Suzette Riddick's Blog, page 9

“I think I have the wrong number.”

Welcome to Sunday Sips with Fixer Upper Love.

Ruggedly built with good looks, women of all ages found him handsome. What his baby girl and her sisters didn’t need to know was that he wasn’t lacking in the female companionship department. Discreetly, Garrison had his fair share of trysts after the death of his wife, Natalie. Several years and counting, he and his lady friend, Isabel, took care of each other’s needs. He wasn’t looking for a wife and she wasn’t looking for a husband. They agreed on a mutually beneficial relationship with no strings. So far, it’d been working. And he wasn’t looking for anything more meaningful.

The cell phone on the passenger seat next to Garrison vibrated indicating a call coming through. Glancing at the facedown device, his first inclination was not to answer it. But figured it could be one of his daughters calling. Sometimes they called his work number. Reaching over, he grabbed the phone and answered without checking the display.

“Which baby girl is this calling me?” Like always, his deep voice held a hint of adoration.

Greeted by silence on the other end, Garrison said, “Hello?”

“I’m sorry. I think I have the wrong number.”

There was something in the soft-spoken voice that was surprisingly jarring. Kicking up some unknown thing he couldn’t identify. Pulling up to the next project site, Garrison put the truck in Park. He held up his hand to halt one of the workers coming towards him.

“I thought you were one of my daughters. Who are you trying to reach?”

“Garrison Lawrence.”

The sound of his name coming from the unknown woman made him remember he hadn’t felt the curves of a woman in weeks. Been too busy working, babysitting Maliah while Alex did catering jobs, and on the hunt for a retail space for Joey, to indulge his carnal desires. Isabel hadn’t been too pleased the last few times she called, and he couldn’t accommodate her.

Finally Yours – Sammie & Dexter

White lights strung above the pergola on the patio gave off a soft glow, competing with the twinkling stars in the dark velvet sky. From her perch on the outdoor sofa, Sammie’s gaze followed Dexter Davis. His deep brown complexion held a hint of reddish undertone from the summer’s sun. An inch away from clearing six feet, his muscular physique was more lean than bulky. A few added inches and he’d have the qualifications to be a print model. Head tilted, Sammie squinted her right eye in scrutiny to reassess. Maybe he could be a model except for the scruffy beard he sported. Where some women thought it gave him a sexy, rugged look, he appeared unkempt to Sammie.

Earlier Dexter had sauntered into her dad’s backyard dressed in a hunter green t-shirt, black shorts, and black leather Ferragamo sandals. Sammie couldn’t help rolling her eyes. Who wore seven hundred dollar sandals to a cookout? It was obvious to Sammie he was showing off. Her previous criticism didn’t stop Sammie’s hips from shifting, her mouth parting as her gaze moved down to his biceps flexing beneath the green fabric each time he folded a chair.

A flush of heat spread up her neck and fanned across her face. If she wanted to, she couldn’t look away from his broad back as he carried chairs inside the storage shed. Another unexpected surge of warmth hit her when she imagined the unthinkable happening between her and Dexter. Ugh, never!

On Dexter’s way out of the shed, Jamal stopped him and the two shared words. Whatever was spoken between them made Dexter throw his head back and laugh, showing off a mouth full of white, glistening teeth. Though she was sitting down, Sammie became weak in the knees. His laugh was sexy. Too sexy for her liking.

“You coming inside with us?” Joey asked, holding open the back door leading into the kitchen.

Her sister’s intrusion jolted Sammie back into reality. That man was the enemy. “I’ll be in a minute.” She was going to keep Dexter in sight.

Sammie despised how buddy-buddy Dexter was getting with her father Garrison. Ever since he blew back into town several weeks ago, the shady character was up under her dad. One too many times, she’d stopped by her childhood home to check on her father to find Dexter there, like an old piece of unwanted furniture. On one visit, the men were at the dining room table, documents strewn about. Curious, she asked what was going on. Garrison had ignored her, gathered the papers and placed them in a folder, handing it over to Dexter.

When she pressed for an answer, Garrison told her to mind her business. The rebuke had stung. But it was the cocky grin Dexter wore that made Sammie dislike him even more.

Recalling that night, Sammie was determined to confront Dexter. She was curious about what was happening between Dexter and her dad.

