Chocolate Covered Forbidden Fruit

by Trista Russell

Genres: African American Urban; Contemporary Romance

Synopsis

Thalia, a twenty-five-year-old wild girl gone good, moves back to her old neighborhood after a failed engagement and manages to catch the eye of the town’s most wanted man—the incredibly sexy, single, devoted, and charismatic Reverend Isaac. Not only is there a large age difference between Thalia and the middle-aged pastor, but he also happens to be the father of Madison, her best friend since junior high school. Madison isn’t trying to deal with her father dating anyone after her mother’s death.

Thalia asks Isaac to keep their relationship a secret, but he’s been intrigued by her ever since she was a teenager, and now he wants the world to know. When tragedy strikes, their love is exposed to her family, his colleagues, his congregation, and her best friend. Now it seems like the whole town is in an uproar.

The gossiping church mothers in Mount Pleasant aren’t the only problem that Thalia and Isaac have, though. A former lover rears his ugly head and forces their relationship to change for the absolute worst. Can this May-December romance survive when it seems fate is just not on their side?

Release date: August 1, 2013

Publisher: Urban Books

Print pages: 352

Sample

“It doesn’t matter how the surface got slick, or if it’s shaven at all. Men will take it nappy, braided, dreaded-up, or parted to the side as long as it’s good,” was my answer to Madison’s question of why I had chosen to use a $4.99 bottle of hair removal cream instead of joining her for a $45 bikini wax. First off, at twenty-two years old, and a recent college graduate, my spring break days should’ve been over, but she and Yvette convinced me that one last wild hooray was what we needed. So we were Daytona Beach bound for Black College Reunion Weekend.

Madison made the hotel arrangements, I secured the rental of an Escalade, and Yvette was supposed to find out the who, what, where, and when of all the events that weekend. Instead, all she did was extend invitations to everybody and their mamas. I still can’t believe that she talked me into letting Kantrell tag along. The “Kantrell” idea didn’t sit too well with Madi, but funds were tight and she realized that rental car and hotel expenses were cheaper divided into four.

“Neat, break me out,” Madison said after putting her bags in the back and hopping in the front seat. “This is a kick ass truck.” She looked around at the black leather interior.

She was more of a sister to me than my older and biological sister, Tyann. Sometimes she felt more like family than my two brothers too. Madi and I had been best friends since the sixth grade. I met her on the first day of middle school. And although she was always the one to get the cutest guys, I managed not to strangle her. It was no secret why men flocked to her, her smooth dark brown complexion and slightly slanted eyes were just the beginnings of her unique beauty. Madi’s mother was a Blackfoot Indian, which blessed her with the type of long wavy dark hair we black women pay tons for. Her father, Reverend Isaac M. Flack, Pastor/Teacher at Mt. Pleasant Missionary Baptist Church, was very protective of her, his only daughter.

People based what Madi should act like on who her father was, but she was just the opposite. In middle school she talked Yvette and I into skipping classes by hiding in the restroom and standing on top of the toilets. She schooled us on not showing our report cards until after the weekend. We all tried the smoking thing, but gave it up when we realized that buying weed cost more than buying school lunch. Plus, the more we smoked, the more we wanted to eat; we just simply couldn’t afford both.

After having our hearts broken in the eighth grade, we made a vow that love was a game we weren’t grown enough to play. In high school we broke the vow but learned that we still weren’t sufficient to or for love. Love got us grounded, put on daily progress reports, and on the special prayer requests list at church. Shit, love even got one of us crabs, and with us sharing the same clothing so often, gave it to the other. We still don’t know who caught it first and where from.

Yep! We were Daytona Beach bound. It was 5:29 P.M. and as I pulled out of her driveway, the front door eased open and Reverend Flack stepped out wearing a tight fitting black tank top and a loose pair of black slacks. Saying that he was sexy, fine, hot or cute was like describing a Jaguar as just another four-door car. He was 6’3 and 2l5 pounds of firm chocolate tenderness. If I had three wishes, the first would be to make him not be Madi’s father; my second wish would be for just one night alone with him without a Bible in sight; and last I’d ask for forgiveness. The fact that he was single just made him more delicious.

Eight years prior, in 1995, Reverend and Sister Flack were to attend the National Baptist Convention in Charlotte, North Carolina. The night before their flight, one of the church deacons had a car tire blowout, and while walking to the next exit to get help, he was struck by an eighteen-wheeler and killed. Mr. and Mrs. Flack decided that she’d go to Charlotte alone, and Reverend Flack would stay to comfort the family and help them make arrangements. If the funeral wasn’t right away, he’d join her later that week for the end of the convention.

