#PromoTour “Divorcing Atlanta” by Timmothy B. McCann

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DIVORCING ATLANTA

BY TIMMOTHY B. MCCANN

“(Until…) stands head and shoulders above the rest.” Eric Jerome Dickey, NY Times Bestselling Author

Pastor Lorenzo Richardson’s endeavors to fulfill the calling on his life—which is to change the world, one soul at a time, by starting in southwest Atlanta.

So when he loses people in his circle unexpectedly, the ministry he dedicated his life to fails, and his wife is embroiled in an adulterous public affair with a notable public figure. Pastor Richardson is at the end of his rope and decides to change the world he lives in forever.

Divorcing Atlanta is a moving yet timely account that will resonate with readers who believe in the unyielding power of redemption, choose love and hope over hurt and fear, and fight for what truly matters in their lives.

AVAILABLE ON

AMAZON

KINDLE UNLIMITED

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EXCERPT

Chapter One

Lorenzo

After I preached the last sermon I’d ever deliver, I sat in my neon green, Honda Accord, with my dad’s Bible in one hand and a Glock 17 in the other, contemplating how to get away with a robbery. Soon, this gun will make me money, send me to prison or kill me. My once perfect life, has come down to this.

When the sun began its tiptoe across the horizon, there was nothing that triggered such a thought. When you realize that you’ve given your all—yet if you should die before you wake, no one would care; it’s a dark and solemn place to dwell. That’s where I find myself tonight. And after I reconciled the potential jail time due to what I’ve already done, at this point, it doesn’t matter.

I delivered the shortest sermon I’d ever preached. I’m sure the sixteen people in the storefront church appreciated it. Seventeen, if you counted the pregnant white girl twice. It’s hard to minister on fumes. When you’re worried about the here and now, it’s damn near impossible to expound about the hereafter. I’m full in spirit, but in every single other way, I’m empty.

What does abject hunger feel like?

When you’ve gone a week without a decent meal. When starvation trickles up your spine. When it plays tricks on your mind, you hallucinate. Bones appear in your face, in places you’ve never seen before. Instinct compels you to lick your lips for comfort from time-to-time, and before your tongue can settle in your mouth, your lips are dry and need to be re-licked. Then the cramps kick in. That’s abject hunger.

You try to go to sleep. Because if you can just go to sleep, maybe you can find rest. You can find peace. You can awaken and things will be different. But you can’t.

After the church service, I did something my dad would’ve called a moral turpitude. I bought a four pack of wine coolers. I did so to escape—if only for the moment. All I know is this: When you’ve worked this hard to build a church, to be recognized for your endeavors nationally, it’s not supposed to end this way. I wasn’t supposed to be destitute at this point in my life. Wasn’t supposed to lose my congregation the way I lost them—and I wasn’t supposed to be contemplating the unthinkable in this hour.

The wind acts as an accelerant, which causes the clouds to roll. The taste of the earth floats on the air, and before I know it, soft sprinkles dot my skin. There’s a zing that teases my nostrils in the darkness of night, in a city bustling with activity—far from ready to fall asleep. An Über crammed with co-eds stops. They spill out.  They’re laughing, half lit; enjoying the first vestiges of a new day.

From a window on the fifth floor, a man screeches profanity at the top of his lungs to a group of young men sitting in their car blasting music.

“Turn that shit down! People gotta go to work.”

He’s ignored, and even if they heard him, they knew he’d never come down. People never come down in neighborhoods like this. They scream, pout, and go back to bed.

If one painted a picture and dubbed it, “Monday Night in Atlanta,” this is what would be captured in the frame. From my viewpoint I see the best and worst of Black America. Morehouse men talking to dope boys. Pinstriped professionals stepping over vomit. Everything one could both love and loathe is confined within three city blocks of a city that will let you call her ugly because she’s far too confident to care. If you closed your eyes in this part of town, you would feel so close to heaven you could hear the key of David being played, so close to hell you’d smell souls frying.

This is where I find myself tonight.

On one side of MLK, there’s a mural of Trayvon, George, Breonna and Ahmaud. The artist has added Rayshard’s smiling face, along with three additional blank spaces and the caption, “U Next?” beneath them. On the other side, twinkles of moonlight shine on crushed takeout cups, Colt 45 cans, and discarded Swisher Sweets wrappers. There’s a homeless man or woman sleeping at the bus stop, and the scent of vomit swings haltingly low to the ground.

I decide if I am going to do this—I need to game it out. In the age of Corona everyone’s face is half-covered, so there’s no need for a ski mask. Check.

I have a Walmart bag for whatever is in the register or stashed behind the counter. Check.

Once I’m out the door, I’ll jump in the car. Then it occurs to me. My car is disabled as well. Plan B—dip into the night and deal with it later. Check.

I’m told that in neighborhoods like this, for insurance purposes, they can’t chase you. If you have a gun and get out the door, they have to let you run.

God, I pray that’s true.

I massage the back of my neck, bite the inside of my lip, reach between the center console of the car, and retrieve a keepsake from my youth—a Kingsman chess piece from my first national chess tournament. I was ranked in the top two hundred players under thirteen. I hold it to reconnect. It takes me back to the south side. But on nights like tonight, I need it for peace. There’s something about the ridges of the crown and the smooth black finish of the base that centers me and forces me to think strategically. It binds the intellectual, spiritual, and emotional man within. Never have I needed this more.

My throat is bone dry in spite of my beverage of choice. I glance at my watch, put the Bible in the back seat, and cover it with my hand.

“Father forgive me,” I murmur, “for what I’m about to do.”

I look across the street. My heartbeat settles. My breathing returns to normal. The king has done its job. I return the chessman to the console. Through clenched teeth I murmur, “It’s time.”

Across the street is the world-famous Busy Bee Café. Next to it, there’s a liquor store, followed by a pawn shop, liquor store, nail salon, comedy club, liquor store and strip club. All except for the Busy Bee are open for business. I know if I pull a gun out in a pawn shop, booty club, or liquor store, light will shine through me before I hit the ground. That leaves two options: rob the comedy club or rob a nail salon.

I exit the car. I hold the half empty wine cooler in the same sweaty and unstable hand I hold the Glock. To balance myself, I lean against my wet-from-the-rain Accord for support. It’s slippery, but it allows me to gain my composure and stop my spinning world. I’m a tad nauseous. Since I haven’t eaten, I dry heave. My body isn’t used to alcohol, even under normal conditions. Nevertheless, I wipe the creases of my mouth and stick the gun in the pit of my back under my belt as if I were on a cop show. Maybe it’s my situation. Maybe it’s the alcohol, but I don’t have a clue as to where I’m going, even if I can get my feet on one accord.

