phonebook? Can you not?”

He placed my phone in the cup holder and asked, “You don’t want me to run across the names of any of your hoes, huh?”

“You damn right!”

We were quickly approaching the exit to the tourist trap’s main drag when my phone began to ring. I looked at the screen to see who was calling and saw it said Baellis. I immediately burst into screaming laughter.

“Seriously? I don’t even call you bae.”

“A little birdie told me that when I brought breakfast for you and your team three days ago that was…and I quote…bae as fuck. So…though it referenced my action, it was still in reference to me. Therefore…”

I rolled my eyes and smiled. “You are such a nerd.”

“You love my nerdy ass though.”

“Meh, you aight…” I replied, shrugging—trying to keep a smile off my face.

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So guys...the number one question I've been asked this week is "How does it feel?" This blog is an attempt to answer that...

Here's the thing. I was lowkey punked into publishing this book. I started writing to it prove to myself that I could start and complete a work in its entirety. Somewhere along the way it turned into this little story that I kinda liked, but didn't know if other people would. Then I shared it with my published friends and they liked it too...or were being nice to me because we were friends. I wasn't certain at this point. Then I let my bestie who isn't super into reading glance at the first two chapters and she liked it. And then I shared it with a friend who is an avid reader and semi-harsh critic and she liked it. By then I thought, okay...it's cute enough that none of my friends have said, "naw sis, hang it up"; maybe I should keep writing.

And I did. And got frustrated. Then had breakthroughs. And then finally typed the words, the end. That right there? Was enough for me, if we're being honest. I'd finally done it, after years of saying I was gonna do it, false starts, and bullshitting--I wrote an entire book (ish...novella type thing). Whew, I cried so hard after I typed the end. (If you follow me on Twitter, you know I'm heavy into crying...my emotions be so overwhelming!)

And then I sent it to my published friends and they said..."oh hey, this cute or whatever, but you ain't done." (Fun fact: The first completed draft of this book did not include the gondola fight in its entirety because I didn't like writing conflict. LOL). So I went back and I added and updated and edited and added and updated and edited again and then sat with the finished draft. I...well, honestly I was scared shitless.

What if no one read it? What if people did read it and hated it? Negative thoughts kept coming at full force until one of my friends said & I quote, "Oh bitch. Stop fucking around so I can buy this shit!" Profanity is my love language, so mere minutes after she said that I hit the publish button. And waited. Then felt immediate regret.

But then a funny thing happened. People who weren't my friends read it and...liked it. My friends who hadn't read it previously read it and liked it. The work was met with overwhelming positivity that made me cry so many times that I lost count, tbh. All of a sudden it was less the little book that could and more the little book that did. I'm completely blown away by the reception so far and honestly do not think I can put into words how every single comment, review, tweet, text, blog post, etc. has buoyed me over this past week.

I feel very Taylor Swiftian in my response when I see a new review that is glowing, but honestly I didn't expect fanfare. I didn't expect praise. I just wrote a story, hoping people would like it and if they didn't, they would tactfully decline to let me know. I was confident that I could write grammatically sound sentences, but was unsure of being able to write a story that would keep a reader riveted. So I can check that one off now. : )

The pressure is on though. I am currently in school full time, working full time, and allegedly beginning work on book two (Celena--not Cass & Ev. I don't think I'll ever write Cassett/Everidy, but that's a different story for a different day). I don't want to churn out something quickly to capitalize on this moderate level of success, but I also don't want to wait too long and lose my writing mojo. So I've begun outlining, have lined up a friend to bug about a hobby he shares with my hero and plan to tuck into writing soon.

But I just wanted to get this quick blog off to say thank you to each and every person who has read this book, whether you liked it or not, haha. I'm overwhelmingly honored that these lil crazy people inside my head are ones with whom you can relate and hope to be able to continue to write stories about our love that are both relatable and a little left of center.

xoxo,

Nicole

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This sample is copyrighted, unedited, and subject to my fickle mind making changes prior to publication...

xoxo,

Nicole

“So what’s her name, son?” my father asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

“Whose name, Pops?”

“The one that’s got you running outta here barely after you finish the last bite of ya meal every week? Don’t give me that bullshit excuse you’re giving your mother, either.”

Everett laughed, looking at me.

“Pops, I really did get put in charge of a new project at work,” I said, not answering the question.

“I don’t doubt you did, Ellis. But I know my son. You’re too anxious when you’re tryna get up outta here. You don’t have that crazy ass expression that you normally do when the job got you hemmed up. So it’s gotta be a lil filly.”

I remained silent, neither confirming nor denying. Everett continued laughing.

