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  “That’s not it. I respect your opinion. It’s just that Kingston is the only man—”

  Bianca completed Monet’s sentence. “That you’ve fucked. I know that. And I know that makes it difficult for you to imagine being with another man. Honestly, I think that’s what you need. You’re going to mope and wait for your husband to divorce you? Get you some side dick. If nothing else, maybe that’ll release your stress. And mine, too.”

  Monet took pride in the fact that her postmarriage body count was two. But perhaps Bianca was right about her having an extramarital affair. What was Monet trying to prove by being faithful to a disrespectful husband? “I hear you. I don’t think cheating is the right decision for me, but I’ll think about it.”

  “Well, if that’s not the right decision, I have a solution. I’m taking your ass to the pleasure store and buying you lots of dildos and vibrators. You need to do something. Eat up so we’ll have time to pick out your toys before the girls get out of school. And if you don’t feel comfortable, I’ll buy you some shit that don’t look like a dick. Either way you’re going to orgasm yourself out of this funk.”

  Monet had plenty of advances from Kingston’s teammates, but she never told him. Men approached her often. Whatever her husband was doing had influenced her to make her decision to move on, too.

  “That’s an alternative I can get with,” Monet said, then smiled.

  “Good. Then Kingston’s treat. I can use some new toys,” Bianca said.

  She laughed with her best friend.

  Monet texted Cairo, Something unexpected came up. How’s 6pm?

  CHAPTER 34

  Chancelor

  “You want to see my pussy?” she asked, then purred.

  Chancelor massaged his hard-on. Whenever he wasn’t working, he was thinking about sex or Tracy. Not necessarily in that order. His new girl was a welcome distraction.

  “I bet she’s pretty. Please let me see your pussy,” he begged as he continued pleasuring himself underneath his desk.

  Dressed in a white shirt, red tie, and black socks, his dick wasn’t as small as most women claimed. Chancelor didn’t see what the big deal was about having an enormous penis, when those men had to work harder to get and maintain an erection. Seemed if the whole thing couldn’t fit in a woman, that was a hazard.

  ChristianFornicators did not disappoint. Elite took her time dancing in lingerie in front of the camera. He was tempted to speed up his pace, but he didn’t want to cum, or make her aware that he was naked from the waist down to his ankles. Chancelor’s stroke count outside of a vagina was considerably higher.

  “I can show you, but I’ma have to charge.” Elite lowered the right side of her gray wife-beater enough to expose her areola.

  Shit! It was two shades darker than her deep brown skin. He knew her nipples were huge. He saw them poking through her T-shirt. Keep going, baby. If she got closer to the camera, he’d lick his screen. “Take it off. Let me see all of your tits. Please,” he pleaded. “Lift it up.”

  Elite stepped back, slid the hem of her top down, then tucked it between her legs.

  “Damn, you don’t have any drawers on, do you?” Chancelor was about to cum. He had to stop stroking himself. “I need to see that in person. Come over.”

  He texted Elite his address. She messaged him her CashApp, requesting $500.

  How about $50 now and the rest when I see you?

  Elite turned off her camera, ended the conversation, then texted, I don’t leave my house for $50. Either you find another 0, or you’re the missing 0.

  Chancelor surfed the app for Elite’s replacement, but all he thought of were her nipples and almost seeing her pussy. Did she have hair like a grown woman? Was her stuff bald like a young girl? Copying her code, he sent her the full amount. He’d spent more than that at Bar Purgatory last Sunday.

  Got it! Thanks, Elite replied.

  Cool. What’s your ETA? Chancelor inquired.

  I have an opening in my rotation next Thursday at 10:00 a.m., Elite replied.

  Chancelor contacted CashApp, stating he’d sent the money in error. Someone from the company advised him he’d need to contact the person, and, hopefully, the person would return the funds to him. Otherwise, there was nothing they could do to assist him with getting his money back.

  Atlanta women were turning him into a fuck-and-done dude. All those bitches were whores. Shanita. A woman with that much going on, it was just a matter of time before she tried to use him, too. Elite made him think about Tracy. Angry, he surfed the dating app until he found a good Christian accepting of a complimentary hookup. Her arrival time was two hours out.

