Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72980 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“Well, you know, I’m a man, so blood hasn’t flowed in my brain since—”
“Should I call 911?”
“Hell, no. I’m good.”
“Great. Oh,” she said, eyebrows furrowed. “Is Texas coming back?”
“He left a little message for me.” I snorted at the thought of the AirTag Texas had left on top of a glass angel Madison created, which lived beside the alarm keypad. Damn, I couldn’t believe he’d found my tracker. Dude was infuriating with that little I-see-you-bruh energy, but nah, fam, you can’t stalk me.
“A message?”
Not in the way you think. “Yep.” I replied to brush off the topic. “I even texted him when we arrived. Just a check-in. But nothing. Maddy, if he left, that means he doesn’t want a warm place to stay. That’s on him. He has the key code if he wants to come back. Now, enough chatting about my brother. We’re in bed.” I squeezed the sugary piping out of this woman. “You ready for Dome Daddy?”
“Good night, Washington. Sex-a-thon complete.” She yawned, then patted my chest. “I’m officially upgrading your little gold star to a gold medal.”
“Madison, c’mon, girl.” I eased over her in our bed, my hands caressing every bit of her smooth, dark brown skin. She was moaning for me and wriggling away. The conflict ran deeper than the darkness around us as she scooted up the headboard.
I laughed under my breath. “One more kiss?”
Her fingers brushed over my beard, and she tugged me down. What started soft, spiraled fast. Hungry and hot, her lips parted mine and her thighs brushed my hips. She was ready to consent to round whatever this was. An internal battle, though, came out in the way her breath caught in her chest, her breasts heaving, heavy and sexy against me. She kissed me with a sleepy greed, slow but insistent, making my damn mind hum.
Was I getting some, or what?
She pulled back, her forehead resting against mine. She looped her finger into the wedding band on my gold chain and murmured, “I’m so in love with you. You already have almost all the degrees between us. Stop kissing me like you have a degree in pleasure, sir. I’m exhausted. My soul is exhausted. My lashes are exhausted.”
“So …?”
“Good night, Judge Babineaux.”
“There you go, using titles against me again. This time I can’t even get more of your good loving on a technicality: you knowing my name for once.”
“No, you cannot.” Another little yawn.
She drifted off, talking about how we should schedule sex-a-thons every three months, for the calories. That talk was dangerous. I climbed out of bed before my self-control filed for reparations.
I grabbed my phone, nothing but meaningless notifications. Nothing from Texas, who clearly left my text on read this afternoon. Not a surprise.
“Funny, Madison called me a stalker. My bébé was prophetic.” As I tugged on a pair of sweats from my walk-in closet, I tapped into another app. Aside from placing that AirTag in his pocket during dinner, I’d also placed a little gift in that fat wad of cash I gave him. The damn thing was smaller than a communion wafer. Found it online. Not sure if it was legal. The shipping and handling price tag cost more than the little contraption; that couldn’t be legal.
Thank you, little brotha. In sharp threads, bald head shining, and ready to search these streets, I imagined myself as Shaft.
Location found.
I finished dressing and dialed Momma while sitting on the chair next to my shoe closet. If she answered, she was up praying. If she didn’t, she was sleeping well after seeing his trifling ass.
She answered, voice an echo of her tears. “He-hello?”
“Momma, you’re on your knees, I bet?”
“Praying for Texas since March, bébé. Do I need to pray for you?”
“Nah, I’m good.”
“Madison’s with you!”
I yanked the phone away as she launched into a full Sunday service. There was an entire praise break, scriptures, and a reminder to get my oil changed. When she paused to breathe, I spoke. “Listen, you’re gonna get that church wedding for me and Maddy. For real. And I’m bringing Texas home sooner than you think.”
“You are?” Her voice lifted, hopeful, warm, and excited. Momma’s hope was my love language.
I glanced at the blinking red dot that showed my brother’s location. “Yes, ma’am. I got you, bébé.”
After we hung up, I grabbed my keys and followed the little dot straight to my brother. Before my Rover slid to the curb, I muttered, “This man owes me money.”
Dude’s hideaway was a Victorian family home nestled in the West End. Less than twenty minutes from my spot in Algiers. Who was this man?
I banged on the door. “Tex! Texas, wake your ass up!”
The door snatched open, and my brother glared at me, dressed in jeans and a designer tee that cost more than some of the suit jackets in my closet. I’d worn the same one in navy blue on date night. He’d had his dreads tightened in a new style. What in the Doctor Jekyll and Mister Hyde was going on?