A Love Thang - Sneak Peek

Three childhood best friends navigate life and love in the windy city. Jonathan, a former professional athlete, has a heart of gold for his friends but is stone cold to women. Love ’em and leave ’em is his motto, but when his reckless lifestyle spills over into the lives of his loved ones, will he finally confront his demons? Tyreese is a bestselling author who has made his fortune writing love stories, yet he can’t seem to craft his own happy ending. When an old friend comes to town for a funeral, he realizes she’s everything he needs in a woman. Problem is, she lives over seventeen hundred miles away and they are both in relationships. Monica is the mama bear of the trio. She loves hard and is fiercely protective of everyone except herself. A chance meeting with a former co-worker ends in a night of explosive sex that causes her to keep a secret from her friends. Her heart and mind are at odds in her new relationship, but she’s willing to risk it all for a chance at love. Witty, sexy, and deeply poignant, A Love Thang reveals the softer side of veteran author Alex Richardson.

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Chapter One - Jonathan

The slowly rotating ceiling fan had my undivided attention as I lay on my back, and my eyes began to focus. Someone was in my hotel room. I knew this because I could hear the pulsating jets in the shower. As the morning sun splintered through the blinds, my eyes left the ceiling and moved to the window.

My head slightly hurt, and I could still hear the middle-aged Cuban pounding on the conga drums at Club 151 last night. Nestled on the edge of Miami’s South Beach party district, it was an adult playground. There was something for everyone at the exotic club with its flashing lights, tropical plants, waterfalls, and sexy women and men with money to burn. Anyone who was somebody frequented the popular spot. Naturally, people indulged in the opposite sex, sometimes the same sex, pills, and other temptations that made the nightlife irresistible.

Raising my torso from the cream-colored high thread count sheets, I scanned the hotel room for a clock, but I couldn’t find one. White curtains flapped as a breeze blew in from the two open windows that faced the ocean. I reached for my iPhone and checked the time—nine o’clock in the morning.

“Damn,” I mumbled.

I had a flight to catch, but it was too early for me to get up after partying all night. And it damn sure was too early for the temperature to rise so fast, pushing a warm, humid breeze into the room, even in November.

The faint melody of a beautiful singing voice flowed from the shower. A voice that jogged my memory of the night before. As I turned over in bed, a slight smile creased the corner of my mouth until I saw the three-pack of Magnums. The prophylactics were unopened, which made me nervous. My best friend, Monica, who was more like a protective sister, came to mind. She always said, wrap that pickle up. Damn, how much did I drink?

I threw the sheet off my body and was relieved to see that my Cubavera drawstring linen pants were still on. At least I hadn’t gone crazy and had unprotected sex with a woman I’d only known for a night.

If my memory served me correctly, her name was Linda. Last night, my best friend, Tyreese, and I were bobbing our heads to Caribbean music and soaking up the atmosphere when Linda walked up. Her rust-colored dress hugged her frame and showed off her sleek, toned figure with every step. Linda was curvaceous in all the right places, with perfectly sized breasts that looked like she paid for them. Doe-like brown eyes, caramel skin, and jet-black hair flowed past her shoulders, adding to her sultry look.

I stood, and the breeze hit my bare chest. Stretching like a cat, I thought about heading to the hotel’s gym. At thirty-one years old, I made sure I stayed fit and trim. Lifting weights and running three miles five days a week kept me in better shape than most men my age. My toned body and six-pack abs resulted from my career as a pro football player, which was short by my standards, but longer than most. The average run was just a shade over three years, and I had lasted for six. Although my pro-balling days were behind me, I had no plans to slack off and develop a dad bod before I even became a dad.

I massaged my temples. The slight headache killed any thoughts of making it to the gym. It was probably for the best since I had a plane to catch, and a quick workout would have had me cutting things close. Plus, I had company.

I entered the bathroom, and Linda looked my way through the slightly steamed shower door. Our gazes met for a moment before she closed her eyes, letting the rainfall showerhead rinse her body as she continued to sing. I stood there and boldly took in the beauty of her nakedness. She didn’t seem to mind, though.

