If I Can't Have You

Book 1: If I Can't Have You

by Mary B. Morrison

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

Synopsis

No matter how direct Loretta is, Granville doesn't get it. He was fine when it came to burning up the sheets, but that's where their connection ends--or so she thinks. When he begins stalking her, Loretta's gorgeous girlfriend, Madison, claims she can tame any man...so Loretta dares Madison to prove she can tame Granville. But sexing Granville while she's engaged to the most eligible bachelor in Houston may cost Madison more than Loretta's bet is worth. . .

Release date: May 16, 2014

Publisher: Dafina

Print pages: 385

Sample

“ ‘You can’t see it.... It’s electric!’ ”

The music moved through me like lightning. Happiness filled the room with smiles and laughter. My hips swung to the beat and my feet moved along the hardwood floor as though my Louboutin red-bottom stilettos had wheels.

I was glad my girlfriend had let me sponsor her post-wedding reception at Black Swan and the Nest at Black Swan. My gift to her cost me twenty grand to rent out the entire space on their most popular night, Saturday. Food, alcohol, the champagne fountain, decorations, party favors, and all the trimmings were an additional thirty thousand, but Tisha was worth every penny.

We’d been friends since kindergarten, joined at the hip with Loretta. The stories we shared over the years from losing our virginity to pledging different sororities were beyond entertaining. What I loved most was, we weren’t three of a kind. Each of us had unique looks and styles, and we’d taken separate career paths. At times our friendship was tested, but our bond was never broken for long. When things fell apart, Tisha was our glue.

As I spun around, the split in my green-and-gold spaghetti-strap dress exposed my left leg from my ankle to the space adjacent to my vagina. “Daring,” “diva,” and “delicious” best described my infectious personality. Every day I opened my eyes, I was ready to see the world and all the rich men in it. A broke man couldn’t do anything to or for me.

I spun again, almost tripping over my man as he got down on one knee. I gyrated in his face. Feeling the heat of his hand against my inner thigh, I moved with an “uh, yeah, take that, and this” motion.

Damn, if the place were empty, I’d shake out of my thong and let him taste me.

My man strived to be the best at e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g. I did too. Our individual success made us a dynamic power couple.

“I love you, Madison Tyler. Will you marry me?”

In the midst of grooving, with over fifty people surrounding us and doing the electric slide, I stopped dancing. The moment I’d been waiting for had arrived in style. I couldn’t hold back the tears. What girl didn’t want a husband to love and adore her for the rest of her life? I was positive I wanted to get married.

“Yes! Yes, I will marry you, Roosevelt!” I wasn’t sure if he was the one, but he’d do for now. I was attracted to one of his assistant coaches, Blue Waters, but he wasn’t the head coach or close to being hired as executive vice president/general manager like my man. Sorry, Blue. Any girl who knew her self-worth understood that status mattered.

Roosevelt didn’t like his first name, but I appreciated it more than what everyone else called him, Chicago. I found Southerners strange in many ways. Being the fairest of Creoles from Port Arthur, Texas, I had a bundle of eccentric ways, but I wasn’t crazier than some of my relatives who still lived there.

A teardrop clung to Roosevelt’s eyelid. He had no middle name, so his family gave him a nickname when he was a toddler. They weren’t from Chicago, and he hadn’t visited the Windy City until he was in college playing football. The only rationale for his nickname was the Bears were his father’s favorite team. Since he was firstborn, the name stuck, but his brother, Chaz, was always called by his real name.

The ice cube he was sliding on my ring finger blinded me. Damn! My heart pounded like a drumbeat. I held my hand in front of my face and cheesed the widest grin ever. I pulled Roosevelt to his feet by his lapel, leapt into his arms, smashed my lips against his, and held them there.

The “Electric Boogie” faded from blasting to silence.

“Did Chicago just propose to Madison?” DJ Chip asked. He was the DJ for our football team and mixed up the beat every Saturday at the Black Swan.