  * * *

  He showered, dressed, drove, then parked three blocks from Tracy’s. Removing his drone, he flew it around her house. All of the shades and curtains were drawn. Victoria had warned him not to be in contact with Tracy. But how dangerous could it be to confront her?

  Chancelor headed home to meet his date. If she didn’t look like her profile picture, he’d have sex with her, then pretend he had a last-minute appointment and escort her out the door.

  CHAPTER 35

  Jordan

  “This case is breaking my heart.” Jordan sat alone in her office and watched the video of Donovan’s son being shot and killed. She’d viewed the footage nineteen times this afternoon.

  Exhibit A, B, C–Z, lawyers never showed emotions when presenting a case. Inadmissible evidence that was crucial to the favorable outcome for her clients outraged Jordan, but also challenged her to find another way to win.

  She pressed rewind. This time watching it in slow motion. If she hadn’t met DJ, didn’t know Donovan Sr., Jordan wouldn’t have an attachment to the victim or the victim’s father. But she did.

  “DJ wasn’t a criminal. He was in his freshman year on a full scholarship,” she said aloud. Code Blue made indicting a police officer virtually impossible. Particularly, a white female rookie in Atlanta.

  Anne Whitehall wasn’t threatened. DJ handed her his driver’s license and proof of insurance. He sat in the car while she went to hers. When Anne returned to DJ’s luxury foreign two-door sports car, her hand was on her gun as she’d commanded, “Get out of the car! I need to search your vehicle.”

  DJ placed his hands on the steering wheel, politely denied her request to search his vehicle, and exercised his rights by requesting her supervisor come to the scene.

  Slapping the door handle that was fleshed with the car, Whitehall shouted, “Get out of the damn car!”

  Her partner approached DJ’s metallic red Tesla Model 3 on the opposite side. “Is there a problem, boy?”

  “No, sir. She demanded I get out and then she smacked my car,” he said.

  “You getting smart with me, boy?” the partner questioned.

  “No, sir. But I know my rights. I feel threatened. I want your supervisor to come before I get out,” DJ said.

  The partner laughed. “This nigger thinks he has rights.”

  Whitehall joined in the laughter.

  DJ asked, “Why did you stop me? You’re supposed to let me know.”

  “Get out of the car!” Whitehall shouted. “Now!”

  DJ slowly removed his hand from the steering wheel.

  “Boy, you got a gun?” the partner asked.

  DJ placed his hand back on the wheel. “No, sir” were DJ’s last words.

  Whitehall drew her gun and unloaded the bullets into DJ’s chest.

  “Holy shit!” her partner yelled, then repeated, “Holy shit, rookie!”

  Jordan felt both officers should be prosecuted. The police chief differed. Whitehall’s partner was not placed on administrative leave, but Whitehall was off duty, collecting her regular salary.

  Turning off her monitor, Jordan called Langston.

  Right away he asked, “Hey, we’re still on?”

  “Yes. Let’s start with a drink at Bar Purgatory. I’m heading there now. Then we can leave and go to dinner.” Jordan needed to decompress
. Her first date with Langston was fun. If her melancholy mood didn’t change, she could fake a headache and go home early. If things went well, he was scoring in the bedroom tonight.

  Driving to the bar, Jordan received a call from Donovan. She considered not answering, then said, “Hey. How are you?”

  “I need to see you. Now. Where are you?” he anxiously said.

  Already she’d regretted taking his call. “I have plans. But I can talk for a few minutes. What’s up?” she asked.

  “I have new supporting evidence I need to share with you,” he said.

  No amount of evidence was going to bring his son back. The case wasn’t going to trial anytime soon. Jordan didn’t believe Donovan understood that regardless of what firm represented him, his trial was going to be lengthy and costly.

  She gave him an alternative to present what he had in person. “Let’s discuss it in the morning. I’ll have my assistant schedule you for ten o’clock. Cool?”