Finally, I thumbed through the medicine cabinet and found some aspirin. There were a few complimentary packs of Bayer, and I dry swallowed them both. The pain relievers left a bitter, chalky taste in my mouth, but it would be worth it to get rid of this headache.

As I headed back to bed, the shower stopped running, but the singing continued and was more prevalent. A bottle of water was on the nightstand next to an ice bucket and an empty champagne bottle, which I promptly opened. I chugged about half the Aquafina to flush the nasty pill residue and hoped for immediate relief.

Linda walked out of the bathroom a few minutes later, brushing her dark hair. She had a thick, white bath towel wrapped around her body.

“Good morning,” she greeted.

Her greeting was as sexy as it was when she walked up to me at the club and introduced herself. I was sitting at the bar when she invaded my space, took my Mojito from my hand, and sipped. After I bought her a drink and myself another, we talked just enough to learn the basics.

Tyreese had talked and danced with Linda’s friend, but it didn’t take long before they got bored with each other and moved on to other people. Linda told me she was mixed—a hybrid of Black and Cuban. Her father had come over as a kid with his family during the Mariel Boatlift of 1980, when Fidel Castro opened the borders and allowed citizens to leave Cuba on boats that landed in Florida. She told me her parents met at the University of Miami.

“Good morning to you too,” I replied, keeping a poker face.

“You fell asleep on me last night. I think I was talking too much,” Linda commented as she stood in front of the mirror and worked her shoulder-length, jet-black hair into a ponytail.

“Conversation was excellent.” I shrugged. “The combination of being tired and drinking too much probably knocked me out.” It was the only thing I could think to say.

As fine as Linda was and how she moved on the dance floor, it was unlikely that any man had ever fallen asleep on her. Needless to say, I felt a bit embarrassed.

“It’s okay. We had an interesting conversation.” Linda set her brush on the dresser and turned to me with a smile. “That is, until you fell asleep.” She made her way to me as I sat on the edge of the bed. “I wasn’t tired, so I read some of that book over there.”

“How did you like it?”

Linda looked down at me. “I enjoyed it. There was one sex scene that made me want to wake you.” She chuckled. I could smell the minty toothpaste and fruity shampoo from the basket on the granite bathroom sink.

“You should have woken me.” I grinned as I took my eyes from hers and let them travel down and back up her frame, announcing my intentions without saying a word.

Linda softly pecked my lips. “Thought about it. That one chapter in the book where the guy kissed the woman from head to toe had me wondering things.”

Should’ve brushed when I got the aspirin, I thought. “Is that right?”

Linda popped me on the nose and smiled. “Yes. The way a man kisses tells a lot.” She sashayed away, knowing I was looking. “The book is excellent, so far. I think the woman is too arrogant, though.”

“Which woman?”

“The white girl. Sleeping with a married man. If that’s her thing, so be it. But to go to the man’s home? No, and I bet if I had kept reading, I would have found out that sister girl caught on to her and whooped that ass.” Linda picked up the book from the table. “Can I keep this? I would love to finish it.”

I toyed with the end of my beard like I had to think about it.

Linda twisted her lips and put a hand on her hip, almost daring me to refuse.

Finally, I stood and closed the distance between us—close enough for either of us to steal a kiss. Keeping my eyes fixed on hers, I took the book from her hand.

“I’ll get you an autographed copy.”

“How are you going to do that?”

“The guy who was with me last night, he wrote it.” She had a yeah right expression on her face. “No, I’m serious. I told you last night we were down here on business. He had a book signing at Barnes and Noble in South Miami.”

“The one on Sunset Drive?”

“Yep.”

“Shoot, I wish I had known. I would have supported.”

As if on cue, there was a knock on my door, and Tyreese called my name from the other side. When I glanced at the alarm clock on the nightstand, the time displayed in pale gray numerals reminded me that my flight was leaving soon, and I had agreed to meet my friends for breakfast. We always did that when we had an early flight, so we wouldn’t have to rely on airplane snacks. Usually, when we were on the road and I had a woman in my room, I wouldn’t let anyone in. Instead, I’d just text them that I’d be ready in a few. But, this time, after pointing to the door to see if it was okay with Linda, I opened it.