My arm shot up in the air. “He sure did!” I flashed my ring to all the bitches at my girl’s wedding reception. All the single females’ eyes melted in my shine. It didn’t matter who caught the bouquet; I was the envy of them all.

The desperate ladies dying to get a man were not my problem. And if they believed catching a bundle of flowers was the way to change their status from single, all I could say to them was “good luck.” I gave Tisha a big hug, because she had to be feeling really small right now. Wasn’t my fault she divorced a cheating millionaire and married her broke-ass high school sweetheart in the name of love. What a joke.

Tisha trotted upstairs and into the Nest, the private room I reserved for her immediate family and her closest friends. Stealing the spotlight from Tisha wasn’t planned. How was I to know my engagement ring would be a bigger solitaire than all the chips in her wedding band and engagement ring combined?

I’d turned to kiss Roosevelt again, when someone snatched my biceps. The grip was that of a blood pressure machine about to burst. My fingers automatically curled into a tight fist. As cute as I was, I wouldn’t hesitate to knock a trick on her ass.

I didn’t want to fight, but I swore if I turned around and saw one of those bold bitches who wanted my man was trying to ruin my moment, I was going to put my rock to work and lay her ass out, then glide over her as though I was on the red carpet.

These bitches were beneath me. All women were beneath me, including my best friends, Loretta and Tisha. When I saw it was Loretta, I uncurled my fist.

Loretta didn’t have a date at the wedding because she’d wasted her time dating that loser construction worker, Granville Washington. She should’ve brought him, anyway. It was unladylike for a real woman to escort herself to a function. He worked for me. I’d heard of him, but I had never met him. I had too many employees to meet them all.

From what she’d told me, I told her not to do him. Told her just because that misfit allegedly had a big dick—“big” was relative to the woman—and since Loretta and I didn’t travel in the same circle of men, I had no idea what he was working with. I said that she should leave him alone. He had nothing to lose. Outside of work, from what my girl said, he had no real interests other than taking her out, gazing into her eyes, drooling in her mouth, eating her pussy, and boning her.

From all the details she’d given me, Granville was a forty-five-year-old clumsy brute—six feet six inches, 285 pounds of muscle. The worst combination for a blue-collar man was to be good-looking, decent in bed, and to think he knew everything when what he truly was, was ignorant. Loretta should’ve taken my advice: took the dick and kept him moving. But no. Loretta always had to find the good in every man, until he treated her bad.

“Girl, let me—”

Before I finished protesting, I was being dragged off the dance floor, up the stairs, out the door, and onto the elevator.

“What the hell are you doing?” Loretta asked.

I flashed my ring in her face. “Duh. Trying to enjoy the moment. What’s wrong with you?”

She pulled me through the lobby, then outside by the swimming pool. “You can’t accept Chicago’s ring. You’re going to ruin another good man. You’ve already got what, six engagement rings collecting dust. It’s women like you who mess it up for women like me.”

“Correction. It’s eight. This makes nine. And see, that’s where you’re wrong. It’s women like you who allow men to dictate to you, instead of you training them like I’ve taught you. That’s how you end up with fucked-up men like Granville. You give up the pussy, then find out they’re crazy. By the way, have you filed that protective order, like you said you were going to do?”

“Have you fired him, like I’ve asked you?”

“He’s not my problem, but I did inquire about him. According to his supervisor, Granville is an excellent worker and does the work of ten men. I’d be stupid to fire him, especially without cause.”

“Forget Granville. I don’t want you to marry Chicago. What are his parents going to say about this? If he marries you, our entire football team is going to hell.”

“Not my problem.”

So what if his parents hate me? I’m not doing them. Hell, they probably aren’t doing one another. If they were, they wouldn’t be all up in my business.

Roosevelt appealed to me because he managed our professional football team. He was unquestionably a man of power: hiring athletes, chartering planes, making sure hotels, equipment, and food for the players and staff were taken care of. The scouts and video techs reported to him. He dealt with salaries, trades, and contract terminations. Made sure if any of his starters were hurt, he had talented backup. As the general manager, Roosevelt was in charge of everyone around him, except me.