I stagger across the street and see this athletic-looking woman, no more than thirty years old. I blink a couple of times to refocus. She has a high sense of style, making her stand out in the neighborhood this time of night. As she speaks, she moves her hands rapidly and snaps her fingertips from time to time to emphasize a point. Her shoulder-length hair is in what the kids call dookie braids, and she’s dressed in a white pantsuit with a white double-breasted vest and a leopard-patterned ascot and face mask.

The woman turns the street into a runway in Milan as she moves like a model in white stilettos. I watch her walk up to a black Audi, pull down the mask, and if my eyes aren’t deceiving me, they make an exchange. Newsflash: All drugstores haven’t been closed by the virus. She runs to the safety of her pearl white Escalade, forearm over her head to avoid getting too wet. Even though the vehicle is common in this part of Atlanta—there’s something eerily familiar about it as she gets behind the wheel and swiftly closes the door.

The comedy club, Laff-a-LotZ, is free. There’s a line to enter with a group, all wearing red Trap Music museum t-shirts and talking loudly about their visit to “The A.T.L..” If I rob the comedy club, I’ll keep it short and to the point. I’ll just tell him or her, “You know what time it is!” Then I’ll place the gun on the bar. Miss Glock can finish the conversation.

I join the line to enter. For as far as I can see down the street, trees line the road on both sides. For the most part, they’ve grown strong and healthy in the middle of this concrete jungle. I lean against one in front of the club to take shelter from the drizzling rain.

Once inside the small rectangular club, I notice the deep purple–colored walls are checkerboard with mirrors. People are talking loudly, most mouths covered with masks, trying to be heard over the thumping sound of the Mississippi Slide blasting from the speakers, which makes the walls throb. The dance floor is filled with the vibrant energy of line dancers moving as one as if they have practiced the synchronized moves before the club opened. A few people, for some reason, wear their protective masks under their nose, which makes no sense to me. I reach into my pocket and put on my KN-95 to the sound of bottles clicking and laughter all about, just before the comedian comes to the small octagonal stage off the dance floor.

It’s been months since I’ve been around this many people. Tonight, folks laugh a little louder and dance a little harder since it’s the first week A.T.L’ians have been allowed to mingle after the citywide mandatory, night club restrictions. On top of that it seems folks are tired of the daily Trump foolishness, fake evangelicals calling sins wins, Sou-sou money clubs, police killing Black men, gaining weight, R. Kelly, COVID killing everyone, gaining weight, Karen’s going wild, Kevin’s protecting Karen’s, home schooling, missing family, sweat pants, seeing too much of family, Zoom calls, looking for toilet paper, gaining even more weight and then going to sleep; and like Ground Hog Day II, having it happen the very next day.

I’m cold and damp from the rain, so I embrace myself, moving my hands up and down my biceps for warmth. I scope out the joint. That’s what they do on TV. If I make this lick and get to the door, I’ll be able to survive until I can sell another house. This has to work out.

In the murky, dimly lit back of the room, in front of a faded poster of Killer Mike, a woman is selling neon red, battery-powered roses. She moves from person to person and is rejected repeatedly. I watch her unmasked face mouth a few words, receive the rejection, and move doggedly to the next person, unfazed.

The bartender puts a stack of bills as thick as a woman’s fist in a bag. He has my attention. He tucks it in a spot behind the bar. That’s the stash house. Yeah, I used to watch The Wire.

When I move, I notice my reflection in the mirror and it’s jarring. One thing I miss about having a home is brushing my teeth in the morning. Odd, right? It’s not only about hygiene. I miss seeing my face. When your car has become your residence, there are times you forget how you look. Now my face is gaunt, and my clothes don’t fit. My eye is a puffy, but not as bad as I thought it would look. Could have been a lot worse.

When we started the church, which my ex named Compassion Central, my light brown skin—the residue of my deceased Italian father—was smooth. Now it resembles a catcher’s mitt, and my curly COVID fro is salt and pepper, in the spots where I’m not going bald. The soaking wet brown tweed, six-hundred-dollar Hugo Boss sport coat I’m wearing, brings to mind something homeless people would roll up to use as a pillow.

No wonder Bishop said he was praying for me after giving me a five dollar, “love token,” from the offering.

“Screw forty-two, I look fifty-two,” I whisper to myself with a wistful smile. My hazel eyes, which at one time would evoke questions from strangers, “Are they real?” are empty, sullen, and emit darkness. People used to ask me if I had work done on my teeth. I always replied, “I’m blessed.” Now the blessings are dingy and yellow, and when I scratch my beard, flakes of dandruff eject like an eight-track. If a person in this club knew me from when the church was open, they’d walk past without saying a word. That wouldn’t be the worst thing that could happen tonight.

I find a stool at the bar, closer to my target—the stash house. A guy one seat over motions to the bartender with two fingers and a jerk of his head upward just like in the movies. Within a few minutes, the bartender, brings out two shimmering drinks. The woman selling neon roses is drawing closer. I didn’t notice her make a sale, but she’s persistent.

The guy who ordered the drinks wears a red doo rag under a spearmint green derby and has a crooked smile that exposes teeth on only one side of his mouth. From time to time, he whispers into the ear of the woman perched between his legs then leans back to peep her expression. She appears to admire every word he’s speaking.

The woman with the roses comes up to him. I can hear her pitch. “Excuse me, kind sir. Rose for the lady?”

He flicks her away with the back of his tattooed hand. And then the woman positioned between his legs removes her mask to sip the drink when he suddenly shouts, “What the fuck!” He pushes her away in disgust as if he has seen her unmasked face for the first time.

“What?” she asks. The bartender drops another thick, rubber-banded stack of bills in the burgundy bank bag. He’s getting sloppy.

The patrons banter back and forth, and my mind is on one thing. Like a heavy-handed timpani player, my heart pounds in my chest as I bounce my fist against my knee. The fact that I’m here, in this situation and facing such a dilemma is abhorrent. Can’t dwell on that now. I’m down to my last—and I’ll do what I have to do.

Slowly I stand.

The bartender walks behind the shelf of drinks and into a storage room behind him. I played basketball in high school. Even at my height I could easily jump across the bar, grab the bag, and run out. There’s no way they’d fire a gun in a club this crowded. No flipping way.

