New York Times bestselling author Mary B. Morrison delivers a sizzling, twist-filled tale of four competitive friends, a dangerous bet—and high-stakes consequences no one can afford to win . . .
From childhood games to career challenges, Trymm, Dallas, Kohl, and Blitz have stayed the best of friends—and each others’ toughest competition. These bachelors live to party up, sex it down, and get it all. And now they’re betting on which of them can “date-and-dump” the most women in a month—and post the proof on social media. Winner takes all: a cool million dollars. But this game is about to get all-too-real . . .
Trymm has no problem bedding married women looking for quick-and-dirty satisfaction . . . until he falls hard for one he can’t have. A cynical ex-soldier battling PTSD, Dallas woos a hopeful bride to exhaust her savings for picket-fence promises—just to humor his boys. Kohl enjoys his best one-night stand with a mysterious beauty—but his recklessness backfires big time after he exposes her. And Blitz thinks he’s giving a powerful Fortune 500 executive the business—until he gets played . . .
Now everything they care about most—money, family, and friendship—is on the line. All the right moves won’t keep them safe—especially from each other. And the only way out of the game is to concede or risk everything on a dangerous gamble they can only lose . . .
|Product dimensions:||6.00(w) x 9.10(h) x 1.20(d)|
About the Author
Mary B. Morrison, a recipient of the AAMBC Francis Ray Trailblazer Award, is the New York Times bestselling author of more than twenty-five novels about women who shape their own destinies. A frequent public speaker and motivator, she is a SheSource Expert and host of The HoneyB Morrison Show on Worldstar Hit Radio and Celebrity Media TV. She is also the playwright and Executive Producer of the theater production based on her HoneyB novel, Single Husbands. Female empowerment is the focus of all Mary’s work, and she is the founder of Healing Her Hurt, a non-profit that promotes the emotional, physical, and financial health of marginalized women and girls by providing self-empowerment tools, resources, and education. The proud mother of the award-winning children’s book author Jesse Byrd Jr., Mary lives in Atlanta, GA and can be found online at MaryMorrison.com.
Read an Excerpt
"Ayacht?" BobbyRay questioned.
"You heard me, homey. I didn't stutter. Huge. Three levels. None of that forty-six-foot shit, either. The kind you rolled out for me when I was ballin' professionally. I need a trick that can accommodate a hundred naked babes. Comfortably," I demanded.
"A hundred? Females? With no clothes on? How many dudes?" he inquired.
BobbyRay had jokes not worthy of laughter.
"One. Me." I was solid on that. "Hold on. Let me catch this convo."
With fifteen minutes to opening my restaurant, I had to make a quick stop. Prayed Walter was at his location, not mine. Texted my sis Penny: Be there in 15–20 tops!
Putting BobbyRay on mute, I parked curbside, honked my horn, lowered the tinted window of my GLS.
Blitz turned off his garden hose, approached the passenger side, reached toward his back pocket, handed me an envelope. "Here's your deposit receipt and proof of the balance. Everything is all set up. In thirty days you can kiss your cash good-bye."
"And right this second you can kiss my ass. You know how crazy Walter is, and I had to come ova here. You shoulda dropped this off to me yesterday, homey." I ripped the seal, peeped inside. "This kinda light. Where the rest of the deets?"
This wasn't my first time opening an account. I needed every piece of paper they signed, along with the full account number, and online monitoring access.
"Nigga, don't get new over a bet you're going to lose. Oh, text me a copy of your driver's license. My banker, Ralph, needs it for the file."
"Fuck that. I'll drop by the bank at my earliest to make sure everything is in order. I'll give it to him then."
Nigga seemed a little hesitant as he said, "That works."
"For sho." I had to get back to organizing my shit.
"I got a few female intellects lined up while you ... at work." He looked at his Rolex wristwatch. "What time you get off, my brother?"
I wasn't down with women who were all suited up, with balls bigger than mine. CEOs. COOs. He could fuck all of them soldier-marching, briefcase-carrying, sleeping-alone-at-night, uptight broads. Blitz's last name got panties to drop, but not that lil dick he had since we were in middle-school gym class.
"I've got to go, homey."
"Oh, guess who I ran into."
"Text it to me."
He blurted, "Atlantis."