Tyreese stepped in and said in a jovial tone, “I guess you didn’t score last… oh….” He looked at Linda. “Hi.”

I closed the door, and Linda picked up the book. “So, you’re the author?”

“That’s me,” Tyreese confidently told her.

She did a slight roll of her eyes. “After your boy passed out on me last night, I read some while enjoying a glass of champagne. It’s really interesting.”

“I told her you would autograph it for her,” I informed Tyreese.

Always prepared to meet a fan, Tyreese reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a pen.

“Please put to your friend Linda and whatever else you want,” Linda requested.

Tyreese complied without hesitation. That’s the way he was with fans, always willing to please. The way he saw it, if someone was interested in his work, the least he could do was show them the same love. He handed Linda the book, said it was a pleasure to meet her, then tapped his Cartier watch, indicating that I needed to get a move on.

Once I closed the door behind Tyreese, Linda grabbed her clothes and got dressed. I packed, then gathered my things for the shower. I asked her to stay until I finished, but she said she had to go. However, she hesitated to leave and seemed to be waiting for something.

I had an idea of what she was waiting for, so I walked the short distance to the nightstand and unlocked my iPhone. “What’s your number?”

Linda gave me the digits, and I dialed them before hitting the green call button. The ringtone of a song I couldn’t put a name to played in her purse, and she pulled out her phone. “Okay, I got your number.”

With her head tilted to the side, she smiled. “Now, don’t take my number and not call me. You owe me some conversation since you fell asleep on me.”

I laughed lightly, still a bit embarrassed, then told her, “I will most definitely call, and if you’re ever in Chicago, we can have coffee.”

She pursed her lips. “Ah, coffee. You must have a woman back in the windy city.”

“I’m as single as they come. I just figured coffee would be better than inviting you to my place.”

“True. Look, I have relatives in Chicago, and I go there from time to time. So, if I’m in town, coffee can’t hurt. I’ll give you a call.”

“Deal.”

Chapter 2 - Tyreese

“You have a gift, you know,” Jonathan said over breakfast.

“I thank God every day, and I thank you,” I told my best friend as I bit into a slice of mango.

“Thank me for what?” Jonathan asked and ate a forkful of his open-faced omelet. “This white crumbly stuff is damn good. I’ve never had it before. What did you say it was?”

“God gave me the talent to write, but you gave me twenty grand to self-publish when none of those corporate mah’fuckahs would even consider my writing. And that’s feta, Greek cheese.”

“Well, it’s some good shit, and don’t even think about that money. You’re my guy, so it ain’t nothing.”

“From the womb to the tomb,” I said to my friend.

“Since bottles and pacifiers,” he added, and we knocked fists across the table.

“The kids done broke out the fucking daycare,” I said and laughed. That was a phrase Jonathan had used since we were teenagers whenever we accomplished something significant.

Jonathan wiped his mouth and looked around the restaurant. “We’ve done well for ourselves, and of course, we shut all the haters’ mouths when we made it.”

“That, we did.”

Jonathan and I were at 1 Hotel South Beach in Miami, where I had two book signings. One at Barnes and Noble and the other at a black-owned bookstore owned by an old college roommate of my friend and publicist, Monica. After the signing yesterday, we partied all night.

Jonathan loved to go on book signings with me. He was a former NFL wide receiver, standing six foot two, two hundred pounds, four-four speed, with hands soft as a pillow. Unfortunately, a knee injury ended his career, but luckily, he hadn’t wasted his money. Sure, my boy made it rain in strip clubs now and then, like many of his fellow players. But while Jonathan was making it rain, the other players were bringing in monsoons and hurricanes. Tossing money like there was no tomorrow.