I grasp the edge of the bar and steady myself. Then, the voice poses the question.

“Just because you don’t understand, this is what we’re going to do?”

I look back toward the door. The one bouncer is on the other side of the room and although crowded there’s, there is a path to get out of here.

I bend my knees.

~~~

ABOUT TIMMOTHY B. MCCANN

Timmothy McCannTimmothy B. McCann was born to tell stories. What began as penning love letters for a fee, grew into his national bestselling debut entitled, Until. Since then, he has amassed an insatiable and dedicated worldwide readership.

The former collegiate football player, educator, and owner of a financial planning firm is now a commercial real estate broker. In 2018, he founded First Day Christian Center. A ministry dedicated to helping those in need in Atlanta.

In his downtime, Timmothy is a self-proclaimed political junkie, golfer, movie buff and community activist who also loves spending time with the two most adorable grandchildren in the world.

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#PromoTour “Divorcing Atlanta” by Timmothy B. McCann

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DIVORCING ATLANTA

BY TIMMOTHY B. MCCANN

“(Until…) stands head and shoulders above the rest.” Eric Jerome Dickey, NY Times Bestselling Author

Pastor Lorenzo Richardson’s endeavors to fulfill the calling on his life—which is to change the world, one soul at a time, by starting in southwest Atlanta.

So when he loses people in his circle unexpectedly, the ministry he dedicated his life to fails, and his wife is embroiled in an adulterous public affair with a notable public figure. Pastor Richardson is at the end of his rope and decides to change the world he lives in forever.

Divorcing Atlanta is a moving yet timely account that will resonate with readers who believe in the unyielding power of redemption, choose love and hope over hurt and fear, and fight for what truly matters in their lives.

AVAILABLE ON

AMAZON

KINDLE UNLIMITED

~~~

ABOUT TIMMOTHY B. MCCANN

Timmothy McCannTimmothy B. McCann was born to tell stories. What began as penning love letters for a fee, grew into his national bestselling debut entitled, Until. Since then, he has amassed an insatiable and dedicated worldwide readership.

The former collegiate football player, educator, and owner of a financial planning firm is now a commercial real estate broker. In 2018, he founded First Day Christian Center. A ministry dedicated to helping those in need in Atlanta.

