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  The first lady pinched her nose, held up her pointing finger in the air, and ran to the back.

  Victoria, Chancelor, Kingston, and Jordan quickly took the offering to the pastor, then evacuated immediately through the rear exit.

  Willy busted out of the back door, gasping for oxygen. “Who in the hell was that?”

  Pleased with the outcome of Tracy’s spell, Victoria felt a celebration was in order.

  Tracy would quarantine herself. Even if Willy wanted to get to know his fake daughter, it would have to be over the phone. But Victoria already had Plan B to interrupt all forms of their communication.

  CHAPTER 32

  Kingston

  Cheshire Bridge Road summoned his dick like a moth to a flame. Midspring, Mother Nature’s high had maxed at a never-seen-before ninety-two degrees, but the heat index registered over a hundred.

  Kingston drove from church to a gas station. A quick change of clothing from his usher uniform into a black zipped-up, long-sleeved lightweight cotton jacket and matching sweatpants, baseball cap, tennis shoes, and he found himself back in the basement.

  Searching the dimly lit room, he saw a man’s physique that matched that of the suitor’s profile on the app NoStringsIntended. Kingston sat next to the guy, then whispered his code, “Sushi.”

  “Purple,” the guy replied, using his secret word.

  They didn’t waste time relocating to a private room. Kingston lowered his waistband to his knees. No need to remove his pants. They were going into the trash soon as he got back to his new home.

  “Hit it raw, man. It’ll feel better,” the guy said, removing his shorts.

  Ignoring him, Kingston rolled the condom to the base of his shaft. Penetrating the guy from behind, Kingston felt the guy’s sphincter muscle contract tightly around his shaft. Each time Kingston tried to pull out all the way, he only managed to get one inch out; then he was stuck again.

  “Hey, man, ease up,” Kingston said.

  “You should’ve taken the condom off,” the guy said. “No worries. I took care of it for you.”

  Kingston gripped the base of his shaft, then pulled. When he was halfway out, the guy suctioned him all the way back in.

  “Man, I’m not going to do this with you. Let go of my dick,” Kingston demanded, wanting to punch the guy in the back of his fucking head.

  People in Georgia were being arrested for stupid shit, like destroying someone’s cell phone. Plus, if Kingston were to assault this dude, he’d publicly expose himself. Frustrated, he stroked fast and hard until they ejaculated.

  Pushing forcefully with his muscles, the guy ejected Kingston’s penis, then the condom, from his rectum.

  “Didn’t that feel great, man?” he asked. “Angry sex is my favorite. Once you got worked up, you were a rough maniac, man. Just the way I like it, dude.”

  Kingston removed the soiled condom from the crotch of his sweats, tossed it in the trash. He ripped two cleansing towels off the rack, wiped himself off, then threw them in the can. He wasn’t a kid anymore. But he still didn’t want anyone to catch him coming out of a place that he shouldn’t have been in.

  Pulling his hood over his head, he opened the door, trotted up the stairs, exited the facility, then jogged to his car. En route to his home, Kingston had to admit to himself that he enjoyed the experience and was definitely going to start going raw, but only with Theodore.

  A quick shower, change of clothing—white-and-black button-up, white slim-fit slacks, and black leather Italian shoes—and he was on his way to Bar Purgatory to meet up with the group.

  A call registered from Theodore. Kingston answered, “Hey, man, what’s up?”

  Truth was, he missed Theodore. But he wasn’t willing to admit it.

  “Come by my clothing store. I have some things I know you’ll like,” Theodore said.

  “Cool. Can’t come right this minute, but I can stop by, say, around six o’clock.” Kingston knew the shop closed at that time. He had intentions on trying more than clothes. “Gotta go. Call you when I’m headed over.”

  “I miss you,” Theodore said, then quickly ended the call.

  * * *

  Parking in the lot, Kingston strolled inside the bar. “I’m never fucking you over,” he told Victoria. “What in the hell did you do to Tracy to make her breath smell like everybody in the church took a dump in that woman’s mouth?” Laughing, he held his hand in front of his face, then huffed. “Don’t do that to me. The stench was like a public toilet filled with feces that had been left unattended for a month of Sundays.”

  He noticed Jordan staring below his beltline. Kingston winked at her, then sat in his usual seat.