  Donovan snapped. “My son is dead!”

  “I didn’t kill him!” Jordan retorted. How dare he disrespect her after all the exceptions she’d made for him.

  “You might as well have. I knew I shouldn’t have counted on you. You always were ‘Team Jordan.’ That’s why we aren’t together now. And you call yourself an attorney?” The real irate Donovan had showed up. “You’re fired, and I want my retainer back—every penny—or I’m going to expose your naked pictures on social media.”

  Honk! Honk! Honk! Jordan continuously pressed her horn. “Damn, Donovan. You almost made me have an accident.”

  She vividly recalled why she’d stopped dating him. Inhaling deeply, Jordan replied, “I’ll have my assistant wire fifty thousand dollars to the same account my firm received it from. Check your account in the morning. I wish you the best, Donovan Bradley Senior. I always have. Good—”

  “Stop being irrational. I know you didn’t kill my son, but if you give up on him, it’s going to feel like DJ died twice. I need you, Jordan. We need you.” Donovan cried. “I’ll be there at ten.”

  Jordan was not getting on the roller coaster with Donovan. He’d done that same shit when they were in a relationship. Turning off her engine, she placed her cell on speaker, then said, “Good. Then you can pick up your cashier’s check in person,” then ended their conversation.

  * * *

  Checking her makeup, she exited her vehicle, then went inside. Langston waved at her from the bar. A bottle of wine and two goblets were near him. He stood, pulled out her barstool. Opening his arms, he embraced her for at least half a minute.

  “You are more gorgeous than the last time I laid eyes on you,” he said.

  His greeting was soothing. Jordan exhaled into his hug, wrapped her arms around him.

  “Hey, Jordan,” Levi said, opening his arms. “You look like you could use more than one.” His hands rested on her shoulders; then Levi returned behind the bar.

  “You’re all set because I’m teaching Langston what you like. It’s the same wine Chancelor sponsored.” Levi partially filled each glass.

  Standing by her side, Langston held the back of her stool until she was comfortable. He handed Jordan a glass, then held his high. “Cheers. To new beginnings.”

  “To new beginnings,” Jordan said, burying her thoughts of the conversation she’d had with Donovan. Giving her attention to Langston, Jordan asked, “How was your day?”

  “I don’t want to recap the past. I’m focusing on my future. With you,” he said.

  Levi turned toward them, leaned on the counter. “Guess who Langston knows,” he said. Not waiting for her to respond, Levi added, “Kingston.”

  Langston nodded as he smiled at Levi.

  “Kingston Royale?” Jordan questioned, recalling how Kingston had loss his footing and fell back into seat when she’d mentioned Langston Derby.

  His nod continued.

  Jordan shifted her eyes back and forth from Langston to Levi. Connecting with Langston, she asked, “How, and how well, do you know Theodore Ramsey?”

  “Jordan!” A familiar voice resonated behind her. Donovan suddenly appeared beside her. Stood between Langston and her, then said, “We need to talk. Now.”

  Langston placed his hand on Donovan’s chest. “What you need to do is show some respect.”

  Donovan had to quit popping up on her. If she gave in, he’d do it again. And again. “I’m busy, Donovan.”

  “You heard the lady,” Langston said. “Back the fuck up.”

  “I ain’t gotta do shit. She’s my attorney, and before she was my lawyer, she was my—”

  Langston’s fist landed on Donovan’s lips. Donovan stumbled backward.

  Donovan touched his face, stared at his bloody hand. “You witnessed that, Jordan. That’s what you want? A beast.” Donovan took another step back when Langston pushed back his stool, then stood.

  People in the bar looked in their direction, then resumed whatever they were doing.

  “Expect a lawsuit, from Jordan,” he told Langston.

  Levi approached Donovan, grabbed him by the collar of his polo shirt, then forced him outside.

  Langston inquired, “That’s the guy who was on television? His son was killed by that cop?”

  “Yes. And yes.” Jordan was beginning to think Donovan’s interest was more than professional but he wasn’t man enough to be open and honest.