In his downtime, Timmothy is a self-proclaimed political junkie, golfer, movie buff and community activist who also loves spending time with the two most adorable grandchildren in the world.

~~~

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#CoverReveal “Divorcing Atlanta” by Timmothy B. McCann

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cover

DIVORCING ATLANTA

BY TIMMOTHY B. MCCANN

“(Until…) stands head and shoulders above the rest.” Eric Jerome Dickey, NY Times Bestselling Author

Pastor Lorenzo Richardson’s endeavors to fulfill the calling on his life—which is to change the world, one soul at a time, by starting in southwest Atlanta.

So when he loses people in his circle unexpectedly, the ministry he dedicated his life to fails, and his wife is embroiled in an adulterous public affair with a notable public figure. Pastor Richardson is at the end of his rope and decides to change the world he lives in forever.

Divorcing Atlanta is a moving yet timely account that will resonate with readers who believe in the unyielding power of redemption, choose love and hope over hurt and fear, and fight for what truly matters in their lives.

COMING APRIL 20! – KEEP READING TO PREVIEW AN EXCERPT

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EXCERPT

Letter #1

Dear Son

By the time you read this, you’ll be twenty-one and I’ll be dead. And as I see you in my minds eye opening the envelope and looking at the metallic blue ribbon on the accompanying gift, I can only imagine what you’re thinking. ‘No one made him pull the trigger.’ That’s why I wanted you to read this as an adult. So reason could temper your emotions and pain would not overshadow your smile. 

 I once heard an old woman say, ‘Black people love their children with an abnormal fixation that’s hard to explain.’ Since she was wearing a MAGA hat, there was a racist, undertone to her words. But everything changed the morning I touched your mother’s belly for the first time. I felt life radiate from within her, travel up my arm and embed itself in my heart. When I looked in her eyes, I saw you—the life I may never meet. The purpose to which I’d never surrender. The cause of my abnormal fixation.

There’s so much I wish I could have shared with you in life. There are countless things I want to teach you because you will make mistakes. But my son, remember in life, what you look for you will always see. What you see will determine your perspective and eventually your perspective on anything—will become your reality. If only I’d known this three months ago. 

As I lay here today, I’m saddened. Sad because I will not be able to walk you to the bus stop on your first day of school. I will never change your stinky diaper or look at you in the mirror while I’m shaving and see the usta-be-me smiling back. It saddens me that you will grow up—as I did, being fatherless. So, to the extent to which I am responsible for this, I apologize. 

Now, to the gift. 

If you’ve not opened it (and something tells me you have), it’s a porcelain chess piece. I carried it with me every day of my life. The reason I chose the king is because the entire game is centered around him. So carrying it was my reminder of how God saw me. It should have also reminded me of how I should have treated your mom. Like that crowned gameboard piece, I can only strategically move one step at a time—yet God sacrificed it all so I might live. I wish I’d taken my relationship with Peaches one step at a time—one day at a time—one emotion at a time. Nevertheless, I invite you to always carry The King (and now I mean God) with you.

When it comes to your mom—I’ll tell you something I’ve yet to tell her. The divorce was my fault. I never took the time to understand her to the core. I once owned a very nice BMW. A year after I bought it, I noticed a little button on the dash I’d never seen before. It was there. I’d seen it a million times, but never slowed down enough to “see” it. There was so many things about your mother I failed to recognize even though I’d seen them a million times before. It took divorce papers and a bullet to understand the woman I married. 

As I close my son, nothing compares to the idea of holding you in my arms. Nothing can equate in my heart to how it would feel to teach you how to ride a bike, study the Word or shave. You’re the mirror that will project a part of me into the future and even if I am not there to direct that light—I’m at peace as I know it would be the will of God. So for now, I’ll end this letter in hopes that I will be able to write many more. But even if I’m not; just know you’re loved. 

Your Dad,

Rev. Dr. Lorenzo Hosea Richardson

P.S. Someone once said if you love something, set it free. If it comes back to you it’s yours forever. If not—it never was. Son, somebody lied. If you love something, hold on to it. Be honest with it. Fight for it. Take care and value it; and never give it reason to want to walk away. And lastly, remember with all your heart, it’s the words, between “I do,” and “until death do us part,” that kill us.

LHR

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ABOUT TIMMOTHY B. MCCANN

Timmothy McCannTimmothy B. McCann was born to tell stories. What began as penning love letters for a fee, grew into his national bestselling debut entitled, Until. Since then, he has amassed an insatiable and dedicated worldwide readership.

The former collegiate football player, educator, and owner of a financial planning firm is now a commercial real estate broker. In 2018, he founded First Day Christian Center. A ministry dedicated to helping those in need in Atlanta.

In his downtime, Timmothy is a self-proclaimed political junkie, golfer, movie buff and community activist who also loves spending time with the two most adorable grandchildren in the world.

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#CoverReveal “Avoiding Matthew (International Heroes Book 3)” by Caroline Bell Foster

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AVOIDING MATTHEW BY CAROLINE BELL FOSTER

A kiss. A promise. A mistake.

Lacy Dawson would rather spend her days experimenting with brownie recipes and trying on wedding dresses, than go on yet another secret mission to save her country. She needed a way out and found it.

Deaf, Special Operative Matthew Edwards, stumbled across Lacy where she wasn’t supposed to be, while on an enforced vacation.

They’d never been able to stifle their sexual attraction and indulged every time their paths crossed. However, Matthew knew Lacy was working a dangerous mission outside of the bureau. But what? She was too soft and needed protecting from herself.

Lacy’s secrets take her from America to Russia, to England, all the while with Matthew hot on her heels.

How could she avoid Matthew? Did she want to?

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PREORDER:

AMAZON

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ABOUT CAROLINE BELL FOSTER

Caroline Bell Foster is an internationally bestselling, multi-award-winning British author of diverse romantic fiction. She is named as one of the most influential people in culture & entertainment in the East Midlands and also listed in the Top 100 Most Influential Creatives.

Caroline spent her formative years in the Caribbean, where her thirst for exploring other cultures began. Ever the adventurer, she bought her first pair of high heels in Toronto and traded her pink sunglasses for a bus ride in the Rift Valley, Kenya at 18.

With themes of substance, Caroline’s latest novels’ defy convention and celebrate modern day Britain with several titles set primarily in the East Midlands, where she shares her love for the three main cities and the surrounding ‘shires’ with her readers.

Caroline has come full circle and lives in Nottingham, England just twelve miles from where she was born. Married to her college sweetheart husband, David, they have two children and they are all ruled over by 17 year-old, rescue cat Naomi ‘Nay Nay Boo’.

CONNECT WITH CAROLINE BELL FOSTER

AUTHOR SITE | FACEBOOKTWITTER | INSTAGRAM | GOODREADS | PINTEREST | NEWSLETTER | AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

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#BookTour “Temptation” by Chiquita Dennie

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Temptation by Chiquita Dennie

Age ain’t nothing but a number.

Gabriel McCollough is the star basketball coach, Top draft pick that played in one season and retired from the game of basketball from a injury and the twenty-five-year-old alpha male every young woman in town can’t help but like.

Desiree Spence is a good teacher, a good person, a quiet, reserved soul, but a chance meeting with a handsome coach, ten years her junior, tests her limits and stirs up a controversy she could’ve ever anticipated.

He wants her. She wants him. Everyone in their lives is against their relationship.

Will they give into societal pressures or follow their hearts’ desires?

Note: Chiquita writes stories with explicit language and adult content.

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Heart of Stone 1 (e-book) & $10 Amazon gift card

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Excerpt

Prologue: Desiree

“Do you, Desiree Spence, take Gabriel McCullough to be your lawfully-wedded husband?” the pastor asked. He looked between Gabriel and me as we stared into each other’s eyes. Gabriel’s touch was reassuring; his eyes alone seemed to undress me, as though it were just the two of us standing there.

That was the moment we’d been waiting for. After multiple obstacles and breakups, I realized I needed to put myself first and not let other factors define my happiness. Gabriel showed no signs of hesitation in marrying me, and I appreciated his strength and motivation.

Over the past year, I’d taken a new job at East High School after leaving my old job as a substitute teacher. I’d dealt with David’s betrayal and getting fired. My family stood by me—even though my father wanted to kick his ass. Hearing the gossip around town helped my decision to start over in a new town and make new memories. What I didn’t expect was to encounter an overwhelming force that turned my life upside down—this smooth, charismatic charmer with rich, milk-chocolate skin and dimples, with a small scar next to his mouth. Some people might have been put off by it, but in a weird way, it made him even sexier to me. Standing tall, at around 6’3”, he had broad shoulders and thick, muscular arms that brought me comfort every night in bed—not to mention Gabriel’s soft, oval, dark-brown eyes that hadme melting in the palms of his hands. I loved climbing onto him every chance I got. Feeling his hands running up and down my back brought chills to my spine.

We waited before having sex again until the wedding night. It was Gabriel’s idea, and after the shock wore off, I remembered he always put my needs above his own.

David could never compare to Gabriel; many times, David came off as selfish, making plans that revolved around his own needs. He liked to show off to our mutual friends and make himself seem bigger and more important than anyone else. I could count on my one hand how many times he got involved in the community.

After several nights of tossing and turning and yearning to have Gabriel by my side, I couldn’t wait to get him alone and try something new. The church we picked out was beautiful, with its fine crystal-and-gold window trimming. Flowers adorned each row, and thanks to the high ceiling, the church choir sounded exquisite as they performed one of my favorite songs, Tamia’s “Spend My Life with You”.

“Baby, you, all right?” Gabriel asked and squeezed my hands tighter to pull me out of my trance.

A part of me felt nervous; my stomach was doing somersaults and my hands were sweaty; I was about to become someone’s wife. I looked around the room at my family, and my best friend, Sidney, as she rocked her newborn baby and my goddaughter, Coco, to sleep. If I hadn’t listened to Sidney that day and interviewed for the job, I wouldn’t have met my future love, my backbone, best friend, and my weakness.

“Excuse me, Pastor,what did you say?” I asked as our guests laughed at me for zoning out during my wedding.

“I asked, do you take Gabriel to be your wedded husband, to have and to hold, through sickness and in health, till death do you part?”

“I do,” I answered, giving Gabriel a coy smile.

“I do,” Gabriel answered huskily.

“I now pronounce you husband and wife, and you may kiss the bride.”

I heard everyone shout and cheer before we even kissed.I caught a glimpse of Gabriel’s mother and sister, whispering back and forth; apparently, his mother was not the least bit interested in what was going on at her son’s wedding. I was amused by her long, sleeveless black dress and black sunglasses. Of course, she dressed like it was a funeral, instead of our wedding day. I was not surprised she showed up—just surprised she didn’t stop the wedding.

I had a great relationship with his father, grandparents, and friends. His mom thought I was the devil, and she had tried her best to keep us apart—even conspiring with his ex-girlfriend to break us up, and then trying to convince him to play basketball again and quit teaching.

Gabriel lifted my veil and stared into my eyes as the tears slowly slipped down my cheeks. Standing on my tiptoes, I met him halfway, and our mouths sealed our vows. It was a sensual, pulsating kiss that had my juices flowing. I was ready to take him into the bathroom for a quickie.

“I love you, Mrs. McCullough,” he said.

“I love you too, Mr. McCullough.”

He gently wiped the tears traveling down my face.  “How does it feel to marry a man 10 years younger than you, babe?”

“Like I have a lifetime to share new memories—”

The church doors opened, and a familiar voice cut me off. “Desiree!”

“Da—David?” I stuttered, shocked at his interruption.