  “Until I choose to break the spell,” Victoria said, holding up her glass, “flies will be the only company eager to be intimate with Tracy. As long as Brother Copeland is alive, Tracy will be undesirable.”

  “ ‘Do unto others’ . . . that bitch got what she deserved. But why do I have to stay away from her?” Chancelor questioned. “The next round is on me, Levi. Give Victoria and Jordan their favorite. I’m feeling generous.”

  Levi was a good lover who’d gotten better the last time they were together. Kingston’s top guy remained in position and he couldn’t wait to reunite with him. Listening to the others, he texted Theodore, Get a bottle of cognac. Then messaged Monet, Miss you. Kiss the girls for me. I’m going to try and come home in a few days.

  “No telling when this offer will repeat.” Jordan removed her bottles—one empty, the other unopened—from the table, placed them in her insulated bag. “Bring a bottle of your finest Cab, Levi.”

  “God knows my heart. Tracy won’t die from halitosis,” Victoria said. “Bring two clean goblets, Levi. And we’re going to need to double up on the wine, so bring two bottles.”

  Typical, Kingston thought. “Why females always elevate their libation preference whenever a man offers to pay?” Reading Theodore’s response, Can’t wait to hold you in my arms. Ready to have sex when you are . . . man, Kingston took a deep breath. Exhaled slowly to release the pressure in his heart.

  “I’m the sweater in this group,” Victoria said, staring at Kingston. “You all right? Need a glass of ice?”

  Holding up one of her wine bottles, Jordan yelled to Levi, “Google this and give me the closest comparison.”

  Kingston nodded at Victoria. “Baby mama tripping,” he lied, before telling the truth. “She wants to visit me. And bring my girls.”

  Jordan tightened her lips, rolled her eyes at Kingston.

  Chancelor stated, “Stick to your initial decision, dude. Don’t do it, man.”

  “Second that,” Levi added, delivering all of their drinks on a round black tray. “Next thing you know, they’ll be living with you. Trust me. You’ll regret that.”

  Setting the empty tray on the bar, Levi texted Kingston, Got this solid film deal in the works. Let me hold ten racks. I’ll repay with interest.

  Ignoring Levi’s message, Kingston tossed back his cognac in one shot. “Another, Levi, bruh.”

  Levi approached, smiling, took the glass, abruptly walked away, then returned.

  Theodore never asked him for anything monetary. What made Levi think he’d loan him ten thousand dollars via a message? Monet hadn’t replied. Kingston texted Theodore, Missing your ass, then wiped his forehead.

  “If I ever piss you off, Victoria, even a little, let me know immediately,” Jordan said, holding her empty glass up to Levi.

  Setting Kingston’s drink on the table, Levi stood and his stare lingered. He filled Jordan’s goblet halfway. Twirling the bottle to prevent the vino from dripping, he topped Victoria off from her bottle.

  “I’m sealing the deal on a feature, you guys. If you want in on this hedge fund, now’s the time.”

  Kingston didn’t miss Jordan rolling her eyes at Levi.

  A congratulatory solicitation from the group would’ve done what? Made Kingston consider transferring the funds? This time he avoided eye conta
ct with Levi. Kingston was generous like Chancelor, but he was no fool. He questioned Levi, “Your budget solid, bruh?”

  Levi’s seductive glance felt damaging. Kingston scanned the faces of his friends. Jordan rolled her eyes again. Best not to question an attorney. Her body language was a clear indicator Levi was on some hustle bullshit.

  “I fully support you, but I’d put a root on your ass for sure if you lost my investment money . . . again.” Victoria gulped her wine.

  Everyone else was silent. The tension was sufficient for Kingston to text, I’m good on the 10K, bruh. Sending up prayers.

  Levi removed his cell from his front pocket, smiled without looking up. Left. Returned with another round for Kingston and Chancelor. “I have networks fighting over this one. I’ma net at least a few million.”

  Oh, shit! Levi misinterpreted Kingston’s text. Kingston would never loan money to a man who didn’t repay his debt to a woman. No need to embarrass Levi. Kingston would tell him in person the next time they lay together.

  Thanks, man. I’ma pay you back. I promise, Levi texted.