Bianca Flack, along with 103 other passengers, perished on Northeastern Air flight number 672 when it crashed six minutes after leaving Fort Lauderdale Executive Airport. Reverend Flack was devastated by the loss of his wife. His faith dangled between him questioning God and finding a reason for why he had to suffer this way. It took him almost a year to get back into the pulpit.

After battling the tragedy within, Reverend Flack got back on his feet and delivered the Word with a new meaning and with more vigor than anyone else in the community. To my knowledge, and as far as Madison knew, he hadn’t been with a woman since the loss of her mother. He dedicated all of his time and effort into spreading the Word, bettering the neighborhood, and making sure his children found everything they needed in him.

“This man really thinks I’m still twelve. Why did I ever come back here after college? I have to move out real soon,” Madi said, rolling her eyes as he walked toward the truck. “I thought he was asleep.”

Mr. Flack approached and I quickly asked the Lord to help me not stare at his bulging biceps or his beautiful brown eyes. This man could quickly become one of my favorite sins. He could easily pass for a thicker and slightly lighter complexion version of Denzel Washington. It may sound farfetched, but the man was all that.

Though he was forty-two, he didn’t look a day over thirty. He maintained his youthful appearance working out at the local gym five days a week. He smiled as he got closer to the vehicle and his pearly white teeth gleamed like piano keys playing behind his dark brown lips. Each step he made toward us made his dress slacks fall against his thick thighs and the print of his masculinity was in 3D.

He folded his arms and partially leaned into the vehicle. “So, you were just going to leave, huh?” He smiled at Madi and pushed her playfully.

“Daddy,” she leaned over and kissed his forehead. “I thought you were sleeping. I didn’t want to bother you.”

“I was reading up on tonight’s Bible study scriptures.”

“Umm,” she continued sarcastically, “with your eyes closed?”

“There was an interesting verse . . .” he mumbled, “on the inside of my eyelids.”

She touched his head and I wished I were one of her fingertips. “I thought I’d let you rest.”

“Thanks for being considerate, but you know that I like to see you off.” He looked over in my direction with a smile. “Hey there, Miss Thalia Tyree.” I tried hard not to blush, but it was too late. He always called me by my first and last name. Saying it had a nice ring to it. He reached over Madi to shake my hand. “What’s up? How are you doing?”

“I’m fine, Reverend Flack,” I delivered without drooling.

“What did I tell you about that Reverend and Mr. Flack stuff?” He laughed. “Isaac is fine with me.”

“Sorry, I always forget.” I smiled.

“I haven’t seen you at church in quite sometime.” It had been about four or five months since I visited Mount Pleasant.

“I find myself grading papers all weekend long these days.” As I responded he seemed to be staring at my lips, or maybe he was just watching my lies form. “You’ll be seeing me within the next few Sundays.”

“I’ll be looking forward to it.” He let go of my hand. “Well, I won’t hold you two up any longer. You girls have fun at the family reunion.” Isaac reached into his pocket, pulled out a phone card, and placed it in Madi’s hand. “I know that your cell phone only goes as far as West Palm, so use this.” He smiled. “Call me when you get there.” He took a step away from the vehicle. “Drive safely.”

I slowly reversed the truck and let up the windows. “Family reunion?”

“I’ve got to move out.” She shook her head.

I looked over at Madi. “You told him that we’re going to a family reunion?”

“It’s Black College Reunion weekend.” She buckled up. “We’re all black and like family, we went to college and we’re reuniting.”

“Whose family reunion are you supposed to be going to?”

“Vette’s.” She laughed.

“You’re twenty-two. I don’t understand why you’re lying to him.” I was a little confused. “He’s so down to earth, you can tell him anything.”

“Lia, c’mon, he gave me a damn phone card.”

“Because he cares,” I continued in a mumble. “I wished my dad gave a shit.” My father married a woman he barely knew five months after my youngest brother, his fourth child with my mom, was born. “Be glad that your dad is even around.”

“I know.” She thought about it. “I guess he’s cute sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” I said. “Let’s try every goddamn day of the week and every hour of every day.” I raised my voice. “That man is off the chain.”

“Yuck, I don’t mean like that you pervert.” She turned the volume up on Sean Paul’s cute ass singing about how he gon’ stick to some chick like glue. If I were glue I would be all over Mr. Flack.

For a while we drove in silence and enjoyed the glow of the streetlights, and then the question pierced the peace. “You think Trell and I will finally have our long awaited fistfight this weekend?” Before I could laugh she continued. “I think it would give me closure.”