After the men were done, Julio and Jamal said their goodbyes to Uncle Barney and Dexter before heading inside. As Uncle Barney and Dexter prepared to leave, Sammie stood at the edge of the patio.

“Dexter, I need to talk to you.”

Sammie didn’t miss the dubious look Uncle Barney gave Dexter. “I’ll talk to you later, nephew.”

Waiting until Uncle Barney rounded the side of the house leading to the walkway toward the front porch, Sammie approached Dexter.

Glaring at her, that happy-go-lucky grin he’d worn from the time he showed up at the cookout was gone. “You got one minute.”

“That’s all I need,” Sammie snapped.

Dexter rubbed his hand over his five o’clock shadow. “Speak.”

“Speak?” Did he just give me a command, like I’m a dog? Ugh, she didn’t like this creep.

Dexter glanced at the expensive gold watch on his wrist, leaving Sammie to wonder who he’d swindled to get it.

“What’s going on between you and my father?” Sammie demanded, glaring into Dexter’s eyes for any hint of deception.

The fabric of the shirt he wore tightened over his chest when he crossed his arms. “Why don’t you ask your father?”

“I’m asking you. You’re the one always hanging around my father like a dirty leech after something.”

This time when Dexter chuckled it didn’t make her feel weak in the knees. There was something sinister about it. Unnerved, Sammie took a step back when he got in her face.

“You better watch how you talk to me,” Dexter growled, staring down at her. “I’m not one of your sisters.”

Sammie held her hand out. “Back up! You’re too close.”

Dummy did the opposite. With each step he took forward, Sammie retreated until her back was up against the fence separating her father’s property from the neighbor’s.

“You wanted to talk. So talk.”

With him in her space, Sammie couldn’t think, let alone speak. Something inside of her was trying to escape. It had to do with everything that was male radiating out of Dexter’s pores, seeping into her. It terrified her.

The heat from his body, the fading cologne on his skin, the hint of alcohol on his breath from the beer he drank with the ribs he ate made her want to do something crazy. So crazy even she couldn’t believe it was soaking into her spirit.

Surprised by her thoughts, Sammie’s silence was her downfall.

“I was told you grew up to be the nasty sister. The sister who can’t get a man…”

Control spiraling out of Sammie’s grasp, she screeched, “Shut up! Shut up! You don’t know me!”

“I don’t need to know you to know you act like a real bit—”

Before the word could escape Dexter’s mouth, the sound of Sammie’s hand slapping his jaw crackled in the night air.

Unshed tears stung her eyes, her bottom lip trembled. “You don’t know me or my story.”

“And you don’t know mine. So stop acting like you do,” Dexter shot back, his nostrils flared.

“What’s going on back here?” Garrison barked, his gaze shifting between Sammie and Dexter.

Sammie stormed off, leaving Dexter to deal with her father.

 

Click here to pre-order or order your copy of Finally Yours.

 

 

Skin Care Challenge Update: It’s Been 90+ Days

Hey there!

Well, it’s been 90+ days since I started my skincare routine with L’Oréal products. Am I over wow’d with the results? Not necessarily. Am I disappointed? Absolutely not!

Here’s my take on these products. They performed as well as the Clinique products I’d been using for years. The only exception is I noticed the hyperpigmentation I have along my jawline from a minor breakout is clearing up at a faster rate than usual. Also, my skin appears to be brighter nowadays. 

I’m going to attribute the fading hyperpigmentation to the serum, which contains Vitamin C and salicylic acid. As for the brightness, I will not give 100% credit to the serum. I’ve stepped my exfoliating game up. I’m sure that’s improved my skin health.

The eye cream and moisturizer are on equal footing with the Clinique products. I must admit, the L’Oréal eye cream seems to be a tad bit more moisturizing.

Here’s a breakdown of the brands:

L’Oréal Brand                                          Clinique Brand

Moisturizer – $21.99                                   Moisturizer – $59.00

Serum – $25.99                                           Serum – $71.00

Eye Cream – $14.99                                   Eye Cream – $37.00 

Here’s my take on the battle of the brands. The drugstore products, for me and my skin type, get the job done. For now, I’m going to continue with using the L’Oréal products because I’m worth it! LOL!

Until next time,

Suzette 

 

Kindness is always a winner

Welcome to Sunday Sips with Chasing After Love.