  He’d ruined her chances with Terrence Russell. Langston Derby wasn’t going to be her next relationship casualty. Donovan was making Jordan’s decision to no longer represent or communicate with him clear.

  Interrupting their silence, Langston asked, in a sarcastic tone, “He’s your client?”

  “Was,” Jordan said out of frustration, then asked, “How, and how well, do you know Kingston Royale and Theodore Ramsey?”

  The only information Jordan was attempting to attain was confirmation that Langston co-owned a men’s clothing store with Theodore.

  Langston placed his glass on the counter. Removed Jordan’s glass from her hand, set it next to his. “Let’s continue this conversation over dinner. At my place. That way we won’t be rudely interrupted by your stalker client-boyfriend.”

  CHAPTER 36

  Kingston

  Jordan Jackson. No specifics. A text from Derby69, Mr. Langston Derby, registered on Kingston’s cell, followed by No time to explain. Come by my place now.

  Another text, this time from Levi, registered with his bank account and routing numbers.

  Jordan needed to hear the truth about Langston’s sexuality, but not from Langston.

  Kingston arrived at the Buckhead address Langston Derby had texted him. The expensive cognac brand he’d brought was intended as a generous gesture. Kingston was hopeful they’d toss back a few shots to loosen up, and Langston would reveal the reason he’d gone down on him (in the third grade) and Kingston would confess why he allowed it to happen.

  He had to hear Langston state why he was on an app for gay men. And what was his intentions with Jordan.

  Unlike Kingston’s hidden gem, Langston’s home was practically in plain sight off of a busy highway near Peachtree and Lenox. Kingston’s shaking finger pressed the doorbell. Kingston paced two steps to the right. Four left. When the door opened, he traveled two steps back to the right.

  “Hey, man. How crazy is this shit? Come in,” Langston said, then closed the door. “We were finishing up dinner. You’re just in time for dessert.”

  We? Handing a liquor gift bag to Langston, Kingston said, “I brought a little something for the house.” He followed Langston through a gallery of framed basketball championship posters hanging on the wall in the foyer and living area. When he looked into a room off to the side, multiple big screens were mounted in a media room. Finally they’d arrived in the dining room, which had a large circular table with four gold Victorian-styled chairs. No straight man’s décor would be so elaborate and meticulous.

  “Thanks, man,” Langston said, opening the Hardy XO
Rare. “I take it no introduction is needed here. Have a seat, man.”

  Fingering her natural hair, Jordan was dressed in business attire. Shaking her head, she said, “Don’t sit. Kingston, I know the two of you grew up together, but why are you here?” She protested as though he were the sun ready to dry out whatever wetness she’d managed to secrete.

  Langston answered, “Don’t get all sensitive, babe. You wanted to know how, and how well, I knew Kingston. I told you I have nothing to hide. So I invited him to stop by. He won’t be here long.” Langston French-kissed Jordan for damn near a minute.

  Whoa. He had serious game. Perhaps that was because Langston had gotten the head start on seduction well before him. Jordan didn’t contest that shit.

  Langston looked at Kingston, then licked his lips. “This woman is sweeter than honey.”

  Maybe Kingston’s conclusion based on the décor was premature. Jordan’s red lipstick hadn’t smeared. Watching them, Kingston felt a bit jealous.

  Rubbing the nape of her neck, Jordan said, “It was inappropriate of you to invite Kingston without first consulting with me.”

  “If I’m going to be your man, babe, you need not treat me like a client.” Langston opened the oven.

  Her what? Jordan was far too intelligent to fall for the bullshit. Kingston laughed to himself, then thought about his wife. Convinced he was right the first time, if Jordan started dating Langston, her relationship with Langston would be the same as his with Monet.

  The scent of apple cinnamon pie escaped the oven as Langston blew a kiss to Jordan. He removed the cookie sheet from the oven, centered the hot dish on a cooling plate on the table. Taking a pint of butter pecan ice cream from the freezer, he placed it next to the pie. Four crystal bowls were positioned adjacent to the same number of small plates and silverware.