Years ago, in our high school days, Madi and Trell were friends until they fell for the same guy, Derek Cowan, in the tenth grade. As if turning them against each other wasn’t enough, he asked them both to the senior prom. Derek, a senior, and a star football player, was truly a demon seed. He fueled a tremendous fire, telling them both that the other was saying nasty things about her. Madi and Trell ended up two words away from a fistfight.

In the meantime, Derek turned the other way and went to the prom with Jennifer Kolinsky. Sounds childish? It was, but Madison still wanted to shake up a can of whoop ass and open it in Kantrell’s face.

I couldn’t believe that she was still dealing with this issue after seven years. “Are you serious?” I glanced over at her. “High school days are done. Shit, college days are even done. I thought you were over that.”

“I thought I was too, but hearing her name for the first time after all of these years just woke up something inside of me.” She was angry.

“That was seven years ago, in nineteen ninety-six. We were fifteen and in the tenth grade, Madi.”

“Nineteen ninety-six,” she chuckled. “Those were the days.”

“Yes, but without that bastard.”

“Yeah, but I really liked Derek. I feel that Trell ruined what could’ve been a great thing.”

“A great thing?” I was shocked. “Obviously you haven’t been keeping up with the Derek Cowan story.” I laughed. “He works at the Wal-Mart in Florida City.”

Her mouth flew open. “You’re lying!”

“No, ma’am,” I went on. “Saw him stocking meat the other night.”

“I thought he went to NYU?”

I smirked. “That brotha went to WHATSAMATTA U.”

“Wal-Mart?” Her hands flew to her mouth. “Stop lying!”

“Ask Yvette.”

“Derek?” She was in disbelief. “That’s all well and good, but I still feel like I need to say something to her. She’s not about to think that she can . . .”

“C’mon, Madi, she’s over it and she’s moved on, otherwise she wouldn’t want to be traveling with us this weekend.” I didn’t want this drama to ruin our trip. “Please let this outdated foolishness go.”

“Okay, Ms. Sense and Sensibility.” She’s been calling me that ever since I went to the theater three weekends in a row to see that movie. “I’ll let it go.”

“That’s my girl,” I said as we pulled up to Vette’s apartment.

Madi reached over and blew the horn. “They better be ready.”

“Madi, stop!” I grabbed her hand. “That old lady might call the cops again like that night I was knocking on Vette’s window.” Before I could grab my cell phone, the door to Vette’s place swung open.

“When do I get to drive?” Vette asked before even saying hello. “Why are you guys so late?”

I winked at Yvette before I spoke. “Reverend Sexy held us up.”

“The Holy Ghost can fall on me anytime if it looks anything like him.” She did the sign of the cross. As she walked back toward the back of the truck she added, “I might just join Mount Pleasant if he promises to be pleasant.” We loved to gang up on Madi about her dad.

Madi had had enough. “My dad can spot demons five miles away, so you both would be cast out.”

“Yeah,” I joked, “but would he have to lay his hands on me to cast out the demons?”

“Fuck you.” Madi rolled her eyes. “Both of you sluts need Jesus.” In laughter, Madi helped Vette load her luggage into the truck.

While lifting a bag that was heavier than Vette herself, I asked, “Did you forget that we’re only going for four days?”

“I went to college in Daytona Beach,” she defended herself. “I know what I’m doing. I’ve been to BCR before.”

“You have to be kidding me.” I threw the suitcases in the back of the Escalade.

A voice crept up behind me. “I have one suitcase and I guarantee you that I’ll look just as good or better than you will with your three bags of clothes.” I turned around to see the honey brown chick that could be Trina’s stunt double, Kantrell Jackson.

“Trell!” I said loud enough to get Madi’s attention while she organized Vette’s bags. “How are you?” I gave her a hug.

“Girl, I’m good.” She looked me over. “How are you?”

“I can’t complain,” I answered and then paused, but as Madison peeked out of the window I added, “You look great.” She really did; the years had been on her side. Still slender and her make-up was model perfect.

Finally Madi hopped out of the backseat and stared at Trell with a look of disgust. I held my breath until mean ass Madi cracked a smile and walked toward Trell. “Hey, girl.”

As they entered a short embrace I exhaled and couldn’t help but usher in the thought that this was the beginning of a great weekend.

Our journey began a few minutes before six P.M. with a mug of café con leche at my side. During our five-hour drive we reminisced on our high school days and relived our lovable college years. Vette graduated from Bethune Cookman. Kantrell stayed in Miami, at U.M. Madison went to Florida State, and I was also in Tallahassee, but at FAMU. Madi and I never bothered going to Freaknik, Black College Reunion, Kappa Beach Fest, or Black Bike Weekend while in college. And for the life of me I didn’t know why we were deciding to go now.