No man could tame me. I had plans for Roosevelt. My first order of business was to make sure I married him right before he inherited the $20 million his grandfather was giving him and his brother, Chaz. Ten was for Roosevelt and me, and the other ten was for Chaz.

“Look at it like this, Loretta. The second the pastor says, ‘You may kiss the bride,’ I’m going to be on a first-name basis with the owners, all sixty-one ballers, the assistant coaches, and the head coach. You should be nicer to me. I might hook you up with a millionaire like Blue Waters, girlfriend. Stop hating on me because you can’t find the right man.”

“Fine, if you want to ruin Chicago’s life, go right ahead,” Loretta said, flinging my arm toward me. “But don’t overshadow Tisha’s wedding day.”

“Not my problem. Tisha shouldn’t have divorced her first husband and she damn sure nuff should’ve married a man with more money than Darryl. That way he could’ve paid for her ring and their reception.”

Loretta shook her head. “Damn, Madison. She married her high-school sweetheart. Girl, you’re lucky you’re my friend, or else.”

Marrying a high-school sweetheart when you’re thirty-five was backtracking to the tenth power. That was a huge mistake for Tisha. Fortunately, her ex-husband paid her a solid $20,000 a month for alimony and child support, but that was about to decrease once the ink dried on her license. Why any woman would marry a liability was beyond my comprehension.

“You’ve got that one twisted. The soon-to-be Madison DuBois is going back inside to celebrate her engagement. I suggest you stay your ass out here until you cool down. Trust me, you don’t want me to bust your business in front of Tisha’s guests.”

“Okay, Ms. Thang. Wait a minute,” Loretta said. “Since you’re so great at training men, I bet you that you can’t train Granville Washington.”

I stared at my girl. She must’ve been insane to give me a dare. She knew me better than that. Nobody challenges Madison Tyler and wins. I’d show her how good I was at getting my way with men.

“This’ll give me something to do while Roosevelt is on the road. But before I agree, what’s in it for me?”

Boldly she said, “Whatever you want.”

That wasn’t specific enough, but it was to my advantage. I could become Loretta’s worst enemy by the time I won this bet. I threw up my hands. Why was I entertaining her?

“Look, I’m not sure you have enough to lose for me to charm that loser.”

“Just what I thought. You’re all talk. Just because you have a banging body, booty, you’re gorgeous, and have a bubbly personality, you’re not all that, Madison. Men want women with integrity,” Loretta said, walking away from me.

“Integrity”? Is she serious?

I had all the assets men died to acquire. She also left out “scintillating.” If a man could get a beautiful woman whom all his boys wanted to fuck, he wouldn’t give a damn about her morals.

“Fine, I’ll prove it. But I’m not having sex with him.”

“That’s the only way you can win.”

I was so good that I could open an obedience school for men, but sexing Granville would go against my principles of giving charitable fucks. Not sexing him would give Loretta bragging rights . . . never. I’d show her ass. I was going to break this Granville guy in one weekend.

“Fine,” I said, walking away.

“One more thing,” Loretta said.

“What? Girl, what! You are ruining my moment.”

“Better for me to ruin yours than for me to stand by and let you do the same to Tisha. You never asked me what I wanted.”

I put my hand on my hip and placed my left foot forward. The split draped both sides of my leg.

Loretta said, “If I win, you’ll call off your wedding with Chicago.”

Whipping my dress like a bullfighter, I laughed, then shook my head. “Fine, bitch. Because we both know I’m not going to lose. You are.”

I stood naked in front of the bathroom mirror.

My once-size-six body wasn’t perfect anymore, but my heart was in the right place. Below my navel, I looked at the stretch marks on my stomach and upper thighs. I turned sideways to see more broken skin on my buttocks.

