I have to apologize. I totally forgot I have people subscribed to my blog that are not subscribe to my newsletter. So, I have a couple of releases to update you on. And I’ll make sure to keep you in the loop.
Also, get ready for more content. I want to pump some life into my blog. I hope you’re ready.
Now, to the latest book in the Blazin’ Love series, Devoted Love.
We only have a few more left. OMG!!!
ABOUT
When it comes to love, age ain’t nothing but a number.
Rhonda Smith had to open her big mouth when she promised Asher and Yuki, her grown children, that she’d open her heart to love. And she intended to keep that promise until she learned dating ain’t what it used to be.
Now there are apps for that. Not to mention speed dating, blind dates, and singles gatherings. To top it all off, there’s Netflix and chills, and social media.
God help her.
She’s a widower with nothing to lose, hoping for a second chance at her happily ever after, even if it means surviving absurd dates and kissing a few toads to find a suitable, mature man.
But when Jaxon Reinheart unexpectantly adds his name to her dance card, Rhonda throws caution to the wind. The much younger, single dad, plans to show her that love and chivalry are alive and well.
If…she’ll let him.
EXCERPT
Black girls rock. Hands down. No chaser. But what about freaks?
I’m not the norm. I get it. I’ve learned to accept my small corner of the world. Because I’m a Black girl who loves coding and video games and reading and cats and… I glance up from the online dating site, and they’re all waiting on me.
I squirm in my seat and close my laptop. I sent an SOS message, and thankfully my guys—Hunter, Harper, Charlee, Taylor, Parker, Ryann, Payton, Alex, and Chase—came running. Now, all ten of us are squeezed in this booth.
God, I love this.
I can always count on them, and they accept me for who I am and all my weird ways. I drop my head to gather my thoughts and string together the explanation needed to get some stuff off my chest. Finally, sharing this truth with someone other than myself is like standing in the middle of a crowded room and flashing my bare ass.
I’m sure that breaks another Black girl rule. But I hate the elastic and boy shorts ride, which is neither here nor there. My lack of panties won’t help me complete this damn dating profile.
Who can introduce their true self in a fill-in-the-blank form?
Nobody.
I started filling in the blanks, and I realize how different I am. Then I start comparing myself to the competition, and from there it’s a slippery slope, because the reality is, I’m then added to a database with women who look like them.
I scan around the table. My guys are dimes and fuckin’ rich, but their hearts are platinum, and I can’t believe they’re mine. I blink as my vision blurs.
“Don’t you start crying, Jordan,” Alex demands.
“Are you pregnant?” Payton asks. “I wouldn’t be surprised. It seems we’re multiplying at a rapid pace around here.” She snickers.
“Ha ha ha…” Charlee’s laugh lacks humor causing the others to laugh uncontrollably. “I don’t know what you heifas are laughing about. I got stretch marks up to my damn eyeballs, and she got pregnant jokes.”
Ryann starts choking, and I gently pat her back. The topic of babies and husbands and the few of us still “holding out” circles around the table. I laugh, and this is why I called them. My crying and weird ways don’t scare them off. And the snappy attitudes and quick comebacks are a vital component of their sisterly love.
“I’m in my feelings, y’all.” I sit back and stare across the room, unsettling thoughts about life, and love swirl around in my head. I take a deep breath, here goes nothing. “I’ve come to a few conclusions.”
“This is why you all should get pregnant.” Charlee sits forward with her hand scanning our side of the table. This side holds the childless and manless variety of our crew. “Because kids mean you don’t have time to think.”
“Jordan, you better jump in because once she starts talking about babies, she moves to men. From men, she naturally transitions to talking about her man. This means we’ll have to hear all the juicy details about Darius and his chocolates.” Payton wiggles her eyebrows, and we howl. It’s true. They jump each other’s bones like horny teenagers.
“Stop hatin’ it ain’t cute!” Charlee shakes her shoulders, and that’s what I want. Not Darius or his chocolate but my own somebody, which brings me back to this emergency meeting.
“I’ve been thinking,” I start again, and they all turn to face me. “Speed dating didn’t work. Hooking up didn’t work. And now, here I am trying to create a damn profile for online dating. I’m starting to believe love’s not for me.”
They gasp.
“Oh, the horror… That must be an oxymoron. Me without love,” I say more to myself than them as I work this out. “Love not being for me is worse than thinking I can never have ice cream or German chocolate cake or wine or…have my toes curl from ecstasy. I want it. But for some reason, it slips through my fingers.” I nervously twist the hem of my shirt as I roll my shoulders back because hunching like the coding nerd I am is unladylike. “I’m starting to think it’s the packaging.”
I can’t meet their probing glances. We’ve been friends since high school, our ages vary, our lifestyles vary, but what remains constant is the GIB—guys in black—roll deep. You fuck with one, you fuck with all of us. And they’ll search and destroy the culprit responsible for bringing a guy down.
But the culprit this time is me. I’m tired of living this shell of a life.
“The packaging of love?” I peek up at Parker, and I get the confused expression. I’m not making much sense.
“Wait, start over because you can’t be saying what I think you’re saying.” Ryann gives me a stern stare down.
“I want to be someone different for a change.” My brain recalls the blank fields from the form. “Think of it…as a social experiment.”