All the talk about college forced me to think about Three, the last man I was bold enough to claim or call my boyfriend. His nickname was Three because he had his father’s name but wasn’t a Junior, he was ‘the third,’ and he used to get ragged on so much about it that he flipped it into a catchy nickname and also sported the number on his football jersey. We dated almost three years ago, for nine months during my sophomore year in college until he found greener grass on the lawn of an address he had no business knowing. Madi was the only person privy to my relationship with Three . . . and she knows not to mention that bastard’s nickname, real name, last name, shoe size, or his car year, make or model in my presence.

Since Three, I’ve dated many men, had booty calls, and even tried my hand at relationships, but in the back of my mind I couldn’t relax enough to completely trust a man. However, I’m ready to settle down. I want a serious relationship. And here I am going to Black College Reunion Weekend where the playas of the world unite to fuck women over. What a bright fuckin’ idea!

The moment I steered the truck onto the exit ramp of I-95 in Daytona Vette yelled, “We’re here!” The way she was acting you’d think we were on a pilgrimage to the Holy City. “Black College Reunion two thousand and three, baby,” Vette said. It was 11 P.M. and traffic stood still two seconds down the off ramp. It didn’t creep or seem delayed; the road was a parking lot. People were sitting on the hoods of their cars, and many used the opportunity to walk about and socialize with others who had nowhere to go. I had to blink my eyes three times to believe that there really was a man with a barbecue grill earning a profit in the accident lane, and he had a line.

“No way.” Madi looked around in disbelief. “There’s that many people up here? This is going to be crazy.”

Cars were bouncing, paint jobs sparkling, and chrome was shining so bright it hurt to look at, and white and beige leather interiors were immaculate. Though our ride was rented and we weren’t rolling on twenty-inch rims, we all had one thing in common, we weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Yvette took the wheel and I escaped to the back seat. The showoff of the group, she nixed the AC, rolled the windows down, and let music rush in from every direction. On the right we heard the Ying Yang Twins, To the windows, to the wall. Till the sweat drop down my balls. On the left was, Hey Ya! by Andre 3000. But homeboy in the metallic Titanium Silver BMW M3 in the front of us brought funk to the game when he opened his speaker-filled trunk and penetrated the air with Beenie Man’s Dude. We all sang our anthem, “I want a dude with the wickedest slam, I need a one, two, three hour man. I want a dude who will tie me to the bed, a thug that can handle his biz like a man.” It was every girl’s dream. Who ever prayed to God for a small dick, two minute, sorry fuck, can’t stay hard or eat pussy right man? I didn’t, but I sure had my share of them.

Every other brotha was naked from the waist up, and all of the females seemed to have shared one yard of fabric. There was enough brown skin showing to cover the entire white population of Daytona Beach. Looking at some of the racy outfits made me feel like I had packed for a church convention.

I had nothing in my suitcase that could compare to the outfits walking by. I’m an elementary school teacher for crying out loud, though it’s not warranted I wear suits to work Monday through Thursday. I wasn’t bad on the eyes by far, but I could afford to do some sit-ups, run a lap or two, and lay off of chocolate cake. At five feet eight and 150 pounds, I considered myself hot stuff, but I was never one to parade around half-naked. I was scandalous in other ways, and no one needed to know it at first glance. I couldn’t help but to say it. “I am going to be so out of place up here.”

Vette chimed in. “Lia, you only live once. I say unleash your inner freak, she’s human too.” She went on and on and on until a piece of dark chocolate eye-candy walked by and we all paused for a moment of silent ‘sexual fantasy’ meditation.

“Check out Mr. Red FUBU cap,” Madi whispered and we all searched until we found him. His shirt was draped around his neck and his exposed chest reached out to us as though we had on 3D glasses. “I wonder if he needs a massage.” Madi was always handing out her business cards. “Excuse me,” she got his attention, he was all smiles as he walked over.

He showed all his gold teeth. “What’s up, ma?”

“You.” There was never any shame in her game. She touched his chest. “You feel a little tense.” She giggled. “Can I work that out for you?”

He blushed. “F’sho.” He leaned into the window. “Where y’all from?”

“Miami.”

“Word?” He got excited. “I’m from Fort Liquordale.”

“Good.” Madi popped out her business cards and slid one between his lips as he smiled. “Call me and let me iron out the kinks for you.”

