Careful What You Click For by Mary B. Morrison
English | 2020 | General Fiction/Classics | ePUB | 3.4 MB
Mary B. Morrison, New York Times best-selling is the up and coming artist with a multiple book-to-film deal. Mary has seventeen published novels.
Born in Aurora, Illinois, and reared in New Orleans, Louisiana, Mary is the middle child of seven. She’s a graduate of McDonogh #35 High School in New Orleans and Berkeley Community College in Berkeley, California.
In her most riveting novel yet, New York Times bestselling author Mary B. Morrison delivers an emotional rollercoaster of a tale of four very different friends chasing after their heart’s desires, no matter the cost . . .
For Jordan, Victoria, Kingston, and Chancelor, exciting, fast-paced Atlanta offers everything their hometowns couldn’t. But career success is easy compared to the city’s dating scene of users, losers, and gold diggers. So they decide online dating might just be the answer-as long as they take precautions, work their perfect odds-beating plan, and have each other’s backs. With luck, and prayers, they’ll fulfill their fantasies and find real love at the same
time . . .
An accomplished lawyer, Jordan must look hard at potential suitors. But Terrence seems to be the honest man of her dreams, until accusations and her career threaten to come between them. . . . Sixty-something real estate pro Victoria thinks young men equal satisfaction that a good Christian woman like her deserves, but anything-goes sex makes her bet more than she can afford to lose. . . . Basketball star Kingston has the perfect life and wife, but exploring what he really wants on the downlow is a game he may not win. . . . And for marketing guru Chancelor, the net is a paradise of prey, but the consequences could blow more than his schemes apart.
Soon enough, thanks to secret agendas, lies, and truths they can’t even admit to themselves, all four friends’ lives are in danger of being upended. And the results could rack up a price no one can pay.
He can’t remember his face, yet he’d never forget his name. The cap of his Arturo Fuente Opus X fell to the floor as he snapped the guillotine. Slowly he dipped the shoulder of his cigar into a shot glass filled with pure honey, placed the sweetest end between the enormous lips classmates used to ridicule him for having. Lighting the foot, Kingston suctioned a long drag of the savory tobacco smoke into his mouth. Kingston stood. Clinched the tip of the seven-inch stick between his teeth, suctioned in the bold taste, then placed the cigar in a groove on the tray. His eyes were fixated on the guest who was seated on the maroon velvet sofa. Kingston walked to the living room’s window, then closed the beige blackout drapes. Retreating to the bedroom, he removed his red designer fitted pants, black T-shirt, and green boxer briefs, then carefully lay each item on the plush king-sized bed. Optioning to keep on his red knee-high compression socks, he returned to the living room, reclaimed his seat in the black-and-white paisley-print barrel chair. Exhaling white clouds of smoke from his mouth and nostrils at the same time, he spread his legs. Gazing across the room, he held in his darkest secret. It wasn’t his fault. “Get off the couch. Take off your clothes. Get on your knees. And suck my dick,” Kingston said in an apathetic tone, making more of a request than a demand. A five-star hotel in Buckhead was Kingston’s temporary haven. A place where he could be his authentic self. He placed his stick between his pointing and middle fingers. Six feet, nine inches didn’t make him a man. Becoming a multimillionaire at the age of twenty-two hadn’t altered his character. Being thirty and one of the blackest men in America, he feared three things: being killed by a white police officer, wrongful incarceration, and . . . Suctioning the smoky smoothness, Kingston wondered how they’d made it to arrangement number thirteen. On the square table within his reach were his room key, phone, a brightly lit lamp, a torch device, and the ashtray where he placed the stogie. He retrieved his cell, scanned the app BottomsUp, swiped left twice, right once. Staring across the room into a beautiful set of large brown eyes, Kingston firmly said, “Sweetheart, I’m not going to ask you twice. Your only other option is to get out.” They’d met on the app BottomsUp. For Kingston, it was supposed to be a one and done. That was why he had to find a replacement today. What does the kid that had performed fellatio on Kingston look like today? Slim? Fat? Tall? Short? Beard? Mustache?