“What’s so funny, Ev? You met her yet? Why isn’t he bringing her ‘round here to meet ya mama and me yet? She got a cockeye? One leg shorter than the other? Hump in the back?”

“N-n-nah Pops. I don’t know n-nothing about any girl. I think it really is some w-work shit,” Everett said, unconvincingly.

“And you’re obviously lying, Porky.”

I laughed loudly at that. Pops hadn’t called him that in at least twenty years. Everett was less than amused, however. Growing up, Ev was a lil portly through his preteen years. Combine that with his penchant for stuttering when he wasn’t telling the truth and the nickname was born. That goddamn stammer had given me away though. We sat in silence until Pops broke the stalemate.

“Fine. I’ll leave it for now. But I’m warning you; your flimsy work excuse won’t last much longer. You know how Miranda is. She’s about to start parading eligible bachelorettes in front of you at these dinners. So whatever you got going on with your love life, you better get it together fast.”

“You gotta hold her off, Pops.”

“Now you know good and damn well I can’t stop that woman when she’s on a roll.”

“Dad. For real. I need you to run interference for me. I’m not confirming or denying anything, but I will say that I don’t need Miranda Taylor finding me a woman. Not right now. Not in the future.”

My dad paused a beat, looking at me curiously for a few minutes.

“Okay.”

“Okay? That’s it?”

“Yep,” he replied, taking a sip of his beer and turning his attention back to the game.

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So I've been watching this whole indie writer game for a minute and am always hyped for Sample Sunday from my faves. Today I decided, on a whim (& after three delicious watermelon lime beers), to participate. So here's my ~first~ #samplesunday post. Is this where I say that this sample is copyrighted, unedited and subject to my fickle mind making changes prior to publication? : ) Hope y'all enjoy!

“So what were the other rules?” Ellis’ low rumble pulled me out of the orgasm induced hazed I’d been in. After finishing up in the living room, we moved into my bedroom where we devoured each other at least three more times as if each time would be the last. I was dozing off when Ellis asked the question I had no definite answer to. The only real rule I had regarding the rollout of this relationship was how it would eventually be revealed to the family. The last thing I needed was Imogene Landon-Lee calling me and going on about how good girls don’t hop from brother to brother. Or how I should have never gave Everett to that damn ginger girl for the millionth time.

“Well…er…um…” I stalled.

“Wait a damn minute. There ain’t no rules beyond don’t tell my mama are there? Auntie Im got you that shook?” Ellis laughed.

“It’s not just my mama I’m worried about…”

“Well who else? Certainly not Everett.”

“Hell no. That fool prolly already knows because Cass can’t hold water.”

“I thought you said…”

“I said nothing; you assumed,” I laughed.

“So who else? Certainly not my mama.”

I remained quiet, playing with the scalloped lace edges of my sheets. That’s exactly who had me shook. Don’t get me wrong, I definitely didn’t want the judgment or censure from my mother, but I could just ignore her ass for a few days and she’d be past it. But Auntie Randi…I couldn’t be the lil heffa who messed around with both of her sons. I’d always been closer to her than Cadence’s mom Auntie Berta because of our shared love of dance. Auntie Randi was the one who encouraged my mom to put me into Hurston Dance Company after seeing me messing around with choreography on my own around the house. When Everett and I broke up, Auntie Randi had nothing bad to say, but I always felt like she was a bit disappointed that I wouldn’t become her daughter-in-law, popping out little dance grandbabies. Don’t get me wrong, she loved Cassidy, but they were about as opposite as two folks could get. Thank goodness The Bean inherited her grandma’s dance genes.

“For real, Bee? Quit playin’, you know Miranda loves her some Devorah.”

“Yeah, but will she love the Devorah that’s fucked both of her sons?”

“Bee, just the tip doesn’t count.”

“It totally doe---WAIT! You know about that? Oh my gooooooood,” I moaned, burying my face in my hands and turning away from Ellis.

Everett and I swore we wouldn’t tell anyone about our failed sexcapades. I mean I’d told Cade, obviously, but he had to know that was a given. There was rarely anything that I didn’t tell her. But that didn’t mean he could tell his brother. Ellis grabbed my shoulder and pulled me into an embrace, kissing my forehead as he chuckled.

“Baby, that was over ten years ago. Besides…I won anyway! You let me get all up in them…”

“Stop. Ew. Do not finish that sentence or you will never get all up in me ever again.”

“Yeah right,” Ellis drawled, running his hand down my body to cup my ass.

“Stop tryna distract me. I’m serious though. Please let’s just chill on letting the old heads know about whatever this thing is.”