Monica, our girl and the third leg of our friendship, had talked Jonathan out of frivolously spending his money. She had let him do his thing during his first couple of years in the league, but when his rookie contract was about to end, we both talked to him about saving and investing his money. He was a skilled receiver but second on the depth chart. We advised him to prepare for the future with the next contract because chances were there wouldn’t be a third, and it wasn’t.

After seeing too many athletes get taken by investment scams, Jonathan ensured it didn’t happen to him. In short, he was set because, aside from clothes and occasionally trading up in vehicles, he had no bills. His condo was bought and paid for when he signed his second contract to the tune of eight million. One costly payment he’d avoided was child support. After seeing many of his teammates pay out the nose for kids they created during one-night stands or temporary flings, Jonathan knew to avoid those traps.

Monica rode him hard about not making any babies with a woman looking for a meal ticket since he valued his money and freedom. Jonathan also had a thing about being an involved parent. So, he was determined not to have any children unless it was with the woman he planned to marry, grow old, and spoil grandkids with. Until he jumped that broom with the one he loved, he was content with being a player.

Jonathan perused the dining area. “Where the hell is Monica?”

“You know how she does. Tells us to be on time, and then she’s late herself,” I quipped.

Monica had been our friend since childhood. She used to work for a marketing firm, but after four years, they downsized, leaving her in the unemployment pool. Jonathan was out of the NFL, and Monica was out of a job while I was becoming one of the hottest authors around. Before achieving moderate fame, I was self-published, selling books in salons, expos, book fairs, and out the trunk of my car to anyone who would buy them.

Before long, my books started to generate a buzz. Word of mouth was working, but I needed to expand. Get my words out to the masses. So, when Monica came to me about being my publicist, I agreed. She converted all my self-published books to eBooks, and with one hell of an internet marketing plan, my sales took off, and so did my notoriety.

I had plenty left from the twenty grand that Jonathan had given me, so along with what I was raking in from royalties, I could pay Monica a decent salary. It wasn’t a ton of money, but it supplemented her income from working in retail. Additionally, Jonathan had paid off the mortgage on her townhome, so she could live comfortably while helping me. Monica was our girl, and she kept us out of trouble. She even played the part of a nagging protector at times, but that was cool because two black men who were always on the go needed that.

I must’ve talked Monica up because she was walking toward our table.

“Hey, black men,” she said in a condescending tone, letting us know something was on her mind.

Jonathan didn’t hesitate to mess with her. “Did someone wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”

I pulled Monica’s chair out, and she lowered her thick hips onto the seat.

“No, Jay, I woke up on the right side of the bed. The question is, did you two wake up alone?” Her eyes traveled from Jonathan to me, piercing us both with an accusatory glare. “You two better stop picking up these women who just pop up from behind every barstool. Besides, Tyreese, you have a woman, and she called me last night.”

“Toni called you?” I asked in surprise.

“Yes, she did. Said she called you, but your phone went straight to voicemail.”

“What did you tell her?”

“I told her we went to dinner and drinks after the book signing. And I let her know you had a lot to drink and went to sleep. You need to call her before we get on the flight, though.”

“Good looking out.”

“Why don’t you just get rid of her?” Monica suggested.

Jonathan wiped his mouth with the cloth napkin and dropped it on his plate. “Now, I’m with Monica on that one. She’s probably using the time you’re out of town to fuck around.”

With a roll of her eyes, Monica muttered, “I doubt she needs you to be out of town to do that. Besides, I don’t think she’s messing around. I think she has a stank attitude.”

“How can you be sure she’s not doing lay down exercises with another brother?” I jokingly asked, even though I really wondered.

“I just don’t think she is. But let me get on you for a moment, because two wrongs don’t make a right.”

“What?” I innocently asked.

“You know you’re wrong for letting this dog next to me lead you to the already too full pool of men who cheat.”

Jonathan furrowed his brow. “Why you trippin’? I thought you didn’t like Toni.”

“I don’t, but what’s right is right, and he doesn’t need to be out cheating. Cut her sorry ass loose and find someone better for you.”

