Full Figured:

Book 1: Full Figured

by Brenda Hampton, La Jill Hunt

Genres: African American Urban; African American Women's Fiction; African American Romance

Synopsis

Age is just a number, and whoever said that full-figured women don't know how to bring fire to a relationship was sadly mistaken. Carl Weber brings together two popular Urban Audiobooks divas to give listeners what they've been asking for: passionate, empowering stories about the lives and loves of big, beautiful women. Newly divorced 40-year-old Desa Rae finds herself alone now that her son has gone away to college. She's taken to her bed, watching life pass her by - until Roc, a 24-year-old with a jaw-dropping body comes along. Desa Rae can't keep her eyes open or legs closed to a man who excites her like no other man has. But can she really be serious about a man who is almost the same age as her son? Avery Belmont is a diva in her own right. Smart, sassy, and successful, she has always had it going on; so much so that not only did the full-figured beauty catch the eye of Duke, the sexiest dude on the block, but she encouraged him to leave the dope game and become legit. Now, seven years later, Avery is working hard and trying to move ahead, but it seems that Duke isn't feeling the same way. Working with Kurt, her attractive coworker, isn't helping her situation. Is the love between Avery and Duke strong enough to keep them together, or will the strength of that love make them realize it's time to let go?

Release date: November 1, 2011

Publisher: Urban Audiobooks

Print pages: 320

Sample

I hated my job, but as bad as the economy was, I was pleased to have one. My boss, Mr. Wright, sometimes made me want to splash hot black coffee in his face, but other times he was cool to work for. I’d worked as his administrative assistant for thirteen years, and even though other opportunities at STL Community College became available, I somehow got complacent. Maybe because I knew the grass wasn’t always greener in another department. I’d heard complaints from other administrative assistants who despised their bosses, so dealing with Mr. Wright just had to do.

Then again, maybe it was just me. I turned forty last month, my son, Latrel, had left for college this year, I’d been packing on the pounds, and my divorce from Reggie had recently been finalized. Needless to say, things were tough and never in my wildest dreams did I predict our marriage would end up as it had. We were high school sweethearts and had planned a life together forever. When Latrel was born, I was the happiest woman in the world. He and his father were very close, and over the years they’d gotten even closer. So close, that when Reggie started seeing another woman, Latrel knew about it but didn’t say a word. I knew something was up, and when I would look him in the eyes I could tell that he was hiding something. He was so anxious to go away to college, and moving away from home had become his priority. Surely, I hated to put him in the middle of what was transpiring between me and his father, but I couldn’t help but feel betrayed by both of them. Reggie’s and my marriage had been on shaky ground for at least the last four years. His late nights at the office and constant trips out of town always brought about many arguments. It wasn’t until I saw the infamous lipstick on the collar when I suspected something was up. I finally questioned him about my suspicions, and his response was quite surprising. He had come clean, admitting that he had fallen out of love with me and wanted his freedom.

To this day, I have flashbacks of that dreadful day, and even though it went down as one of the worst days of my life, I appreciated his honesty. No doubt, it was time to call it quits. We hung in there for another three months, but as soon as Latrel left for college, Reggie went his way and I went mine. I still love my ex-husband, but for him to renege on our vows as he had, I lost a lot of respect for him.

While sitting at my desk eating M&M’s, I was daydreaming about my failed marriage and was attempting to type a letter for Mr. Wright that had to get distributed today. My fingers weren’t moving fast enough for him, and when I heard him yell my name, my eyes rolled to the back of my head. I picked up my cup of hot black coffee and instead of taking it into his office with me, I sipped from the cup, smiling from my devious thoughts of tossing the coffee at him. Moving like a turtle, I placed the cup on my desk and straightened my gray fitted skirt that was glued to my healthy curves. I flattened the wrinkles on the front and made sure that the silver buttons were buttoned on my silk rosy-red blouse that squeezed my forty double-D’s. Sometimes Mr. Wright complained about my attire. To him, for a full-figured woman I dressed too sexy, bringing unwarranted attention. And for anyone to stop at my desk to pay me a compliment, that was a distraction.