~~~

ABOUT CHIQUITA DENNIE

Chiquita is an Author and Entrepreneur. Born in Memphis, TN, and currently a Los Angeles CA native. Her background in film/tv has taught and shaped her passion for writing with her debut romance novel Antonio and Sabrina Struck In Love. Favorite genre to write Contemporary Romantic Suspense. Since its debut, fans have embraced the unconventional love story of Sabrina Washington and Antonio De Luca. Amazon Best Seller in Italian, African American Drama,and Multicultral Romance. Check out her other work in Erotic, Paranormal and Women’s Fiction under amazon.com/kekerenee.

CONNECT WITH Chiquita Dennie

AUTHOR SITENEWSLETTER | FACEBOOKTWITTER | INSTAGRAM | PINTEREST | GOODREADS | BOOKBUB | BOOK + MAINAMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

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#ExcerptReveal “Til I Overflow” by B. Love

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Til I Overflow by B. Love

She tried to fill him with love and drowned in the overflow.

It was ironic. Poetic Justice, maybe? Whatever the case, Rakeem Owens escaped the streets, and at his retirement party, his home was raided, and he was arrested for a crime he didn’t commit. After spending seven years in prison, he is given the opportunity of early release with two major stipulations – probation and volunteer work to give back to the community the Judge believed he took so much from. With no hesitation, Rakeem agrees, but when he finds out that he’ll be serving under Maliah Dixon… jail seems to be a better option.

It was karma. Fate, maybe? Whatever the case, Maliah Dixon is thrilled when she finds out Rakeem will be volunteering with her organization. She started it with her best friend before he went to jail, and it has been her main priority ever since. It was during a visit to see her best friend that she first set eyes on Rakeem, and now that he’s a free man, Maliah was sure there was nothing that would stand in the way of making Rakeem her man.

Rakeem’s heart has been closed and guarded for years, and it will take more than a pretty face and nice frame to soften him toward any woman. But Maliah is determined to not only fill him with her love but be cleansed in the overflow. There is one problem with both water and love, though. Both were soft enough to cleanse and give life yet hard enough to drown and destroy anyone or anything who stand in their way.

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Excerpt

Maliah

We walked into the dining room hand in hand, memories flooding me with each step. When we were in school, we spent the weekend together at least three times a month. Sometimes it was at her place, sometimes at mine, but we were almost always together.

“I’ll tell you about him, but I want to know what’s up with you first. You’re glowing too, ma’am.”

We sat on the same couch, leg to leg. Hands still locked. Asia released a dramatic exhale before smiling widely. Her hand squeezed my thigh as her head shook.

“Okay, you’re not going to believe this, but…” She paused for dramatic effect, rattling my nerves even more. “I’m getting married!”

We both screamed as I pulled her into my arms.

“Oh my God! Congratulations, Asia! I’m so freaking happy for you!”

“Thank you, boo! And you know I have to have you as my wedding planner. There’s no way around it.” Her grip around me loosened. Voice lowered. “Well, mama wants me to meet with a few other planners. She says a professional should plan my wedding, but I told her that just because you never started a business centered around planning weddings that didn’t mean you were any less capable. I have four more people to meet with today, but I’ve already told daddy that I want you. Since they have agreed to pay for the wedding and let his parents pay for the reception, I’m going to entertain her, but you know you have the job. I’m not getting married if you don’t plan my wedding.”

“Girl, bye!” I yelled through my chuckle before hugging her again. “I’m so happy right now, Asia. For real. Who is he? How did you meet? How did he propose? I need all the details, honey.”

“He’s here now, actually. I’ll go get him so you can meet him. I’m surprised he hasn’t come down yet after hearing all this screaming.”

I chuckled as she stood to leave. Well I’ll be. Asia Hayes is about to get married. That’s crazy. I never thought the wild party child would get married before me, but you never can say. While I waited for her, I pulled my phone out to scroll through my calendar and social media.

“Why are you acting so funny?” I heard Asia ask with a strain in her voice. “You can go back upstairs after you meet her.”

Putting my phone up, I stood to meet the man that had successfully tamed my girl.

As soon as Damon appeared, my mouth opened wide. I snapped it shut not wanting to alarm Asia, but I couldn’t keep my hand from flying to my chest as my knees weakened. A chill shot to my core as my head began to spin. Lowering my hand to my stomach, I plopped down on the couch before my knees gave out on me.

Asia rushed over to me, wrapping her arm around me.

“Are you okay, Corrine?”

She pushed my hair out of my face as she fanned it with her hand, but that didn’t stop the queasy feeling from erupting in my stomach as my entire body heated.

“I have to throw up,” I announced, standing on wobbly legs. Not able to bear the sight of Damon, I lowered my head and my eyes as Asia led me out of the room, but the second I passed him I weakened all over again.

“Damon, help me,” she requested, unable to keep my body up with her own strength, but I’d rather fall than let him touch me again.

Jerking away, I leaned against the wall as I muttered, “I’m okay,” regretting opening my mouth. The vile taste of his betrayal began to rise within my throat. Covering my mouth, I kicked my shoes off and rushed down the hall as quickly as I could. Just making it, I fell against the toilet, emptying the contents of my stomach as I hugged it.

The juice.

The fruit.

His seeds.

