Hello Romance Readers,
On Book Spotlight, I have Author Cheryl Robinson here to share an excerpt from her upcoming release titled: Until Ray.
Cheryl also has exciting Contest and Giveaway for you. Scroll down and enter for a chance to win.
Releasing "free" June 27 at select ebook
retailers.
Genre: Adult Fiction, Contemporary
About The
Author
Cheryl currently resides in the Sunshine State with plans to
return to her hometown Detroit shortly. For the past fifteen years, she has
been busy writing contemporary women’s fiction. While writing is her first
love, making delicious green smoothies is easily her second. She also enjoys
spoiling her miniature Schnauzer and whipping up healthy meals from recipes she
finds online.
About
The Book
Two people in the same city but worlds apart.
Until Ray is an unconventional love story of how two young
people transitioning into adulthood find each other and develop a bond that
will be tested through three decades.
RAY IS LOST …
He
lives in northwest Detroit with his mother. When he’s not at home, he’s either
at the mall selling women’s shoes or in the club. In both places, he's focused
on one thing—picking up women. Only now he’s ready to make a change but isn’t
sure how to do it.
THEN SARITA ARRIVES …
At
twenty-four, she has an MBA, is a CPA, and works in upper-level management at
GM. But all that success comes at a cost: she’s lonely and craves the one thing
she’s never had—attention from men.
Dive into a love story filled with soul-searching drama told
from two very different perspectives. Until Ray, the first book of a trilogy,
is set in the mid-eighties in Detroit, where the author was born and
raised.
EXCERPT
RAY
“If it isn’t Raymond Saint. What’s up, man?” I
hear a familiar voice coming from behind me as I pose in front of a
floor-length mirror in the women’s shoe department at Hudson’s admiring the
suit I just got out of the layaway at Man-oh-Man. I have two more to get out
next payday.
Joseph Morris steps into my view, and I
turn to face him. “Joe, man, what’s up? I haven’t seen you since we graduated.”
We share a brotherly handshake. “How’ve
you been?”
“Couldn’t be better, honestly. Life is
real good. I’ve been in town for about a week, visiting family. I’m actually
flying back tomorrow. I was just picking up a few things before I go.”
“You moved out of state?”
“Yeah, after I graduated from U of M.
I’m starting my second year of law school at Stanford.”
I’m pretty sure Joe’s father is an
attorney or a doctor, one of the two.
“Man, good to hear that.” Joe was part
of the crowd I hung with at Cass Tech. I’ve been out of high school since 1980.
Six years now. Damn, that’s a long time to still be doing nothing.
“I see you’re still staying sharp.” Joe
brushes my lapel.
“Trying to.”
“So, man, what are you doing these
days?”
“You know, the usual. Right now I’m
just waiting for my girl.”
He nods. “Where did you end up going to
school? It’s hard to keep up with everybody. Cass is so big, and we knew
everybody, didn’t we?”
I place one finger up to signal for Joe
to wait, and then I unclip my pager. “This is my girl paging me right now
actually. I need to find her.” I’ve got to get rid of him before he finds out
the truth and every Cass Tech alumni knows that the guy voted most likely to
succeed is now selling shoes. Why am I in denial? I’m sure most of them already
know.
“Really, that’s cool. I was on my way
out. I got what I came for.” Joe raises a
Hudson’s shopping bag.
“Ray,” I hear the forceful voice of a female.
I turn to see Cynthia Meyers. This has the potential to get real ugly, real
fast.
“What are you doing here?” My eyes lock
on Cynthia, and Joe disappears— even though he’s still standing here.
“It’s a mall, not your house. I don’t need an
invite.”
“You need one if you’re coming to talk
to me. What do you want?”
“Why did you stop calling me and stop
taking my calls?”
“Well, man, ah, it was good seeing
you,” Joe says. “I’ll let you handle your little situation.”
“Little situation?”
Cynthia eyeballs Joe. “I’m a lot more than that.”
Joe nods at me and quickly leaves.
“Well, why haven’t you called me?”
Cynthia asks again.
“I’ve been busy.” I work my way between
two of the tall clearance racks, seeking
some privacy. Luckily, my manager won’t be in today. But there are three female
customers browsing.
“Busy doing what? Selling shoes?”
Cynthia flips one of the size-seven pumps off the rack. “Hudson’s doesn’t stay
open twenty-four hours, seven days a week.”
“Please tell me why you’re here.”
“Why I’m here?” Cynthia snaps. “Because
I want you to tell me why you stopped calling me.”
“Do we have to talk about this here?
I’m working.”
“You won’t talk to me any other time,
so yeah—we do have to talk about it here. Unless
you’re ready for me to act a complete fool at your job. If I’d known you were
going to act this way after we had sex, I never would’ve slept with you.”
I shake my head as I stare at her. S.omeone
so pretty acting so ugly“I don’t believe
that, ” I say.
“I don’t know why not!” she shouts.
“Please lower your voice,” I whisper
and watch two customers walk out of the department, leaving only one woman
trying on shoes. “Because you had sex with me and didn’t even know me. That’s
why.”