I considered myself to be a beautiful forty-year-old woman. I was confident about myself and even though my breasts weren’t as perky as they’d been before and some cellulite was visible on my thighs, there wasn’t much for me to complain about. Those things came along with the territory, and my two-times-a-week workout wasn’t going to change a thing. My four-mile walk aerobics class helped me stay fit, but I had an addiction to sweets! Still, my body was proportioned well and what kind of man didn’t want a woman with some meat on her bones? Reggie never had any complaints, but I had a feeling he traded me in for a woman who was half my size and age. It was his loss, though, and whenever I confessed my true age, no one believed me. My hair was healthy as ever and with the help of Pantene shampoo and conditioner, it gave me the feathery bouncing and behaving dark brown long hair I was aiming for. Halle Berry with long hair was written all over my face, but my body was thick like Toccara’s from America’s Next Top Model. Resembling Halle or having Tocca-ra’s body wasn’t enough to spare me from losing the love of my life though. No doubt, I had to get over Reggie and it was a crime for a woman like me to feel so alone.

I slid my feet into the gray three-inch stilettos underneath my desk and made my way into Mr. Wright’s office. He rubbed the wrinkles on his face up and down, massaging it with pressure. His cold blue eyes searched me over and a deep sigh followed as he extended his hand.

“Have a seat, Desa Rae.”

I took a seat in the cherry oak leather chair that sat in front of his rectangular-shaped desk. Papers were spread out everywhere and his phone was buried somewhere underneath. I had attempted to organize Mr. Wright’s office for him, but he was a serious pack rat. He hated to throw away anything, but some of the papers on his desk had started to turn yellow. I turned my eyes to the six smashed cigarettes in his ashtray. His office had a smoky smell covered with cheap Glade garden spray, and I hated it. I figured since he was under pressure, I was about to get an earful. I then looked at the round clock on his wall, seeing that I was ten minutes away from taking my lunch. Obviously, he needed to hurry up with what he wanted to discuss.

Mr. Wright peeled the black-framed glasses away from his face and then combed his fingers through his layered salt-and-pepper hair.

“I need a vacation,” he yawned. “And when I get back, maybe my secretary—administrative assistant—will have all of my letters correctly typed for me, my office will be spotless and I’ll never be late for an appointment because she remembered to tell me.”

I had been through enough in my personal life, and for Mr. Wright to add to my misery wasn’t going to benefit him in any way. No, I hadn’t been giving this job my all, but he knew about my divorce from Reggie. He knew that my son had gone away for college and it seemed as if he wasn’t willing to cut me any slack.

I repositioned myself in the chair and crossed one of my moisturized legs over the other. It was best that I kept quiet, and if I didn’t have anything nice to say then I wasn’t going to say it at all. I turned my attention to my chipped fingernail and thought about how badly I needed a manicure.

“Desa Rae,” Mr. Wright said in a high-pitched voice. “Are you with me or is your mind floating somewhere else?”

With a blank expression on my face, I looked at Mr. Wright. “You asked me to take a seat, so I did it. You haven’t required anything else of me, so I assumed my job was to just listen.”

He threw his hand back at me and looked at his watch. “Would you mind bringing me a bagel sandwich with turkey, ham and cheese back for lunch? The deli shop on the corner has awesome sandwiches and you should get one too.”

“My car really needs to be washed, so I planned to stop by a car wash. If you allow me a bit more time, I’ll stop by the deli for our sandwiches.”

“I’ll allow you an extra fifteen minutes,” he said, then handed me a Post-it note. “Before the day ends, there’s a list of things I need you to take care of. It’s not much, but if you have any questions about my requests, you can reach me by cell phone. After lunch, I’m leaving to spend the day with my wife. Today is our thirty-first anniversary and I’ve made special plans for us. Before you go to lunch, if you could call the florist and have some flowers delivered to my house, I would appreciate it.”

I gazed over the Post-it note that specified minimal things for me to do, including finishing the letter I’d been working on and having it distributed. Mr. Wright had even drawn a smiley face on the Post-it, encouraging me to have a great day. I smiled and held out my hand. He inquisitively looked at it.

“What is it?” he asked. “You want more work to do?”

“Happy anniversary, but I need money for your bagel sandwich. You don’t think I can walk in there and get it for free, do you?”

He chuckled and reached in his back pocket. “You’re a fly young woman and you should be able to get whatever you want for free.” He gave me a ten-dollar bill from his busted-up brown leather wallet. His credit cards had fallen out and so had his driver’s license. I reached for it, holding it in my hand.

“At your age, Mr. Wright, what do you know about a woman being fly? Your grandkids aren’t encouraging you to be hip, are they?”

“My grandkids are all a mess. They say I’m too old-fashioned, but I’m set in my ways. I’m appalled that they listen to rap music, and they drink and smoke pot too darn much for me. I can’t tell you the last time I’ve seen any of them read a book, and my youngest grandchild, Katie, she’s adapted a new gothic look. What’s going on with these kids today, Desa Rae? It wasn’t like that when I was growing up.”