The feel of Asia’s hand on my back only made me angrier, but I couldn’t take this out on her. Clearly she didn’t know that there was anything between me and Damon, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to slap the shit out of her for marrying my man.

~~~

B. LoveABOUT B. LOVE

Voted AAMBC’s 2018 Romance author of the year, Master storyteller, B. Love, is the unparalleled self-love teacher. As the powerhouse for modern-day womanhood, she pens contagious content that encourages readers to internalize admiration and intimacy. She allows her most powerful vessel to guide her stories, wholly.

Since age 12, Love has been spreading self-awareness, care, and appreciation. For close to three years, Love has authored over 75 publications centered around heart-piercing, reverence-worthy romance. Her novels not only entertain but challenge the audience to explore love. With a keen eye for passion, desire and dynamism she includes heuristic methods in her beautifully curated accounts of life.

B. Love’s entire persona is spearheaded by her incredible infatuation with the power of love. Contained within each novel, is an edification created for the glorification of self. Her pen bleeds for the souls who need just an inkling of empowerment. Each story is written with the intent to enlighten, engross and enkindle the passion in whoever picks up her book.

CONNECT WITH B. LOVE

AUTHOR SITE | FACEBOOKTWITTER | INSTAGRAM | GOODREADS | AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

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#ReleaseBlitz “Hook Shot” by Kennedy Ryan

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Hook Shot cover

Hook Shot by Kennedy Ryan

A deeply emotional standalone romance set in the worlds of professional basketball and high fashion.

Divorced. Single dad. Traded to a losing squad.

Cheated on, betrayed, exposed.
My perfect life blew up in my face and I’m still picking up the pieces.
The last thing I need is her.
A wildflower. A storm. A woman I can’t resist.
Lotus DuPree is a kick to my gut and a wrench in my plans
from the moment our eyes meet.
I promised myself I wouldn’t trust a woman again,
but I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want Lo.
She’s not the plan I made, but she’s the risk I have to take.

A warrior. A baller. The one they call Gladiator.

Kenan Ross charged into my life smelling all good, looking even better and snatching my breath from the moment we met. The last thing I need is him.
I’m working on me. Facing my pain and conquering my demons.
I’ve seen what trusting a man gets you.
I. Don’t. Have. Time. For. This.
But he just keeps coming for me.
Keeps knocking down my defenses and stealing my excuses
one by one.

He never gives up, and now…I’m not sure I want him to.

https://www.youtube.com/embed/PhcZu7ZPVYg?rel=0&showinfo=0","resolvedBy":"manual","resolved":true}” data-block-type=”22″>

Excerpt

The summer of my rookie season, I came to Harlem for the pro league tournament at Rucker Park, the most famous basketball court in the world. If you want street cred, you earn it here. It’s your pilgrimage to Mecca.

On the surface, it’s unassuming. There’s no glamour to the outdoor court with two hoops and five rows of bleachers, but legends were made here. Dr. J got his namehere before anyone really even knew who he was. The summer he played, people crowded the rooftop of the school across the street, climbed, and watched from trees, and pressed their noses to the fence for a glimpse of this kid who flew through the air with unparalleled grace, and rocked the rim with more force than they’d ever seen. It was the crowds at the Rucker who first chanted “Dr. J.” They christened him, and it stuck. He played for Philadelphia, my hometown, and he changed the game. So every time I come to the Rucker, it’s special, but today I feel the excitement even more.

And it has nothing to do with the dunking contest I’m here to judge for charity.

With the contest over, the other celebrity judges and I have taken photos with the winners, and now the autographs have begun. The whole time I’m signing hats, slips of paper, shoes, and whatever else people have, I’m scanning the crowd for one woman. Lotus never texted me back, so I don’t even know if she’s coming. Chances are she’s not, but that doesn’t stop me from checking compulsively every few minutes.

“How you liking New York, Glad?” Ben Mason, a point guard who came into the NBA the same year I did, asks. We’re signing autographs back-to-back, encircled by a crowd of kids.

“It’s okay.” I smile at a little girl who hands me a T-shirt to sign. “My kid lives here now, so I’m glad to have some of the off-season with her.”

“I did hear Bridge was moving to New York,” Ben says. “She’s on that new basketball wives’ reality show, right?”

Ben, like everyone else in the sports world, knows my business almost before I do.

“Yeah, she’s here,” I mutter.

“Did your divorce finally come through?”

“Yeah, it’s quits. Thank God.”

“Man, she did you dirty.”

Really, Ben? Sure, why not chat about my most painful, humiliating experiences while signing autographs for a hundred screaming kids? Perfect timing.

“It’s behind us now,” I say aloud instead. “We’re just trying to figure out how to co-parent my daughter well.”

“You a better man than me,” Ben continues. “If that had been me—”

“But it wasn’t.” I turn around to face him, not even trying to hide my irritation anymore.

“Sorry, Glad,” Ben rushes to say. “Man, I’m tripping. I know that was a tough time. I didn’t mean to bring it up.”

“And yet you’re stilltalking.” I turn back around and resume signing items and taking photos with fans.

My frustration isn’t actually about him, though. I’m disappointed Lotus didn’t show. I hadn’t admitted to myself how much I hoped she would. I did act like an asshole in the stairwell. I thought I fixed it, but maybe not.

“Over here, Glad!” a kid yells, holding up his phone to take a picture. When I look in his direction, a flash of color catches my eye. A small gap in the crowd reveals silk the color of butter spread on sun-toasted skin. A woman wears a backless yellow jumper that clings to her ass. What looks like an intricate zipper with tiny flowers instead of teeth is tattooed up her naked spine. A huge cloud of golden–brown hair with curls and waves on the loose fans out and around her neck and the curve of her shoulders.

“Lotus?”

It comes out as a question, but I know it’s her. I’m not the only one noticing every detail of her appearance. The crowd parts like the Red Sea and heads turn as she walks through. She seems oblivious to the lust she’s inspiring as she makes her way out of the dense crowd.

Away from me.

There are too many people separating us and I’d have to rudely push through a lot of teenage bodies fast to catch her at this point, but there’s no way she’s getting out of here without seeing me.

“Hey, PYT!” I yell through cupped hands in the direction I saw her take. She’s so short, I can’t even find the top of her head anymore.

For a second I think I’ve lost her, but that ray of sunshine she’s wearing flaunts her presence again several yards away. She’s turned to face me now, one hand on her hip and amusement on her face. I grin, fully prepared to be railed for calling her out.

“Where do you think you’re going?” I ask loudly enough for her and anyone between us to hear.

“I’m for sure not standing around all day waiting for you,” she yells back, her lips fighting the smile in her eyes.