Nancy hustled her butt into a stall before a tear could fall and caught by someone coming in to use the bathroom. An overwhelming feeling of loneliness suffocated her as she wished for her mom or Daphne. Even though they were only a phone call away, they were probably off doing their own thing and could do without her drama. Daphne and her husband, Adrian, were most likely cozied up butt-naked somewhere in that huge house they lived in. And Madeline was probably out with co-workers at some fancy venue in Philly to bring in the new year. This one time she would have to tough it out until the morning.

“Oh no,” Nancy mumbled under her breath on her way to the sink to wash her hands. Carefully, she set her clutch on the vanity next to the woman who she’d almost ruined her marriage proposal. Turning on the water, Nancy eyeballed her reflection and then the woman. When their eyes met, Nancy smiled although she was miserable. “Congratulations.”

A brief stint of counseling taught her it was okay to show kindness even in the midst of chaos.

Blue eyes sparkled at Nancy. The woman smiled and wriggled the fingers on her left hand, displaying a sizable diamond. “Thank you! Isn’t it gorgeous?” she beamed, now holding her hand practically under Nancy’s nose.

Nancy couldn’t help laughing. Girlie was acting like they were besties. “Yes, it is.”

Sleep in your own bed

Welcome to Sunday Sips with Losing The Bid.

Adrian walked outside into the crisp, winter morning air.

Relief swept over him as he sauntered down the quiet tree-lined street to his silver Dodge Ram truck. If he was honest with himself, he should have ended things with Pamela when she invited him to her place for dinner and her parents and sisters were also present. She played it off with the excuse that she’d gotten her dates mixed up. At the time he knew she was lying but decided not to call her out on it.

As soon as he eased behind the steering wheel, his phone rang.

“I’m not answering that.” Adrian said aloud as he started the engine.

The shock had probably worn off and Pamela was calling to give him a thorough cussing out. If he wasn’t so tired, he would have given her the opportunity to get being dumped off her chest. However, in his exhausted state he wouldn’t have the filter required not to snap back if she said something ridiculous like he’d led her on.

Deep in thought, Adrian drove across town to his Mount Airy home through desolate streets. He was glad it was a Saturday morning and minus the usual activity of school buses, people driving to work, and pedestrians making their way to the bus stop so he could speed home and get in his own bed.

Last night was three times too many he stayed over at Pamela’s place. The first two times, he surprisingly slept like a baby after their frantic sexual encounter.

Sleep had eluded him. Every time he closed his eyes, Pamela’s soft confession tormented him. Why did she have to ruin what they had for the time being? Usually, when his affairs ended, it happened as a natural progression on the woman’s part when she realized Adrian would never give more of himself, other than a good time between the sheets.

Discontentment

Welcome to Sunday Sips.

I hope you enjoy this sample of Seductive Nights.

“You alright, Julio?” Alonzo asked, passing a ceramic plate with plantains while balancing his one-year-old daughter, Catalina, on his lap.

Julio accepted the food. “Yeah, I’m good,” he mumbled, not making eye contact with his brother.

Alonzo, the eldest of the Castro siblings, was a retired professional baseball player and Julio’s business partner. Beside him sat his wife, Jeanette. A true sweet. Julio loved her as much as he loved his baby sister, Teresa.

“Big brother, you don’t sound good,” Teresa commented.

Julio’s mind churned with discontentment, ignoring Teresa’s on-point assessment of his current mood.

Once a month on Sunday evening the Castro clan gathered for dinner at the home of Javier and Marta Castro.

Julio enjoyed the company of his loved ones. But today he was edgy because he simply didn’t want to be there. While they sat around the enormous dining room table chatting, passing plates laden with Cuban cuisine, his dark eyes scrutinized his family.

Everyone was paired up. His father, Javier, sat at one end of the table. His lovely mother, Marta, was at the opposite end. After thirty-seven years of marriage, their love affair had gone through ups and down, yet they remained in love and committed. If Julio ever had any doubts about love, the adoration shining in his father’s eyes as he gazed at his mother wiped them away.

Teresa stood when her phone rang. “I have to take this call. It’s about the fabric order from Paris.” She plopped her six-month-old son, Mace, on her husband’s lap and pulled her cell phone out of her back pants pocket.