“Loretta, you are absolutely lovely,” I told myself. I smiled, but it wasn’t from the inside out. If I didn’t believe I was beautiful, it would show. Boosting my own self-esteem was harder than my friends and family thought.

Why hadn’t I attracted a good man to put a ring on my finger? A man who appreciated my size twelve and all the love I had to offer. Millions of men in Harris County and I end up with Granville.

What was it about him that constantly irritated me? That dumb look that was supposed to be sexy? Or his voice? It wasn’t his fault that he’d gotten shot. Well, actually it was. He’d told me that he wouldn’t stop pursuing another man’s wife after she’d slept with him. But when he told me that incident had happened twenty years ago, I figured he’d changed.

Should’ve listened to Tisha. She said people never changed. I believed people learned from their mistakes. And Madison didn’t care if they did or didn’t, as long as she got her way. Maybe this dare to have Madison sex and tame Granville was a bad idea.

I danced in the mirror, fighting back tears. My struggle for happiness was a tug-of-war. One minute I was cool; the next moment I was depressed.

If I were considerably lighter and could almost pass for white like my friend Madison, the scars that tore my flesh apart when I gained fifty pounds during my pregnancy wouldn’t be as visible. Thankfully, my gingersnap-colored breasts remained firm. My cinnamon areolas had grown wider during breast-feeding and stayed the width of my favorite cookies, Oreos. Fortunately, my nipples survived five months of gnawing; but at first I swore they were going to fall off from all the sucking, cracking, and bleeding.

I stopped dancing. I tucked my hair behind my ears, then stared into my eyes.

The physical pain during delivery and nursing didn’t last nearly as long as my heartache. I hated that I loved a man who didn’t feel the same way about me. It didn’t matter how many meals, pairs of underwear, gifts, or the engagement ring that Granville bought, he’d never be Raynard. No man had measured up to Raynard since our breakup six years ago.

Trusting a man who had lied to me so many times that I’d lost count made me part of the 70th percentile of African-American women who were single parents. I believed Raynard when he whispered in my ear, “We don’t need to use condoms anymore, Loretta. I’m your man. I’ll never leave you. You are the complete package. Beautiful. Intelligent. You own your house. You’re a pharmacist. Have a job earning over six figures a year. Have my baby and you can retire whenever you want.”

Madison warned me, “Don’t do it. If you give a man everything he wants before you get the ring, he has no incentive.”

She had her way of handling men and I had mine. I didn’t get pregnant right away; but two months after I did, Raynard started picking arguments. He blamed it on me, saying, “You’ve changed. Everything is about the baby, and the baby isn’t even here. Plus, you’re irritable all the time.”

I’d admit I was more sensitive, especially during my first trimester, but I hardly considered that irritable. Throwing up every morning for three months made me miserable. If my enthusiasm for sex and Raynard had faded, he’d made me that way when he began coming over late at night. By the time he got to my house, we had sex and went to sleep. He stopped having dinner and watching movies with me. Then some nights he wouldn’t come to my house at all.

Lying in the fetal position alone, hugging my stomach while crying myself to sleep, was not what I’d envisioned. After I started showing, my nose got wider, my face grew fuller, and my neck got darker. Raynard stopped being with me in public. When he did come by, his phone was ringing more than usual, even in the middle of the night. If it weren’t for my mom and my girls, Tisha and Madison, emotionally supporting me, I probably would’ve gone crazy.

It took a year for me to stop chasing Raynard. On our baby’s first birthday, I sobered up when he showed up late to the party, showing off his new girlfriend. She was nine months pregnant, and that was the first time I’d known he was dating someone. She clung to my daughter’s father damn near the entire hour they were there. Her other hand was constantly on her hip, thrusting her naked, stretch mark–free belly in front of my family, friends, and Raynell’s playmates.

Guess he’d told her the same thing he’d told me, except he must’ve meant whatever he’d said to her. Gloria was her name. Gloria Fountain. She looked like she’d swallowed a basketball. Maybe he was cool with her because she actually looked sexy carrying their unborn son.