  Kingston believed a person saying “I promise” was like starting a sentence with “to be perfectly honest.” If Levi had an ulterior motive from the beginning, Kingston might have to cut him off altogether. Doing that would mean he might need to stop hanging out at Bar Purgatory indefinitely.

  Kingston stood in front his chair. “I’ve got a date. See y’all at church next Sunday. And, Victoria, can you make Tracy stay home?” He laughed.

  Levi stood behind the bar, staring at Kingston. “Watch out for these women, bro. All of them aren’t female.”

  Jordan commented, “Kingston knows the difference between a natural woman and a transgender woman.”

  Chancelor continuously shook his head, then said, “Man, Levi is right. Sometimes the transgender females look better.”

  “Kingston, go,” Jordan insisted.

  “Yeah,” Levi stated. “Go.”

  “Oh, Kingston. Tracy won’t be going anywhere anytime soon,” Victoria said. “You won’t see her for a while.”

  Chancelor laughed. “You are my good-luck charm, Victoria.”

  “Speaking of date. If you guys want me to background check for you, my offer still stands. I’m having dinner with a guy I actually met in person, at a restaurant, while on a date with Terrence.”

  Shaking his head, Kingston was glad his wife wasn’t that type. Monet had what Jordan and Victoria secretly wished for: a handsome, successful husband with deep pockets.

  Jordan continued, “He’s meeting me here next Sunday for an early dinner. Langston Derby . . . don’t you just love that name.” She smiled with her eyes.

  Sweat covered Kingston’s face, neck, and arms. He didn’t sit; he fell down on his seat, almost tumbling backward onto the floor.

  “Repeat that,” Kingston insisted. He had to be 1,000 percent certain he’d heard her correctly.

  CHAPTER 33

  Monet

  Cairo was what Monet needed. Patient. Passionate. Understanding of her situation. Monet hadn’t told Bianca that she’d given Cairo her direct cell number or that she’d continued seeing him. Now she had a reason to look forward to dropping off the girls at school. Even if Monet divorced Kingston, she couldn’t imagine introducing her children to another man and have them call him “Daddy.”

  Nairobi would have to live the number of years her sister had been alive (plus an additional nine months) for Monet to have her first opportunity to live alone. And that would manifest in spurts when her girls came home for spring breaks, weekends, and holidays.

  Ignoring a text from Kingston that read, Kiss the girls for me. We need to talk. I’ll be home in a few days. Monet shouted from their home salon, “Israel! Hair time.”

  “Coming, Mother!” she replied.

  That meant she’d be another few minutes. Monet called her best friend.

  “Hey, lady,” Bianca cheerfully answered.

  “I don’t know what to do. Kingston keeps texting, but I’m so angry with how he’s . . .” On the verge of crying, Monet paused. Not wanting to freak out Israel whenever she walked in, Monet held back her tears, then asked, “Can you meet me at the café in an hour?”

  “Girl, of course. Working out can wait. Let me change clothes and I’m on my way. Hang in there,” Bianca said. “Kingston has lost his mind. And don’t think that I forgot about getting the deets on your date with Cairo. Maybe telling me all about that will cheer you up. If he wasn’t a match, I’ll hook you up until we find you some emotional relief.”

  Monet texted Cairo, Can we do lunch instead of breakfast? I can come over at noon.

  What she really needed to do was confess to her girlfriend that she had an affair with Cairo. And she’d planned on continuing to see him. Monet felt a bit better that after dropping off the girls at school, she’d at least be able to vent about her husband and clear her conscience about sexing another man.

  Her elder pranced in, modeling her pink, purple, and white plaid designer tennis shoes. Red glitter decorated her orange laces. “Mother, I want two giant Afro puffs. One on each side, please.”

  Monet spritzed Israel’s hair, brushed the front hairline back, then tied a ribbon to secure the hair from falling in her child’s face. She slicked the baby hairs along the edges, using a soft toothbrush.

  Israel protested, “Mother, no. I had this style Friday. It’s Monday. A part down the center of my head will only take a few minutes. Please.”

  Children weren’t sounding boards. Monet didn’t want to impart negativity on her girls regarding their father. “Tell your sister to come down.”