“Hurry back and turn that phone off before you sit at the table.” Marta gently scolded in Spanish.

“Yes, Mamá,” Teresa answered, rushing out of the room to take the call.

Though Julio was in a funky mood it didn’t stop him from chuckling at the matriarch of their family.

“Mamá, you should know by now when you have your own business you work twenty-four-seven,” Julio pointed out in his sister’s defense.

After all, Javier owned a body shop. In the early years when he was the only mechanic, Javier didn’t arrive home some nights until after midnight so he’d have a vehicle ready for a client.

“Julio, everyone needs a break from work. Right Javier?” Marta’s smile was coy when she glanced at her husband.

A man of few words, Javier held his glass of wine up in agreement.

Marta Castro was a formidable force to deal with because of her intense personality. Though strong, she learned when to fall back for the sake of her family.

There was a time when his parents’—especially his mother’s—old ways and beliefs threatened his siblings’ happiness. Alonzo and Teresa defied their parents’ desire for them to marry someone Cuban. Julio admired his siblings for following their hearts. Why hadn’t he done the same? He wondered, studying his family as if he didn’t know them.

Catalina leaned forward and grabbed a plantain off Alonzo’s plate. Julio’s gaze shifted to Mace, twisting and fussing on Pierce’s lap. No amount of gently bouncing the baby calmed him. The infant settled down when Teresa returned, and discreetly opened her blouse to nurse him.

“How’d the call go?” Marta queried before taking a sip of wine.

“Great. The fabric will be shipped tomorrow.” Jeanette laughed when Teresa rolled her eyes. “Talk about a Bridezilla. I’m sorry I took that woman on as a client.”

Julio despised the green-eyed monster snaking its way under his skin. At thirty-three-years old, he’d accomplished his dream of owning a restaurant. Cuban Soul was thriving in one of the hottest Center City neighborhoods in Philly.

Reservations were made weeks in advance for a table. Profits were good and his staff were well paid. With business booming, he and Alonzo were ready to launch another location uptown in Chestnut Hill. In a recent call, the owner of a popular casino and investors in Vegas approached him about opening a West Coast location; and possibly shooting a pilot for a show on the Cooking Network.

Though the world was at his fingertips, for now, Julio couldn’t shake the deep-seated emptiness despite the happiness around him. He didn’t begrudge his loved ones their lives or the joy that was evident as they ate, laughed, talked, and played with babies. Because, for once, he wanted the same.

After forcing down several bites of shredded beef, he gave up. None of the flavorful spices tantalized his taste buds. Appetite gone, Julio stood and dropped the cloth napkin on his plate.

“Excuse me,” he murmured before he silently left the room.

 

A family of strangers…

Welcome to Sunday Sips.

I hope you enjoy this sample of Sultry Nights.

Teresa Castro’s twenty-fourth birthday celebration spiraled out of control when she faced off with her parents, Marta and Javier in a heated confrontation. Teresa’s heart fell into the pit of her stomach. Her parents, especially Marta, didn’t hide their displeasure at the young couple holding hands. Before Teresa could make the introductions, in rapid Spanish, Marta snapped, “Go to the den!”

Javier slammed the door causing Teresa to jump like a spooked cat. She didn’t pray for the best, just that this horrible unfolding mess would come to an end. She and Jonathan needed to seek out a quiet place where they could talk. No matter what her parents felt about their relationship, she had to make Jonathan believe she loved him and wanted to be with him. Even if it meant going against her parents.

“I knew you were up to something. How long have you been seeing him?” Marta spat in disgust.

“I have a name and it’s not him.” Jonathan said through clenched teeth, his caramel cheeks flushing a deep crimson.

“Then tell us your name. Because we don’t know anything about you.” Javier barked, frowning at Teresa.

Uncontrollable shivers took over Teresa’s body. Her lover and father were glaring at her. One in disbelief. The other in pure disappointment.

She wanted to die when Jonathan turned to her and everything that was once sweet and endearing about him was now bitter and uncaring. He didn’t respond to Javier. Instead, his cold, dark eyes shot daggers at Teresa. Head tilted, he stared at Teresa as if she were a stranger.