A tear rolled down my cheek. I let another one chase the first one, until I found myself sobbing like a baby.

“Mommy, you okay?” Raynell asked, entering the bathroom. Her lips quivered.

“No, baby. Don’t cry. You know how I get when I think about your dad.”

Was it okay for me to let her see me come undone? What was I teaching my daughter? That it was okay for her to cry over a man who didn’t want her?

“Daddy loves you, too, Mommy,” she said. “I know he does. One day, when he’s done teaching my brother how to become a man, he’ll come live with us.”

Kissing her lips, I realized how naïve we both were. I even named our daughter with the belief that would make her dad come back. I still hadn’t given up hope that one day I’d have the family I always prayed for.

Raynard was the best man I’d met. He willingly paid child support. Went to court before I could file. He gave Raynell everything her six-year-old heart desired and more.

Every penny he’d given to us could be his, if he just stopped looking through me. I know Madison disagreed with me, but having the man was more important than having his money. Didn’t he notice how my eyes lit up whenever I saw him? I guess not. But I still loved him.

“Your daddy has another family, baby. Mommy will be fine. Go put your shoes on. Your dad will be here to pick you up soon.”

Raynell’s cheeks rose up toward her innocent brown eyes. The gap where we were waiting for her two front teeth to grow into was exposed up to her gums. “I love my daddy.”

“I know, baby. Now go. You know he doesn’t like waiting.”

I wanted to add “in his car,” but I didn’t. Whenever Raynell wasn’t ready on time, Raynard would sit in front of my house in his Lexus LX SUV with Raynard Jr. and his wife, Gloria.

Their son was now five years old. However, after he was born, Gloria didn’t like Raynard coming into my house. What made him stay with that . . . controlling bitch?

Maybe Madison was right. I was too nice, too honest, too trusting with men. The next man I met, I’d speak my mind instead of saying what I thought he wanted to hear. He’d be my bitch.

I slipped into my purple satin robe, dropped my cell phone into the pocket. I shook my head. I didn’t even feel right thinking I could talk down to a man I liked. Wasn’t it counterproductive for a woman to take on the role of the man? Or degrade a man she expected to uplift her?

Being at Tisha’s wedding last weekend gave me faith that one day I, too, would walk down the aisle in a striking white gown with a veil over my face. Tisha had two boys from her previous marriage, ages three and four. Her husband loved those boys like they had his DNA. Loved Tisha like she’d never been loved before. I wasn’t sure if Tisha divorced her multi-millionaire husband because he was cheating or because she never stopped loving Darryl.

Eventually my husband-to-be would uncover my face and gaze into my eyes. When the pastor said, “You may kiss the bride,” our eyes would close in unison and the touch of our lips would fill our bodies from head to toe with love.

Buzzz. Buzzz.

Quickly I covered my breasts, then tied my sash in a bow. Raynell was at the door, with her hand on the knob.

“You’d better not open that door, little girl,” I said, moving her hand.

“But—”

“No ‘but.’ You know the rules.”

“Yes, Mommy,” she said, lowering her head.

I opened the door. Raynell jumped into her father’s arms. Raynard handed me a shopping bag from Neiman Marcus. An envelope was on top. I took the bag and stared at him. No hellos or good-byes were exchanged.

He’d said that Gloria had told him there was no reason for him to speak to me: Greetings led to hugs. Hugs led to kisses. Kisses led to sex. Sex led to exes getting back together.

She sat in the passenger seat and watched us, as though she was a hawk and I was her prey. She had the man I once had. I turned away in defeat and gently closed my front door.

Opening the envelope, I discovered there was a check for $5,000. I tossed it on the coffee table. I guess I’d done something right. I wasn’t a groupie, but I’d managed to have a baby for my wealthy gynecologist. Five Gs was a fraction of what he earned for delivering one baby. And considering he brought babies into the world almost every day, Gloria had retired her crown before she walked down the a. . .