  Making a sucking sound with her mouth, Israel stomped her way out of the room. Monet ignored that, too. Monet cared, but not enough to discipline her daughter while she herself was upset. Styling Nairobi’s hair the same, Monet told the girls to make sure they had their homework and iPads. Today she was not making an unnecessary trip to deliver anything to them at school that they’d forgotten.

  Checking herself in the mirror one last time, Monet wore a pink sleeveless fitted jumpsuit with green stilettos. No ponytail today. Parted two inches in the center, her hair flowed over her shoulders and down her back. Fuchsia ever-stay liquid stain coated her lips.

  Ready to take on her bittersweet day, she calmly said, “Girls, let’s go.”

  Monet glanced in the rearview mirror and watched the kids secure their seat belts; then she exited the driveway. Seeing her daughters scroll on their phones and not communicate with one another, Monet withheld her tears, again thinking this routine couldn’t possibly be her life for the next decade. Neither of the girls asked, “Mother, are you okay?” Now that Nairobi had a cell phone, she communicated less with her sister.

  Were her feelings important to her family? Her husband, mother, kids? Or were they accustomed to her being the strong black woman of her household every day?

  “Bye, Mom,” Israel and Nairobi said, getting out of the car.

  “Hugs and kisses.” The words had replaced her actions. If Monet didn’t solicit affection, she seldom received it. “Love you guys,” Monet said.

  Israel closed the door, ran in the direction of her friends. Nairobi followed her big sister, then skipped to her group of classmates on the playground. Monet texted Bianca, Dropped off the girls. omw.

  * * *

  Bianca was seated at a booth by the window. Monet sat next to her friend, plopped her designer bag on the edge of the burgundy leather.

  “I am trying hard to hold it together. I’m not going to chase my husband. I’m not going to sit and patiently wait for him to decide our . . . my future. I—”

  Bianca interrupted. Her tone was firm. “Breathe as I speak. Hear me on this. I cannot cheer for your marriage when you’re the only one doing flips. Fuck Kingston. You like Cairo? Y’all had a good date?”

  “I do. And, yes, we did.” But Bianca didn’t know how well Monet liked him.

  “Have an affair with h
im. My work is done,” her best friend stated.

  Scooting over enough to face Bianca without having to turn her head, Monet frowned. Had she heard her friend correctly? “Repeat that?”

  Holding up her hand, gesturing for the waitress, Bianca requested an egg whites–only vegetarian omelet, with country potatoes, a side of spinach, and coffee.

  “I’ll have the same,” Monet told the waitress to simplify the order and get back to their talk.

  As the waitress walked away, Bianca stated, “You said you had a good time. I haven’t heard you sound happy in months. Girl, give him some. Keep yourself a man on the side until Kingston gets his shit together. What’s wrong with that?” she asked.

  “Excuse me, waitress,” Monet said. “I’d like Baileys with my coffee. More Baileys than coffee.”

  “Make that two, please,” Bianca said, then reiterated, “Get yourself a man on the side until Kingston gets his shit together. Don’t be naïve, girlfriend. Kingston is in Atlanta upping his body count, just like he did when he was in the league. Only now, he has more time. More time equals more men. He’s probably at Magic City, Onyx, Allure, the Pink Pony, in search of d-i-c-k, hon—”

  “Stop it, Bianca. My husband is not gay. Besides, this is not what I need to hear right now.” Monet debated if she should tell Bianca about having had sex with Cairo.

  “Well, that’s not what I need to hear right now, either,” Bianca lamented.

  Deep inside, Monet knew her friend was wrong about Kingston. Picturing him being penetrated by a man, Monet had blocked that from her mind years ago. Losing her first best friend, the father of her children . . . Perfect timing for their beverages to arrive.

  Monet placed her lips on the edge of the cup. The first sip was always the best. Maybe counseling would help.

  “I’m your friend. Your best friend. I’m not telling you to leave your husband the way I left mine. But we know how these ballers get down. If you’re going to stay married to Kingston, you must find your own happiness and stop going in and out of depression. Right now, the woman I see is miserable, heartbroken, confused, angry, in denial, and the next stop is bitter. Before you realize it, you’re going to wake up and hate yourself, when Kingston is to blame. The only person who can stop this train from crashing is you. If you already have all the answers and you just need your friend to listen, I can do that.” Bianca became quiet.