Teresa met Jonathan Ballard at the African American Art Museum. She had gone there that evening to see an exhibit featuring works by Afro-Latino artists. Concentrating on her studies in fashion design left little time for dating. So when the nerdy, yet cute Jonathan struck up a conversation about a painting by Cuban artist Cundo Bermúdez Teresa was admiring, the attention was flattering.

He followed her from painting to painting engaging in small talk. Jonathan seemed like a solid guy. Gainfully employed as an accountant, he was taking evening classes working on his MBA. Teresa never gave it a second thought when Jonathan asked for her number. By the end of summer she would be headed back to New York to start her new job. In the meantime, she didn’t think it would hurt to be friends and maybe go out on a few dates.

Jonathan’s sweet, caring disposition drew Teresa like a bee to nectar. Daily phone calls, meeting up for dinner throughout the week set the stage for the perfect romance. It didn’t take long for them to become a couple and fall hard and fast for each other. Teresa was careful to hide her new relationship from her parents. Since she could remember, her folks made it clear the expectation was for their children to date and marry within the Cuban community.

Teresa believed her parents’ expectation was ridiculous since the Cuban population in Philadelphia was minuscule. Not to mention that her parents on some level were being hypocritical. Her brothers Alonzo and Julio dated women of all ethnic backgrounds. When she pointed this out to her parents, she couldn’t believe her mother’s archaic response. “It’s different for you. You’re a woman, Teresa. Your brothers are being men. Trust me, they’ll settle down with someone like us.”

Teresa felt awful about her decision to keep Jonathan a secret from her family until she could get up the nerve to tell them they were dating. It did not make her feel any better when Jonathan took her home to meet his parents and siblings. When he asked about meeting her family, Teresa made up one excuse after another. Jonathan forced her hand when he accused her of not loving him.

Like always, Teresa reached out to Alonzo for support. She was relieved when he assured her, “Teresa, Mamá and Papá will understand.” Her brother convinced her that she was being silly and should not worry. “If you like him, they will love him.”

Teresa was snapped back to the present by Jonathan’s accusatory question. “You never told your parents about me?”

Horrified, Teresa squeezed Jonathan’s suddenly limp and cold hand though it was mid-August. When she looked into his eyes, her heart plunged further south. The adoration that once gazed at her was replaced by an emotion she couldn’t name. Was too afraid to name. She wanted to die when Jonathan’s hand fell from her grasp. To present themselves as an united front, she reached for him. A sharp, piercing pain in her chest stole her breath. Jonathan angrily yanked away.

Teresa’s trembling hand swiped away a tear. “I was afraid to,” she whispered, her eyes shifting to her parents. Neither Javier’s or Marta’s parental instincts kicked in to come to her rescue.

“Afraid of what, Teresa?”

Teresa felt a tiny measure of relief. At least Jonathan’s tone had softened a bit.

Before she could answer, Marta spat, “Because she knew we would never accept you or your kind.”

“Did you not hear me?”

Welcome to Sunday Sips.

I hope you enjoy this sample of Caliente Nights.

Alonzo grunted before tearing the napkin in shreds purposely leaving them on the tabletop. He was sure that by tomorrow morning some exaggerated story would be floating across social media about him barking at the woman and sending her off in hysterics.

His agent Bret Carlson, chuckled. “After all these years you’re not used to beautiful women coming on to you?”

“It gets old.” Alonzo answered, taking a sip of his drink. Why couldn’t he meet a sweet girl who wasn’t interested in his professional status? Someone who didn’t care about the fame and the money.

Alonzo changed the subject. “So, what’s up? You said you wanted to talk.”

He tried to keep the irritation out of his voice. Bret was a top-notch agent and they’d been together from the beginning. The man had never deliberately steered him wrong. His most annoying habit, however, was making everything seem like the house was on fire and burning to the ground.

Bret fidgeted in his seat. After Alonzo’s team didn’t make it to the playoffs, Alonzo mentioned retiring from the game. According to Bret, Alonzo was too good of an athlete and on top of his game to hang it up now. Alonzo was one of his star athletes, making him one of the top paid agents. Bret hoped what he had to say would cause Alonzo to reconsider. If he did, Bret’s commission would be hefty. Enough to get him out of the trouble he had wiggled himself into with the wrong people.