I stood up, wiggling my hips a bit so my skirt could drop to knee-length level. “Those days are long gone, Mr. Wright. Things have changed, and the best thing we can do for our children is be there for them.”

He stood up too. His black slacks squeezed his waistline and his pot belly hung over his leather belt that was there to keep everything intact.

“Well, I’m not quite ready to accept this change yet. I’d love people to get back to their conservative values and start doing what’s right for this country.”

I felt our conversation getting political, but I couldn’t help myself from going there. “With Obama being our president, you can count on change. Whether you like him or not, this country is moving more toward the middle and it will stay there for a long, long time to come. To me, he’s what’s right for this country and some of you older folks need to get with the program.”

A die-hard Republican, Mr. Wright rolled his eyes and grunted. He reminded me of an angry Clint Eastwood, but I figured he meant no harm. Sometimes, though, by the things he said, he could easily be considered a racist. Then there were times that he seemed to simply care about people, no matter what color they were. He gave a lot of his money to charity, volunteered, and contributed an enormous amount of money to the college we worked for. His money helped many black students get scholarships and that was something about him that I couldn’t help but to admire.

I followed behind him as he made his way to the door. His black leather shoes had scuff marks on them and his shirt could have been one size larger. For a man to have as much money as he did, when it came to his attire, obviously, clothes weren’t his priority. He wore the same suit at least twice a week and his white shirts always looked dingy. He took frugal to a whole new level, but I guess spending money on clothes wasn’t something he viewed as a necessity.

“I’m going to the men’s room. Don’t forget about my wife’s flowers and I’ll see you when you get back from lunch.”

Mr. Wright flat-footedly walked away and I sat at my desk to call the florist. After I had a dozen roses sent to Mrs. Wright, I called to wish her a happy anniversary. She was one of the nicest women I’d ever met, and even though, at times, I hated to admit it, so was her husband.

The long line at the car wash made me very impatient. The workers were horseplaying around and seemed so darn unprofessional. One worker was on his cell phone cussing at his girlfriend and another was arguing with a white man about some spots the worker missed inside of his car. Lil Wayne’s “Lick Me Like a Lollipop” was thumping through the loudspeakers and when I saw two females out of their cars shaking their asses, I was in disbelief. Of course, the attention they got delayed the workers even more. And after seeing numerous people waiting in line too, I was embarrassed. The hot sun was baking my body and my wet silk blouse was starting to stick to my skin. I stood close by my car, only to reach inside for my glasses to protect my eyes from the sun’s bright glare. As soon as I covered my eyes, my cell phone buzzed. I looked to see who it was and it was Reggie. The last thing I needed was to hear his voice, so I let the call go straight to voice mail.

“Sucker,” I mumbled, tossing the phone inside of my tiny purse. I tucked it underneath my arm, abruptly walking inside of the car wash to speak to a manager.

“Can I help you?” the man behind the counter asked.

“May I speak to the manager?” I politely asked.

“Can I ask what for?”

I forced out a fake smile. “I prefer to speak to the manager about my concerns, if you don’t mind.”

The man twisted his thick crusty lips and walked away from the counter. Moments later, he returned, asking me to take a seat.

“The manager ain’t here, but I got somebody else you can talk to.”

I cut my eyes at him and wouldn’t dare to take a seat in the lined-up blue chairs that had stains all over them. I could have easily gone somewhere else, but this place was close to my job. My Lincoln MKS needed a cleaning right here and right now. Time definitely wasn’t on my side, and I knew that Mr. Wright was eagerly waiting for his bagel sandwich.

I gazed out of the huge smudged window at four black and two white men in darkblue jumpsuits sitting around doing nothing. The line with people waiting had gotten longer and some people started to leave. I shook my head and one of the workers had the audacity to look inside and blow me a kiss. My middle finger trembled by my side and I surely thought about lifting it so he could see it. My don’t-mess-with-me expression said it all, but it wasn’t enough to keep the man from coming inside.

“Is there somethin’ I can help you wit?” he asked, entering the door.

I looked at his name stitched into his jumpsuit. “Bud, I don’t think so. You look as if you’re too busy to help anyone.”

“I’m on my break, but for a scrumptious-lookin’ cookie like you I’ll—”

“Please don’t do me any favors,” I snapped. “There are people out there who’ve been waiting and waiting on your services. This is ridiculous and I can’t believe I’m standing here trying to coach you into doing your job.”