“See, you saw me with that lady and assumed I did something. After dancing and drinks, I went to my room and went to sleep. I sent Toni to voicemail because if she couldn’t bring her ass down here with me, I wasn’t going to sit and talk on the phone.”

Realizing she was mistaken but too stubborn to acknowledge the egg on her face, Monica glanced at our plates and changed to a more upbeat tone. “Food looks amazing.”

“It’s fire. So, you’re eating, right?” Jonathan asked. Monica would often eat very little for breakfast or nothing at all.

“I had coffee earlier,” she said and frowned when she noticed my stare. “What? I’m going to eat on the plane.”

“Eat what, Monica? Peanuts?”

“You’re not the one carrying these hips around.”

Jonathan looked Monica over. “You act like you’re overweight. You look fine.”

Monica faked a laugh and quickly replaced her friendly tone with a stern one. “You can cut the bullshit with me. You don’t even look twice at anyone over a size eight with them Barbie bitches you deal with.”

Surprised, Jonathan said, “Whoa, now that’s a lie. I take ’em in all shapes, sizes, and colors.” He shot me a big smile. “And thick hips are fun to hold onto when I’m hitting it from behind.”

Monica couldn’t hold back her laugh as Jonathan held out his arms, acting like he was holding onto some hips as he pumped his pelvis a couple times.

She slapped his arm. “You’re stupid. Now, cut that shit out before people start looking at us like we’re crazy.”

“Start looking at him like he’s crazy,” I corrected.

I laughed along with my friends, but deep inside, I hoped for much more. I wanted the three of us to settle down. None of us had kids, and time was ticking. We had all passed the age of thirty, and the mid-thirties were creeping up fast. I felt awful for Monica. She was an exceptional woman who had made some bad choices in men. Unfortunately, my girl was a magnet for the wrong man, and after years of pain, she’d built up a wall that would take a jackhammer to tear down.

I took my phone out of my pocket as a waitress walked to our table with a serving tray. After the iPhone powered up, I pressed the contact number. As it rang, I put my finger up to my lips, letting Jonathan know not to say anything stupid.

“Hello,” Toni dryly answered, clearly pissed about not being able to catch up with me.

“Good morning, baby. How was your night?” I asked, ready for her attitude.

“Why didn’t I hear from you last night?” she hissed. Right on cue, whenever I went out of town, her attitude went into overdrive.

“You did.”

“No, I heard from you at five in the evening, and now it’s nine in the morning central time! So, that means it’s ten your time. That’s seventeen hours—”

Knowing how her mouth could motor a mile a minute, I cut her off. “We had dinner, drinks, and then I went to sleep. I woke up in the middle of the night. Now, I’m calling my woman to say good morning, but I see you have an attitude, so how about I let you go? We can talk, not argue, when I get home.”

Silence.

I imagined her rubbing her temples like her so-called spiritual healing friend taught her to relieve stress. The L Train rumbled in the background as I waited for her next words. Once it passed, Toni, with her sharpness toned down a notch, asked, “Are we going out tonight?”

I paused. “I’ll let you know when I get in—”

Click!

I stared at my phone and shook my head.

Monica looked up as she shook salt and pepper onto her food. She was always trying to watch her weight, so I’d ordered her the same omelet that Jonathan had before she arrived. The way I stopped talking mid-sentence and stared at my phone let them both know Toni had hung up on me.

“See, you two need to part ways. She’s not the one for you. A woman like that will have a brotha in jail on a bullshit domestic.” Monica put a forkful of food into her mouth.

“I feel you.”

A surprised look crossed Monica’s face. “Damn, this omelet is banging.”

Jonathan nodded. “Told you it was slammin’.”

Monica smiled devilishly. “You know my girl Eb is coming home for the holidays.”

“Damn, I haven’t seen her in close to six years,” I replied as I thought about Ebony’s pretty face.

“She lives in L.A.,” Monica told us.

“L.A.? What got her way out there? Some dude?” Jonathan asked.

“Her job, stupid. You know she went to college out there. Unfortunately, her grandmother passed away, so she’s coming home for the funeral.”