“This thing being our relationship. Say it with me Bee. Our rela…actually, scratch that. I’m about to make you take an oath. Repeat after me. I, Devorah Nicole Lee…”

I rolled my eyes, pushing against Ellis slightly to loosen his embrace. He pulled me in even closer, locking a leg around mine to keep me in place. I looked up to see him waiting with one eyebrow cocked.

“All right, fine. I, Devorah Nicole Lee…”

“Do solemnly swear…”

“Do solemnly swear…”

“That I am in a relationship with Ellis Stacey Taylor…”

“That I am in…” I paused.

Ellis just looked at me, with a brow raised.

I smirked, “All right, all right, I’ll quit fucking with you. That I am in a relationship with Ellis Stacey Taylor…”

My heart damn near burst outta my chest after saying that line. Lord, it was something I never thought in life I’d be saying, let alone repeating in some crazy ass oath Ellis had me taking. Pretty sure that I was grinning like a loon at this point as well.

“Who is knocking the bottom out that thang.”

“I’m not repeating that.”

Outloud that is, because he was certainly knocking out the top, bottom, middle and sides of that thang. Whew.

“You know it’s true. I know it’s true. It’s fine. You don’t have to say it.”

“I can’t stand you.”

“Lies you tell, woman!”

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I set a very aggressive writing goal for myself this weekend. I began it with three chapters left in my outline and I wanted to be completely done with them by Monday. I want to be typing the words ~the end~ very fucking soon. So I'm fully immersed in writing, forsaking nearly everything else in my life so that I may reach this goal.

...and I'm scared shitless.

I've been writing and thinking about and researching this simple little book for so long and I can hardly believe it's almost out into the world. My anxiety is through the roof. I just want people to like it. I think I'm finally super close to the place where I like it, finally and I'm a harsh critic.

I always feel like I know what I want to write, but sometimes the synapses don't fire off what is seen in my mind's eye to the fingers to type it just right. So this journey has been full of hand wringing and frustration at not being able to get what I think are the right words on the page. Then I have to realize that the story will come out of me in the way that the characters move me to tell it. As much as I think I'm in control, I'm not. These fictional figments of my imagination are running the show and I'm at their beck and call.

But once I type those final two words I'll have finally done it. I will have completed an entire book.

Holy shit, I wanna vomit.

xoxo,

Nicole

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If you couldn't tell from the bastardization of a lyric from the post title here, I am low-key obsessed with Hamilton the musical and think Lin-Manuel Miranda is definitely a friggin' genius. I'd not listened to the soundtrack since I saw the play in April (least humble brag, ever...), but for some reason it was on my heart heavy today. So I cranked it while at the day job and got my entire life. While I've listened to this cast recording 5012 times, today when Chris Jackson sang the original line I pilfered for this post's title (dying is easy young man, living is harder) I immediately connected it to my creative process.

I tend to take the easy way out ten times out of nine. I don't need that stinkin' easy button from Staples because I am perfectly capable of finding shortcuts, loopholes, and other means of skating by in order to achieve a goal successfully on my own. Writing a book however? You can't really do that. Well you could, but then your book would suck. And what's the use in putting out a crappy product for consumption when you're a nobody so it's not like it's easy money...what was I saying? I'm easily distracted.

Oh yes, I was saying...

These people. Bro. Bruh. Breh. Sis. Cis. They have taken me THROUGH it. When I initially talked to my friend Christina about this story it was supposed to be a short, maybe 10k words and it did not resemble anything of its incarnation today besides a couple of shared character names. It has evolved into this...thing that, according to some people, is kinda interesting and compelling. But making it so? It is the single most nerve-wracking thing I've made myself do in quite some time. My anxiety has anxiety about this damn book being released unto the world.

But it is a thing that must be done, so I am coping.

Barely...please send rosé gummies and/or champagne to help ya girl.

xoxo,

Nicole

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So I've been asked by several people why I'm choosing to write under a pseudonym, so what better way to introduce myself to the world than to give a little background on how I came up with my writer name. : )

• The first reason I'm choosing not to write under my government name isn't any cloak and daggery type jazz, it's simply because I hate my real first name. I've never felt it fit me and it's wack; so whenever I get a chance to avoid using it, I take advantage of it.
• Another reason is because I work in a field that may lead to me being published in academia at some point. Not that this first book is filled with smut, buuuuuut I'ma keep it a hunnid and say who knows what the future holds. It could get real in the field. So because of that, separation of church and state was necessary.
• And 17th of all, I wanted to pay homage to the women who always encouraged me to pursue my writer dream. They were descendants of the Falls line of my family tree, so using that as my last name was a no brainer.

That's it, that's all--for now. Next time I'm gonna write about my process and how I dragged this book to the trash daily the entire time I've been writing it, haha!

xoxo

Nicole