“So?” Cynthia has a hand on her hips.
“So? All
you had was my first name and telephone number scribbled on the back of an
Olga’s receipt.”
SARITA
The
walls in my bedroom
are still pink even though I’ve outgrown the color. They were beige when my parents first moved here in 1962.
Back then, Palmer Woods only had a few black families. It’s comprised of 295
colonial and Tudor revival homes in a now-historic district. The year they moved to Palmer Woods was the same
year I was born. As a kid, I always
wanted this room. After all, it has a a sun balcony, chandelier, two walk-in
closets, a built-in vanity, and a private bathroom with separate bathtub and
shower. But being younger, I had to settle for the smaller yellow
bedroom on the opposite end of this floor until Sunniva left for Harvard in
1976, which was also my freshman year at Our Lady of Mercy High School. But now
it’s no longer about this room. I’ve been back from DC for two years, and it’s
time for me to reclaim my independence. I felt like more of an adult in
college. I lived in an off-campus apartment with my best friend, Sharon, for
all but my freshman year when I lived in the dorm, which is where I met Sharon.
She was assigned as my roommate. Sharon was married back then and still is
today. She got married the summer before we started at Georgetown. She’s a
grown woman and living as one, while I’m in a pink room. It’s time for me to
move.
Dr.
Emerson is here. It’s just after ten in the morning, but he’s come to my
parents’ home to pick me up for a date—my first one. Not just with him, but my
first one, period. I suppose I shouldn’t be nervous since I’ve known Dr.
Emerson my entire life. I also know how most doctors are—I’ll call him Dr.
Emerson unless he tells me otherwise.
I hear
him downstairs talking with my parents about the membership-only Detroit Golf
Club that’s across Seven Mile Road, minutes from our home. They’ve finally
integrated, but my daddy isn’t interested in joining. He’ll stick to golfing
his way through the various courses in southeastern Michigan. I’m not surprised
Dr. Emerson golfs. He probably skies too. It matches his upbringing.
I’m
not ready, which is why I’m still sitting on
my canopy bed with the sheer white curtains drawn meditating on 1 Corinthians
13:2–6, which are my favorite verses to reflect on.
I’m so ready for love, but not any old something—true love. I scan the
highlighted verses:
If I had the gift of
prophecy, and if I understood all of God’s secret plans and possessed all
knowledge, and if I had such faith that I could move mountains, but didn’t love
others, I would be nothing. If I gave everything I have to the poor and even
sacrificed my body, I could boast about
it; but if I didn’t love others, I would
have gained nothing.
Love is patient and
kind. Love is not jealous or boastful or proud or rude. It does not demand its
own way. It is not irritable, and it keeps no record of being wronged. It does
not rejoice about injustice but rejoices whenever the truth wins out. Love
never gives up, never loses faith, is always hopeful, and endures through every
circumstance.
When I
finish meditating, I set my Bible on my nightstand and rest my rosary on top of
it.
My gray Norma Kamali
cotton shirt dress—a different one than the one I wore when the landscaper was
over yesterday—is laid across the upholstered bench at the foot of the bed. The
heels of my sling-back pumps kiss on the
hardwood floor in front of the entrance to my bathroom.
Would
it be rude if I never made my way downstairs? My mother wouldn’t allow that.
This is her dream for me. I climb through
the curtains, slip on my dress, and then step inside the closet and stare at my
three favorite Coach purses: the Dinky, the Slim Satchel, and the Stewardess. I
can’t decide which one to take. I love each for different reasons. And I can’t
narrow it down by color because all three are black. Coach doesn’t have a bunch
of colors to choose from to begin with,
and if I’m spending that much on a purse, I want to make sure I use it often.
I’m not like my mother. Coach isn’t high-end enough for her. She prefers Gucci
and Louis Vuitton. But I’ll take black, glove-tanned cowhide leather over some initials on canvas any day.
Besides, black goes with everything.
“Sarita, Dr. Emerson is waiting for you downstairs,” my
mother says as she enters my room.
“I know, Mother.” My hand inches in the direction of my
Dinky, which is inside its own little
white square of the built-in purse display.
“Well, if you know, what’s taking you so long? Not that we
don’t enjoy talking to him because, of course,
we do. He’s such an intelligent young
man, and his parents are dear friends of ours, as you know. He likes you,
Sarita, and he’s not the play type. He’s serious. He’s looking for a wife.”
“I understand, Mother.”
“What do you understand? Do you understand I’d like for you to smile at Dr. Emerson, show those
great teeth, stay engaged in his
conversation? He’s a very rational man.”
“Mother,
I’m not stupid. I went to college. I have two degrees.” I start transferring
the contents of my Stewardess into the Dinky. It can’t fit nearly as much, but
all I really need are some bobby pins and a small comb in case my updo comes undone; my Fashion Fair Lip Moisturizer, my
slim wallet, and my keys.
“I
never implied you were stupid, Sarita. I know you’re very intelligent. I just understand
how you are, and I know that you feel that once you leave work, it’s over, but
everyone doesn’t feel that way. Dr. Emerson is passionate about his work, so
please act as if you’re interested. Do you remember everything that I taught
you about dealing with men of his stature?”