“Damn, I hate to hear that about her grandma,” I said.

“I’m going to the funeral. Maybe you can come with me, Tyreese.” Monica shot me a coy look. “You’ll get to see her, and maybe you two can talk.”

Jonathan released a quick laugh. “Monica, that sounds crazy as hell. You trying to get Tyreese hooked up at a funeral?” He then frowned as he shook his head. “Anyway, I don’t do funerals.”

“I wasn’t talking to your ass. And who said anything about hooking up? I said so they could see each other. If she likes what she sees, then he’ll be on her mind.”

I shook my head. “I gotta agree with Jonathan. It would seem kinda weird, especially since it’s her grandmother’s funeral.”

“I thought if y’all saw each other,” Monica smiled, “there could be some sparks.”

“I’ll take a hard pass on the funeral.”

Monica pointed her fork at me. “Whatever. Keep kicking it with Toni’s ass, then.”

I brushed off her comment. “How’d her grandmother pass?”

Monica sipped her water and wiped the corner of her mouth with her napkin. “She was sick with cancer that she didn’t know she had. Her family doctor kept diagnosing her cough as some type of cold. Finally, her grandma got sick one day and went to the emergency room. When the ER doctor checked her, he found that cancer had been in her lungs for a while.”

“Damn,” Jonathan and I said in unison.

“Yeah, tell me about it. He gave her six months to live. But, sadly, she passed a week after the diagnosis.”

We talked for a bit more, then returned to our rooms to get our bags. It was almost 11:00, and our flight back to Chicago was due to leave in a few hours. Once I checked out, I took a seat in the lobby to wait for my friends. I had just sat down when a young lady walked up to me.

“Excuse me. Are you Tyreese Davis?”

“Yes, I am. At least that’s what it says on my license,” I responded and flashed my signature smirk.

She smiled like a child meeting Santa. “Oh, my god. I love your books! I have them all. Can you sign my notebook? Damn, I wish I had one of your books with me. This will have to do, though.” She reached into her handbag and pulled out a spiral-bound planner.

“You can put your notebook away,” I told her.

“Oh, okay.” She frowned and put her notepad back in her bag. “Sorry to bother….”

Her voice trailed off, and her smile returned when I reached into my bag and pulled out my latest novel, Eyes Are Watching.

“Anything in particular you want me to say?” I asked as I opened the book to the title page.

“To Vikki, my best friend in the world,” she dictated.

I autographed the book and handed it to her. Her smile widened as she read what I had written.

“Thank you so much! You made my day!” she exclaimed as Monica walked up.

“This is my friend and publicist, Monica,” I introduced them. “Monica, this is Vikki.” I smiled at Vikki before repeating part of what I had written. “My best friend.”

Vikki smiled, and even though her skin was dark, I knew she was blushing.

Monica pulled her phone out and motioned for us to take a picture. After she snapped the first photo, Monica asked for Vikki’s cell.

Vikki struggled a bit to pull her phone from the pocket of her white capris. The pants looked like they had been painted on her curvaceous lower half. She put the phone on camera mode, handed it to Monica, and stood next to me. Her arms snaked around my waist, and mine went around her shoulders. We embraced like we had known each other for more than the few minutes we had actually been acquainted. After Monica took one photo without a flash and one with, Vikki checked them both and smiled.

When Monica asked if it was okay to put the photo on my social media, the corners of Vikki’s mouth curled even more.

“Last time I checked, this one was on the New York Times Best Seller list.”

I smiled. “Follow me on Facebook and Instagram.”

“I already do.” She winked and walked off, looking at the autograph again.

Jonathan strolled up to us as Monica checked the Uber app and saw that our ride to the airport was a minute away. We gathered our bags and headed out to wait for the UberX.

Our three-day stay in Miami was over. Two book signings, shopping, dining, and a night of partying. We had a great time enjoying the sights and weather of South Florida. The Florida sun had kissed the three of us, and my skin was now a darker hue of brown.

Now it was time to head back to the November nippiness of the windy city.

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