Bret scratched the back of his neck. Something he did whenever he was nervous or bringing Alonzo bad news. He cleared his throat, shifting his eyes away from Alonzo’s dark, piercing gaze.

“Nike is interested in an endorsement for a new sneaker—”

“No,” Alonzo interrupted.

Bret threw his hands up in the air. “Alonzo, buddy, you didn’t even let me finish.”

Alonzo cut into the Chicken Marsala on the white plate. He speared a piece, and before putting it in his mouth he reiterated, “Not interested. I told you I’m not renewing my contract. My family needs me.”

“This deal could make us … I mean you, millions.”

“Did you not hear me?”

Alonzo didn’t care about the money. He had enough to last him three lifetimes if he continued to live sensibly.

Bret’s face turned crimson. He didn’t understand why Alonzo had to retire to help his brother Julio open and run a chain of restaurants. Bret took a sip from his drink to quench his rising anger. Hadn’t he already assisted his father in getting his auto shop up and running? And wasn’t it enough Alonzo had footed the bill for his sister Teresa to attend the most expensive fashion design school in New York? The only one in his family who hadn’t been a pain in his ass was Alonzo’s mother. Marta was happy running the household at the family’s four-thousand-square-foot home on the Main Line.

“Alonzo, Julio is a big boy. Don’t you think he can handle the ins and outs of his restaurants. I mean, come on, you’re putting up the capital. That should be enough.”

The edge in Bret’s voice was a little more forceful than he intended. He realized his mistake when Alonzo shot him a deadly glare.

Alonzo wiped the corner of his mouth with the napkin after he finished chewing and swallowing the chicken. Over the past three years, he noticed that Bret was getting greedier and greedier. Lately, he was constantly coming at him with this deal or that investment. From the beginning of his career, Alonzo’s parents drilled into his head to read over contracts and have them reviewed by a lawyer. His parent’s advice came in handy when a time or two, Alonzo would have made an unsound financial decision if he hadn’t heeded their instruction. He no longer trusted the man who once looked out for his best interest professionally.

He dropped the napkin in the center of the plate before draining the contents of his glass. Once Alonzo said what was on his mind, he was out of there.

“Bret, you more than anyone should know my family comes first. I don’t give a damn about Nike or any other company’s endorsement. I made my brother a promise and I’m sticking to it.”

Alonzo stood, peeling off enough bills to cover their meals and a generous tip. “What I give my brother is none of your damn business.”

“Man, I didn’t mean anything,” Bret backpedaled.

“Of course, you didn’t,” Alonzo snarled. Before he could make it out of the glass revolving doors a crowd of customers waiting for tables gathered around him requesting his autograph. Although in a sour mood, Alonzo plastered on his trademark smile and graciously obliged his fans.

“…you said you didn’t have a wife!”

Welcome to Sunday Sips.

I hope you enjoy this sample of Baby, I’m For Real.

“Open up this door! I know you’re in there! I know you’re sleeping with my husband!” A woman shrieked on the other side of the door.

Scared out of her wits, Reba bolted from her slumber in a fog. Several seconds ticked by before her groggy mind realized what was going on. Gasping, Reba covered her mouth, too afraid the woman would hear her heart thundering in her chest. The once settled stomach began to roil with nausea. Dashing off to the bathroom, she dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and began to gag. The retching did nothing to drown out the commotion.

Getting herself together, she stood on shaky legs. The unrelenting hammering sent waves of sharp pounding in her head, making it nearly impossible to turn on the water and rinse the bitter taste from her mouth. She wished the woman would go away. Overwhelmed, Reba took tentative steps toward the door.

“I didn’t know he had a wife!” Reba burst into tears. Deep breaths did nothing to calm her frazzled insides. “Please go away!”

“I’m not going anywhere until you face me like a woman, you little bitch!” came the angry reply, followed by an earsplitting bang.

Terrified, Reba jumped back several inches from the door. Mustering up bravado she didn’t have, she screamed, “I said go away!”

A glimmer of hope sparked at the sound of her lover’s deep voice.

“Donna! What the hell are you doing? I told you not to come here!”

Thank God! Harold had come back for her. Her fingers worked feverishly to unlock the door so he could clear up this mess. She didn’t know anything about a wife. He told her late one night after their lovemaking, as he held her, that she was his only woman.