Bud’s eyes damn near popped out of his head. “Another angry black woman,” he spat. “Y’all need to cut us some slack. I offered to help, but you don’t want it. You’d rather stand there wit yo’ fine bitter self and attack . . .” My arched brows quickly shot up. This man didn’t know anything about me to call me bitter. And his “angry black woman” comment sparked a major nerve. My middle finger rose and I was about to tell Bud to kiss where the sun didn’t shine. Instead, I was interrupted by someone clearing their throat. My head snapped to the side and I witnessed an extremely attractive young man standing close. He immediately reminded me of Lance Gross, Tyler Perry’s House of Payne’s character, Calvin. Due to the dirty blue jumpsuit he had on, he wasn’t as clean cut as Calvin, but his dark and lovely smooth skin, thick dark eyebrows, and “lure me into your bedroom” hooded brown eyes nearly swept my feet from underneath me. His thin mustache was trimmed to perfection and so was the minimal hair that suited his chin. I hurried to gather myself, and when he turned toward Bud, I listened in.

“Are you finished with yo’ break yet?” he asked.

“Almost. I just came inside to see if I could help out this lady. She seems upset about somethin’, but I’m not sure what’s up.”

I looked at the name Roc stitched into Mr. Sexy’s jumpsuit. “Are you the manager?”

He shrugged as if he didn’t give a damn about my concerns. “No. But I’m in charge of things around here right now. What up?”

I dropped my head back and let out a frustrating sigh. All I wanted was a car wash, but instead I had yummy and dummy standing there as if I’d done something wrong. I tightened my lips to keep quiet and made my way to the door. Roc saw the smoke coming from my ears and hurried behind me.

“Did I say somethin’ wrong?” he asked.

I kept on moving. My long hair was bouncing and my brisk walk implied that I would never, ever visit this place again. When I got to my car, I got inside and slammed the door. Roc stood with a confused expression on his face, and while rubbing his coal-black neatly lined waves, he squinted his eyes from the bright sun. I put my car in reverse, but couldn’t go anywhere because another car was behind me. I hit my hand on the horn and couldn’t believe how upset I was.

“Damn it!” I yelled.

Roc stepped up to my car, pressing his hands against it. He bent down and looked at me through the lowered window.

“Are you havin’ a postal moment or what? Maybe I should back away from the car in case I get shot. You too dope to be as angry as you are, and if I’ve done anything to upset ya, hey, my bad.”

I took another deep breath to calm myself. I’d been overreacting to a lot of things lately, but that was to be expected. I turned to Roc and zoned in on his straight pearly whites.

“Look,” I said with frustration in my eyes. “All I want is my car washed. Is that asking too much? I’m on my lunch break and I have thirty-five minutes left.”

Roc backed away from the door. “Come on, get out of the car. Leave it runnin’ and I’ll personally take care of you.”

That was music to my ears, so I got out and let Roc get in.

“No offense,” I said. “But your jumpsuit is kind of dirty. My seats are off-white and I’d hate for them to get any dirtier.”

Roc pointed to his chest. “I thought that’s why you were here? Ain’t it my job to clean the outside and inside of yo’ car?”

“True. But you have grease on your jumpsuit. Right at your midsection.”

Roc looked down, but it wasn’t at his midsection. “Thanks for noticin’,” he said and winked.

He got out of my car, standing tall in front of me. He reached for his zipper and our eyes were in a deadlock as he slid the zipper down, past the hump I’d already noticed in his pants. I felt so ashamed for getting myself worked up over a young man like him, but his sexiness was hard to ignore. He kicked off his black rubber steel-toed-boots and the jumpsuit came off next. Underneath he sported a white wife beater and jeans that hung low on his nicely-cut midsection. His arms were toned to perfection and he had tattoos on both of them. Still, his arms looked smooth as a baby’s bottom, and how dare me stand there, gawking at him as if I hadn’t eaten anything chocolate all day.

“I—if you don’t mind, I’m going inside to suck up the air conditioner. Please come get me when you’re finished.”

Roc nodded and I made my way back inside, swaying my noticeable hips from side to side. I got a few whistles, and even though they were from Bud, I didn’t seem to mind.

As Roc detailed the heck out of my car, I watched his every move through the window. His body was now dripping with beads of sweat and the thoughts in my head had gotten downright nasty. I visualized my light-skinned legs resting comfortably on his shoulders as he pumped hard inside of me. I gave him head while he tongue tortured my tunnel in a 69 position. Even Reggie couldn’t do it like that. I smiled . . . Roc smiled. I assumed he liked it rough, but then again, his voice had a romantic pitch to it. Yeah, he was a thug, but . . . How old was he? I thought about his age while biting my already chipped nail, trying to take back my outrageous thoughts. He had to be at least the same age as my son, Latrel, or maybe a tad bit older. I couldn’t quite understand my immediate attraction to him, but maybe it was due to me feeling so alone. I chalked it up as him being a cute young man who was probably dating several attractive young women. Like the one with the petite figure who stood close by as he wiped my windshield. She wasn’t giving him much breathing room, and by the evil stares she gave him, I could tell there was involvement. No doubt the competition looked steep, and if he was interested in women that small, I was way out of his league.