“Well, you heard her guys.” I sign another hat and sigh. “I gotta shut it down. She’s leaving me.”

“I’d shut shit down, too, for that,” a guy standing halfway between Lotus and me says, eyes crawling over every inch of her exposed skin. I want to get her out of here.

“Excuse me,” I say, pushing through the crowd after I sign one last autograph. She could meet me halfway, but does she? No, just stands still in the crowd like a daffodil planted in the middle of a traffic jam, waiting for me to reach her. Once I do, I step as close as I possibly can without touching her so she has to tip her head all the way back to meet my eyes. Our gazes lock and don’t let go. The steam rising between us has nothing to do with the ninety-five-degree weather. I draw a shallow, Lotus-scented breath.

Teaser

Hook Shot – AVAILABLE NOW

Amazon | Free on Kindle Unlimited

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“In ‘Hook Shot’ Kennedy Ryan does something I wish more romance writers would do. She allows the reader to experience the slow burn of growing attraction, and the often disorienting new-relationship-energy between a couple getting to know, like and eventually love each other… Kennedy Ryan gave me the perfect balance of ‘the real’ with ‘the romance.’ I highly recommend it.

– Nia Forrester, author of Commitment and Afterwards

KRABOUT KENNEDY RYAN

A Top 30 Amazon Bestseller, Kennedy Ryan writes for women from all walks of life, empowering them and placing them firmly at the center of each story and in charge of their own destinies. Her heroes respect, cherish and lose their minds for the women who capture their hearts.

She is a wife to her lifetime lover and mother to an extraordinary son. She has always leveraged her journalism background to write for charity and non-profit organizations, but enjoys writing to raise Autism awareness most. A contributor for Modern Mom Magazine, Kennedy’s writings have appeared in Chicken Soup for the Soul, USA Today and many others. The founder and executive director of a foundation serving Atlanta families living with Autism, she has appeared on Headline News, Montel Williams, NPR and other media outlets as an advocate for families living with autism.

#TeaserTuesday “Engaging the Enemy (The Bourbon Brothers Book 3)” by Reese Ryan

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ETE 3 Final

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The Bourbon Brothers are back!

🥃Enemies-to-Lovers

🥃Fake Fiance

🥃On Sale April 1

𝘼𝙣 𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙙𝙤 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝘾𝙀𝙊𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙖𝙣𝙘é 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙨.

🥃PREORDER: https://amzn.to/2Twl99J

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“Talk to me, Kayleigh.” He needed to see the depths of those brown eyes to make sure he hadn’t sabotaged the progress they’d made. He gently lifted Kayleigh’s chin, and her gaze met his. “Why are you suddenly so agitated?”

“It’s nothing. I…” She sighed heavily as she slipped her hand from his. But rather than pulling away, she clutched his shirt with both hands and lifted onto her toes. Her eyes drifted shut as she pressed her lips to his.

***

Kayleigh Jemison was sure she’d lost her freaking mind. She was kissing Parker Abbott. 𝘐𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺.

Parker seemed stunned at first. He’d gone still, allowing her to take control. But then his strong hands drifted to the back of her neck. His thumbs rested against her cheekbones as he kissed her.

The kiss started off tame and sweet as they felt each other out. But their tentativeness slowly gave way to the heat growing between them. He sucked on her lower lip before tilting her head, sliding his warm tongue inside her mouth and gliding it against hers.

She welcomed it with an involuntary sigh.

Parker was an excellent kisser. She could add that to the long list of things about him that surprised her.

He’d been utterly adorable as he’d struggled to learn to dance. But as they danced to a slow song together, in full contact, hips in motion, his lean, fit body pressed to hers, she couldn’t help wanting him to kiss her again. Something she’d fantasized about since he’d kissed her at his parents’ house.

The memory of that first kiss often flooded her brain, the sensations washing over her with the same intensity they had that day. Each time, she dismissed the prospect of repeating their mistake.

It was a colossally bad idea that would only complicate their arrangement. Yet she couldn’t help wanting him.

 #EngagingtheEnemy #ReeseRyan

#TeaserTuesday “Engaging the Enemy (The Bourbon Brothers Book 3)” by Reese Ryan

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Engaging the Enemy 2 teaser

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The Bourbon Brothers are back!

🥃Enemies-to-Lovers

🥃Fake Fiance

🥃On Sale April 1

𝘼𝙣 𝙖𝙢𝙗𝙞𝙩𝙞𝙤𝙪𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙞𝙧 𝙬𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙙𝙤 𝙬𝙝𝙖𝙩𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙧 𝙞𝙩 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙨 𝙩𝙤 𝙗𝙚 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙣𝙚𝙭𝙩 𝘾𝙀𝙊𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙮 𝙛𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙛𝙞𝙖𝙣𝙘é 𝙩𝙤 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙘𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙙𝙝𝙤𝙤𝙙 𝙣𝙚𝙢𝙚𝙨𝙞𝙨.

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“So, where were we?” Kayleigh seemed distracted and her hair looked even wilder than it had when she’d disappeared behind the curtain. As if she’d just tumbled out of bed and she hadn’t been alone.

He swallowed hard, fighting off the image of Kayleigh in bed that immediately filled his brain.

𝘍𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴𝘗𝘢𝘳𝘬𝘦𝘳𝘍𝘰𝘤𝘶𝘴

“I’d offered you fifty percent more than the assessed value.”

She froze for a moment, cocking her head before a smirk curled one corner of her mouth. “I remember now. You asked what figure would make me happy, and I said—”

“I know what you said, Kayleigh, and it’s unacceptable.”

“Then buy someone else’s building instead.” She stared at him defiantly.

The number-one rule of negotiating was be prepared to walk away. Every salesperson understood that. But his family hadn’t given him that option. This building had once belonged to his mother’s family. They’d run a tiny café here, and now his father wanted to help his mother reclaim a portion of her family’s history by creating a flagship restaurant here, branded with the King’s Finest name.

It was going to be a surprise. His mother didn’t know, but his father had already purchased the two other buildings on the block and made the sellers sign confidentiality agreements. But without Kayleigh’s building—the cornerstone of the entire project—it simply wouldn’t work.

Closing this deal was the leverage he needed to make his father realize that naming his older brother, Blake, as his successor at King’s Finest, simply because he’d had the good fortune to be born first, would be a grave mistake.

Blake was a good person, a great brother and an excellent operations manager. But neither Blake nor their brother Max possessed the killer instinct the CEO position called for. His sister, Zora, did have that killer instinct. More so than he, perhaps. But what she lacked was the ability to control her emotions. With Zora, everything was personal. She was much like Kayleigh in that way.