I nod.
“Yes, Mother.” I’ve been around men of
his stature my entire life. My daddy is a man of his stature.
“Good,
because if you do exactly what I’ve taught you over the years, you will be
married to Dr. Emerson by next spring.”
I sigh
but not loud enough for my mother to hear. Married by next spring? What is my
mother talking about? She told me that Mrs. Emerson asked if I was in a
relationship and asked if it were okay if her son called me. How did we get
from that to marriage? Because he’s a doctor and my mother is desperate for me
to land one? But at least I’m no longer nervous. I’m ready for this date to
start. Anything to get me away from my mother.
“Remember,
this is not a date. This is an introduction over brunch, that’s it, so don’t
make more out of it than it is.”
“I
know, Mother.”
“You look beautiful, Sarita.”
“Thank
you, Mother.”
“You
look like the type of woman a man marries. Enjoy yourself. I know that you
will.” She smiles proudly, as if her
dream for me will soon be realized.
RAY
When I walk into the Big Boy at
Northland Mall, Boone’s already seated at a booth in the crowded restaurant
eating a hamburger and fries. He has a chocolate shake on one side of his plate
and his cowboy hat, sitting on its crown with the brim up, on the other side. He’s wearing a short-sleeved,
three-button placket shirt, his usual pair of Wrangler jeans, and one of his
many pairs of cowboy boots. You can take
Boone out of Texas, but you can’t take Texas out of Boone.
“I’m
getting another burger,” Boone says.
“Another Big Boy burger?” I ask him. A
Big Boy isn’t a small burger like a White Castle; it’s a double-decker cheeseburger.
“Don’t
worry, man, I’m paying for it.”
“Sharon’s
not feeding you? I know she wants you to lose weight, but is she starving you
so that you will? Two Big Boys?” I shake my head. I guess he’s not trying to
lose weight. Boone is always going to be a big dude, and Sharon just has to
accept that.
“You
know Sharon don’t cook, but I didn’t marry her for her cooking, and I’ll leave
it there.”
I order lunch, and Boone adds another Big Boy and then asks if they have free refills on shakes.
“Did
you just ask this young lady if they have free refills on shakes, man?” Then I
say to the waitress, “Please excuse my friend. He’s from Jefferson, Texas.” I
turn my attention toward Boone again. “Maybe in Texas, where everything’s
bigger, they refill shakes, but not in the Motor City. If you want another
shake, man, you have to pay for it. I agreed to treat you to one lunch, not
two.”
“Just
bring me some water,” he says to the waitress. Then when she walks away, Boone
says, “Did you see how she was staring at you? Do you know her?”
“Nah.
How was she staring at me though? The way all the other women in Michigan do?”
I
slide my First Federal Savings and Loan bank envelope over to him. “Here’s the
money I owe you for the tow.”
“Thank you.” He takes the money from
the envelope and slips it in his wallet. “That’s one thing I will say about
you. You always pay me back. Most of the time before I’m even expecting it. So
what’s up, man? You must’ve had a big commission
if you’re treating me to lunch and everything.”
“I’ve been thinking a lot about
Sarita.”
“Who?”
“Isn’t
that her name—Sarita? The one you were telling me about that’s never had a
boyfriend—the wholesome one. I need something like that in my life.”
“Something like that or someone?”
“Don’t
get all technical, you know what I mean. Someone—is that better? I’m ready for
someone who’s real. I need to settle down, stop playing games, and commit. She
could be the one.”
Boone
isn’t paying me any attention. He’s almost finished with his food, and he’s
scanning the restaurant, worried about where the waitress is. “What’s taking
her so long? I wish she’d hurry up with my burger. I’m starving over here.”
“Are
you listening to me, Boone?”
“You’re ready for something real?
Yeah, I heard you. The problem is, I don’t
believe it.” Boone shoves his last few fries in his mouth and starts to chew. “How can you possibly be ready when you
have a stalker? You need to get that in check. Sarita works in upper-level
management for GM. She doesn’t need any unnecessary
drama in her life. So, no, I don’t feel you’re ready.”
“I am
ready. Having a woman stalk me lets me know it’s time to stop playing. I need
to meet a sweet young lady, and Sarita sounds like the one. Introduce
me to her, please.”
“She’s a very sweet young woman, but I don’t have the final say in this. Only
Sharon does. She’s very protective of Sarita, and I’m very protective of both
of ’em. If Mrs. Sawyer says yes, then I’ll have to go along with it.”
Facebook Contest # 1
Blog Contest # 2
******
******
Please share & re-share.
Thank you for visiting. Please leave comments, so Chicki Brown knows you dropped by.
Your visit deeply appreciated.
I wish you a romantic week.
Love
Stella
******
Flirty & Feisty Romance
Our promise...is to deliver an intensely emotional experience you'll never forget.
life than she first thought. When a gorgeous man dashes across her yard in the
dark, she fears the worst until she finds out he is from out of town.