Roc tucked the dry washrag into his front pocket and reached in his back pocket for his wallet. I saw him hand over several bills, and afterward the young woman walked away. She sped off and he looked inside, focusing his eyes in my direction. I grinned, while taking a glance at my watch. Time was not on my side, so I left the building and walked over to my car.

“I’m just ’bout finished,” Roc said, turning the rag in circles on my windshield. “Feel free to inspect it.”

I walked around my car, silently admitting that he had done a pretty good job. When I noticed a tiny speck of dried water on the trunk, I called him out on it.

“Ooops,” I said. “You forgot something.”

He turned his attention to the trunk and looked at the dry water speck. “Are you serious?” He smiled, rubbing the tiny spot with a towel. “If you look hard enough, you might find more of those.”

“I hope not. Besides, how much is this going to cost me? If there are spots on my car, then maybe you should consider offering me a discount.”

He faced me and leaned his backside against the trunk. His arms were folded in front of him and bulging muscles were clearly on display.

“I usually don’t offer peeps discounts, especially if the Roc personally takes care of them. But in this case, I got a better idea.”

My hand went up to my hip as I felt the bullshit about to go down. “I’m almost afraid to ask about your idea.”

“It’s simple. What’s yo’ name?”

“Desa Rae. Why?”

“Dez, let me get yo’ sevens so I can call you up and take you to dinner. How ’bout that?”

My eyes lowered to the ground, then connected with his. “Just for the hell of it, Roc, how old are you?”

Not holding back, he came out with it. In slow motion, I watched his thick lips spit out the number, “Twenty-four.”

“How old are you?” he asked.

He was only five years older than my son! There was no way I could go there. “You know what . . . my age doesn’t even matter. How much do I owe you?” I opened my purse, reaching for my wallet.

“The wash was on me. Now, to be fair, can you answer my question or did you just realize that this young man may be too much for you to handle?”

I tossed my hair to the side with my fingers and hurried to wrap up this conversation that was going nowhere. “I’m forty, Roc. Thanks for the free wash and you’re right, you are too much for me to handle.”

I headed to the driver’s door and opened it. Once inside, I reached for my seat belt to strap myself in. Roc bent down to look into the window.

“Somehow, I feel as if I got snubbed.” He pulled the wet wife beater away from his chest and wiped some of the sweat from his face. “I’ve been out here sweatin’ and slavin’ like a Hebrew slave for you and this is how you treat me? I see you got ghost when I told you my age, but if I told you I was thirty-one would you believe me? Better yet, would it make a difference?”

I couldn’t help but smile at his attempts, and they definitely required a response. “No, it wouldn’t make a difference.”

“Why? ’Cause you lied about yo’ age? You know damn well you ain’t no forty. Thirty, maybe, not forty.”

“I have no reason to lie to you, and if I had time, I’d show you my driver’s license. I don’t, so you’ll have to take my word for it. Now, if you don’t mind, I really need to get going.”

“Can’t say I didn’t try,” he said, shrugging and backing away from the car so I could drive off. I did just that, but couldn’t help but take another look at him in my rearview mirror. I licked my bottom lip, biting into it.

Damn, I thought. If he were only ten . . . fifteen years older.

Latrel was coming home for the weekend, and as usual, Reggie and I had been arguing over where Latrel would stay. After our divorce, Reggie had to give up our three-bedroom, two-bathroom ranch-style home that we’d stayed in for years. Latrel had a decked-out bedroom in the basement, so it only made sense that he would agree to stay with me. The decision was his, but when he opted to stay with his father at his condo in Lake St. Louis by the lake, I got upset.

“You don’t love me, do you?” I asked with the phone pressed up to my ear.

“Mama, you know that ain’t fair. I love you . . . a lot, but I want to check out Dad’s new place by the lake. You and me gon’ hook up. Besides, I want you to meet my new girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend? That was quick, and shouldn’t you be focusing on school and your basketball career?”

“Trust me, I am. I get lonely sometimes, Mama, and Tracie kind of been there for me.”

My heart softened at the thought of him feeling alone. I definitely knew how that felt. “What time will you be here and where is Tracie going to stay?”

“I’ll be there around noon and Tracie is staying with me. I already talked to Da. . .