He had to have this building, but Kayleigh didn’t know that. So maybe if he showed her that he was willing to walk away, she’d come to her senses.

Parker stooped to pick up his attaché. “Sorry we couldn’t come to an agreement. Maybe it would be better if we went with new construction in that shopping center. I’m sure my brother will give us a good deal.”

Parker crossed the room under Kayleigh’s cold stare, waiting for her to stop him.

She didn’t.

He turned the doorknob and stepped one foot onto the sidewalk, the bell jingling above him.

Still nothing.

“You really don’t have anything else to say?” Parker turned back to her.

“Don’t let the doorknob hit you where the good Lord split you.” She grinned, her eyes shimmering with amusement.

 

 #EngagingtheEnemy #ReeseRyan

#BookBlitz “The Endgame Trilogy” by Tiye Love

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ENDGAME (BOOK ONE)

Endgame cover

Is love worth risking it all?

Psychologist Dr. Zoe Broussard has always been a no-nonsense, play by the rules woman until she meets her new client. From the moment the impossibly gorgeous Michael Carson walks into her office, she finds herself dangerously drawn to him and irrevocably hooked.
Michael is an NFL quarterback with a multimillion-dollar contract and a penchant for breaking hearts. He’s used to getting what he wants, and he’s determined to tempt his hot new therapist into exploring the obvious passion between them. Even though there’s another man in her life.
Can Zoe resist Michael’s charms and her growing feelings for him? More importantly, is she willing to risk everything for a man who may not be there tomorrow?

GAME TIME (BOOK TWO)

Game Time cover

Was love worth the risk?

After making the decision to take a chance on love with sexy NFL player, Michael Carson, Dr. Zoe Broussard is more than thrilled to be the lady on his arm. She has always been independent with self-confidence, but soon discovers that the lifestyle of a superstar athlete may be more than she bargained for.

Michael is determined to prove to the beautiful and headstrong Zoe that he was worth the risk and loves only her. As his world becomes hers and obstacles are thrown in their path, he begins to doubt if he is truly the man she deserves. Now that they’re officially a couple, can Zoe adjust to losing her career as she has known it? Will their love survive, especially when a person from Michael’s past resurfaces and tensions strain their relationship?

GAME CHANGER (BOOK THREE)

Game Changer cover

Is their love strong enough?

From the moment NFL Superstar Michael Carson walked into Dr. Zoe Broussard’s office, Zoe’s life has never been the same. Now that Michael and the Gators have won the Super Bowl and he openly professed his love for her to the world, Zoe is in the spotlight more than ever. As she adjusts to the newfound attention, practicing psychology again, and most importantly her new roles of wife and mother, she finds herself in the familiar struggle of maintaining her identity.

Michael could not be happier with being at the top of his game on and off the field. He remains steadfast in his love for Zoe and ready to take on the challenges of fatherhood, when he receives disturbing news. In this game of life, is their love strong enough to overcome any obstacles—even sabotage at the hands of someone else?

AVAILABLE ON Amazon + Kindle Unlimited:
Endgame | Game Time | Game Changer

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ENDGAME (excerpt)

I stepped out of my office into the lobby as Michael got off the elevator. He walked toward me, angry as hell. “How come you didn’t tell me that you were recommending I see another therapist? I trusted you!”

“We explained everything to your management and team rep. They said it was fine that you will be meeting with my partner instead of me. I can’t be objective after what happened yesterday, and this is an important year for you. You need the best person for the job and I’m definitely not it.” I continued to walk toward the elevator.

“I don’t want to hear that bull!” He stopped and grabbed my arm. “You should have told me you didn’t want to see me again.”

“It’s not like that. I just felt you needed someone more qualified than me to help you get through this year. I’m used to rookies, and you are far from a rookie.”

“But what about what I feel I need? I’m not a rookie, so I know what I need, and it’s you.” He looked down at me, speaking with desperation in his voice. “I need you. I don’t want anyone else.”

I almost relented, but even then, the guilt of wanting him to kiss me ate at me. “It’s too late. We already spoke with your team.” I tried to walk away again.

He moved his rigid body in my path. “The hell it is. Whatever you need me to do to make this work, I’ll do it.” We were making a scene and drawing a small crowd. He seemed oblivious that people were looking and possibly even recording us.

I impulsively grabbed his hand, unlocked the office, and pulled him past the reception area to my office. I opened my door and walked inside. Before I could say a word, he closed the door and roughly pushed me against it, kissing me desperately.

At first, I was in shock and didn’t move as his mouth stroked over mine. Then he softly used his tongue, which sent a feverish heat through my veins. I responded, and his hands began exploring my body as he pressed against me.

When his hardness wedged against my stomach, I pushed him lightly and surprisingly, he didn’t resist and stopped kissing me. “I’m sorry.” He rested his forehead against mine.

I looked at him and whispered, “This is why I can’t be your therapist. I can’t resist you.”

“I would rather you work with me than lose you, so I won’t kiss you again. You are so beautiful. When you grabbed my hand and brought me in here…” He shook his head. “That was some sexy shit and I couldn’t stop myself.”

I watched him, not sure what to say.

He stared at my lips, only inches from his. “Like I said, I won’t kiss you again, if you don’t want me to.”

God knows, I really wanted him to do so much more. And when I bit my lip, with no response, he groaned and pushed my legs apart with his knee. He picked me up, wrapped my legs around his waist, and set me on my desk. He kissed me again, and this time I didn’t fight my attraction. His strong arms closed around me and I melted. Between kisses, he asked, “Can you feel how much I want you?”

“Yes.”

Endgame Teaser

 

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ABOUT TIYE LOVE

TIYE LOVE recalled reading romance ever since she was a young child and would sneak and read the Western love stories her grandmother kept on her bedside table. Although she didn’t understand half of the words she read at the time, something about those books captured her attention. As she grew older, her love of romance expanded to other genres, and she became a fan of anything remotely related to reading and books, such as libraries, bookstores, and the coffeeshop around the corner. She loves to travel and has lived in several cities, including New Orleans, Washington D.C., and Houston, and finds inspiration for her stories from every place she has had the fortune to visit or inhabit. When Tiye is not obsessed with her latest characters, she spends time with herself, family, and friends doing whatever she can to create her best life possible.

CONNECT WITH TIYE LOVE

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