He read over the card. “Bet, so I get a free massage?”

“Free? Hell no.” All the sexiness left her voice; she didn’t play when it came to making money. “My rates are on the back.”

He flipped the card over. “Damn, what else can I have for these rates?”

“You can have a Coke and a damn smile,” Madi snuck in as he walked away. “With your broke ass.”

Kantrell interrupted. “Look at the guy on the passenger side of the blue Benz on the left.”

Vette started singing, “Sitting on the passenger’s side of his best friend’s ride tryin’ . . .” She stopped herself in mid-verse. “Whoa, he’s cute.”

Cute? The brother would’ve confused Michelangelo. He was a work of art, and after feeling four sets of eyes on him, he quickly turned in our direction and rolled his window down. “How’s it going, ladies?”

“It’ll be going great once we clear this traffic,” Vette said with a smile so big it could probably be seen from space.

“I hear you.” He leaned a little out of the window. “Where are you girls from?”

Thinking selfishly, Vette spoke only for herself. “I’m from Miami.”

He continued with a smile. “Nice.”

“He’s mine,” she whispered back at us. “Madi, if you pass your card to him I will snap your neck. No joke.”

“High yellow brothas went out of style back in junior high,” Madi laughed. “Plus he’s on the passenger side, honey.”

“So I guess it’s true,” Mr. Passenger Side said.

“What’s that?” Vette asked.

“Miami women eat sunshine for breakfast because they all have a sexy glow.” That was corny, but I’d give him two points for effort. “It must be true because you certainly do.”

“Thank you. Where are you from?” She was still blushing from the compliment.

“Atlanta.”

“I love Atlanta,” Vette said. Now, last I checked she said that she would commit suicide if she ever had to drive through Atlanta again.

The Benz’s rear window went down and out popped a head that looked exactly like the guy in the front seat. It was obvious that they were twins or went to the same plastic surgeon. “Hmm, all of a sudden high yellow is my favorite color,” Madison said with a smile and rolled her window down. In a second he was out of the car and leaning into ours. His twin felt a little upstaged and stepped out and began a private conversation with Vette.

“So, what hotel are you all staying at?” the backseat twin asked.

“The Hilton,” Trell was eager to let him know.

“By the way,” he said. “I’m Jordan and he’s my twin brother Jervis.” Suddenly their Benz was like a clown car; two other men popped out. Jordan pointed at the dark-skinned guy with the nice build. “That’s Anthony.” Then he directed his attention to the thin caramel complexioned guy emerging from the driver’s seat. “And that’s Leon.” We all greeted each other and before long everyone was yapping right in the middle of the International Speedway Blvd.

Normally when you see four men together one of them is always labeled “Mr. Why Are You The One Trying To Talk To Me?” by women, but all four of these guys were all well kempt, seeming intelligent, above average on the handsome scale, and they were staying at a hotel only two blocks from ours.

We talked for fifteen minutes before traffic finally started moving. But not wanting to completely lose our newfound friends, we arranged to meet them at the bar across the street from our hotel in an hour.

We arrived at our seventh floor hotel room around midnight. The two-bedroom suite was plush; it had everything: two full baths, small scale kitchen, living room, and a Jacuzzi by the window. The suite was more like a really nice two-bedroom apartment. After a walk-through, we crashed on the sofa.

“If dude wasn’t so fine I wouldn’t leave this room for Jesus tonight,” Yvette joked.

“Maybe we don’t have to leave.” Madi picked up the phone playfully. “They may have men on the menu.”

Trell slapped fives with Madi. “Then I say we order the biggest blackest motherfucka up here right now.”

I butted in with the most important question. “How are we sleeping?”

“You and I will take the room down the hall.” Vette winked at me to see what Madi’s reaction would be.

Madi made us all proud. “Sounds good to me.”

Ten minutes later I was walking out of the shower and slipping on my dark blue boot cut jeans and a fitted black low cut shirt. After doing my makeup, I blew myself a kiss and said, “Bring on the weekend.” I wanted my mind to be as far away from grading third grade spelling words as possible. Vette was right, I needed to change gears. I would try hard to kick into risqué for the weekend.

In the living room I met Trell and Madi laughing as though there was never a break in their friendship. “Party over here,” Vette said as she entered the living room. I almost needed a magnifying glass to see her shorts and tweezers to pull them out of her ass. Vette’s shirt was so skimpy that Lil’ Kim would call her a tramp. She looked terrific, but I wouldn’t be caught dead in that getup.

“What?” Vette saw the deadpan look on our faces. “I’ve been workin. . .