“Harold! Please, help me! This woman says she’s your wife!” Reba wailed, wiping at her eyes.

What happened next played out in agonizing slow motion. If she thought things were bad, they were about to get a whole hell of a lot worse. If that was possible.

“Help you! Help you! Bitch, you’re sleeping with my husband!”

The other woman lunged at a frightened Reba, but was thankfully intercepted by Harold grabbing hold of her around the waist.

Confused, head spinning, Reba took several steps back. Her voice quivered when she moaned, “Harold, what is she talking about?”

When he didn’t acknowledge the question, Reba’s voice raised by several hysterical octaves. “You never said you were married. I asked you and you said you didn’t have a wife!”

The other woman focused her attention on the two-timer, screeching, “Harold! You lying bastard!”

Her hands moved like windmills as she slapped and punched him upside the head.

The hound dog’s size was to his advantage as he overpowered his wife’s flailing limbs. Reba watched in stunned horror as he wrapped his wife in his arms, whispering words of endearment and pleading for her forgiveness. “Baby, it won’t happen again, I promise.”

And just when she didn’t think the knife of betrayal could dig any further into her bleeding heart, Reba was crushed when the man she’d given her virginity to, gazed at her with the most hateful stare and sneered, “She meant nothing to me.”

Won’t happen again… She meant nothing to me… Those words ringing again in her head twisted the knife deeper. All his promises of loving her, taking care of her, and never leaving her, were all lies.

Harold’s wife pointed at Reba with the venom of ten thousand poisonous snakes. “Tell her to get out! Make her leave now!”

Heart pounding in her chest, Reba nearly stopped breathing when Harold pinned her with a glare more devastating than the first. “You heard what she said. Get your shit and get the hell out of here.”

Reba’s bottom lip trembled and tears filled her puffy, red eyes. “I don’t have anywhere to go. Please don’t make me leave,” she begged barely above a whisper.

The handsome face contorted into that of a beast. “That’s not my damn problem!” he roared. “By the time I come back you better not be here!”

Turning to his wife, he tenderly kissed her on the forehead. “Come on baby, let’s go home.”

Reba held it together the few seconds it took Lucifer and his wife to go back to hell, which seemed like an eternity. Behind the slammed door, Reba fell to her knees and sobbed.

Where would she go?

Spoiled rotten!

Welcome to Sunday Sips.

I hope you enjoy this short and sweet sample of It’s My Turn.

Ellen tightly clutched her favorite doll to her chest, refusing to give her up. “No, she’s mine.”

The toddler scrunched her face up in disbelief. Ellen had the audacity to deny the child her favorite toy. It didn’t matter that she had several of her own, she wanted Ellen’s. Attempting to pry the doll from her sister’s grasp, Beatrice began to wail at the top of her lungs.

All of the kicking, screaming and wailing brought Sherman running from his study into the hallway. Rubbing his temples, he felt a headache coming on. Beatrice was at it again. Her tiny hand was wrapped around the doll’s ankle, pulling with all her might to get it out of Ellen’s tight grip.

His tone was gentle as he pleaded, “Ellen, baby, please give your sister the doll.”

The little girl looked up at her father with huge eyes, tears ready to spill. “But it’s my doll, Daddy,” she pitifully whispered.

Squatting down to her height, Sherman wiped away the tear that slowly ran down her cheek. “Be a big girl for Daddy and give your sister the doll. I’ll take you shopping to get you a new one as soon as I finish up my business call.”

Ellen didn’t want to disappoint her daddy. Looking to her younger sister, who had taken to screaming even louder, if that was possible, she acquiesced, holding the doll out. “Okay, Daddy.”

Immediately the wailing ceased. Snatching the doll from her sister’s grasp, little Beatrice skipped out of father’s presence and down the hallway, carelessly swinging the doll by its foot. Less than ten minutes later, a teary-eyed Ellen stumbled upon her precious baby doll abandoned on the bottom of the stairway leading to the massive home’s second floor.

That afternoon at such a tender young age, Beatrice learned that putting up a fuss would get her whatever she wanted. The spoiled behavior magnified as she grew older and became aware of her father’s guilt for the role he played in her not having a mother. By the time Beatrice reached her teenage years, she no longer had to throw tantrums to get whatever she desired. All she had to do was simply smile at her daddy and her every wish was granted.