For a split second I was stuck. "What the fuck? My ex?" Regrouping, I realized he was trying to throw me off my game. "Nigga, you outta your league. But if you think you can hit it, then 'Swing, batter. Batter, swing.'"
Atlantis would never sleep with any of my boys. If there was one ex- girlfriend I wished I hadn't fucked over, it was Atlantis. She still had my heart.
Blitz turned, resumed watering his front lawn.
Speeding off, I unmuted BobbyRay. "I'm back."
"You a fool, Trymm. Give me the pantyless details."
Fuck Blitz, one-at-a-time, pussy-eating, ain't-never-had-a- threesome ass. Hope his ass gets lockjaw.
"Hunded, man," I reemphasized to keep BobbyRay focused on the pertinent.
My boyz weren't ready for me. Shooting hoops with my brothers and sisters since I was two, starting every game when I was in high school, I'd stayed up many nights strategizing how to stack the W's to get into the league. Landed overseas four years straight out of college, never made it to the NBA, but I enjoyed damn near every foreign pussy presented to me. Missed that wild life.
"How long you need it for?" BobbyRay asked.
I was going to be so far ahead out the gate, the crewe might as well concede and give me the mil now. Initially, when I called my homey, I thought a Saturday cruise was cool, but it was Friday and I had to muscle up at the family biz this weekend.
"If you can crank it up for midnight and get the word out by mouth, no flyers or social shit, let me do tonight, tomorrow, and Sunday." Couldn't chance the fellas getting wind of my plan before I set sail.
"Cool. Sounds like I should be on board," he said, then laughed.
A boatload of females was more than I could handle if all they did was lick my dick three times each, shared a few rounds of my seeds, and posed in front of my hidden camera. I could dump all those bitches online at the same damn time. Glad we'd ditched the "I love you" confessions, but I might make the ladies confess to piss the fellas off.
BobbyRay was my frat. The purple and gold bled purple and gold.
"Ruff! This is a straight sexfest, homey. I'ma need video footage from midnight to three a.m. You might have to take something to hang. I sure am. Concentrate on married women who want to have unadulterated fun immediately after the concert is over.
"Fuck Vegas," I added. "Vegas ain't got nothing on this here dirty South. 'What happens, didn't' shit is about to pop the fuck off. Ya heard me. I need Chance the Rapper blasting, free-flowing booze, and lots of food. Bitches get irritated when they hungry."
Blitz had better not stick his dick in Atlantis. She'd better not let him. Atlantis still had feelings for me. I could get back with her, and every woman I dated, if I wanted to.
"Count me all the way in, but I can't promise that many pussies will be balled and chained by law. I got you on the music, but scrap Chance. There's a lot of sex groups in town from DC, Cali, New York, from all over. Females will cruise for the fun of it. I'll connect with the organized ones first. They know how to keep locations under wraps for real."
That was what I was talkin' 'bout. "Damages?" Friend or not, I always confirmed my out-of-pocket commitment up front. My dad taught all of us that.
"I'll discount you to forty dollars a head times three, plus food and alcohol. A flat twenty g's for all three days," BobbyRay insisted.
"Thirty grand flat, homey, and let me put that beauty on reserve for the next three Saturdays, too." Just in case one of the crewe had a better plan I didn't know about and I needed a second wind to cross the finish line.
I pulled into the garage of my condo building in the French Quarter, off Bourbon Street. Sat in my SUV, then added, "Forty tops, add the three Sundays of this month. That's a total of nine sails."
"You ahead of yourself, Trymm. I'd love to take your money, but ain't no more big festivals in July, and who's going to do a midnight sail on a Sunday after the holiday weekend? Let me do you a solid on the twenty g's, we get past Essence, and take it one weekend at a time. I'll have everything else in place, just in case."
That was why I fucked with BobbyRay. "Cool." Retrieving my credit card, the one with weight on it. Not that plastic bendable, BobbyRay was right.
Homey said, "I'ma need —"
I cut him off with, "5452 ... Before you bill me, e-mail me a contract so I can verify we on the same page. Wait. Remember to use my government for the charge. François Dupree. Peace."CHAPTER 2
Ending the call with BobbyRay, I jogged six blocks to the family restaurant, which I co-owned and managed with my sister Penélope. Everybody called her Penny for short. My mother loved the kind of names where people couldn't tell our race. Last night had gone into the morning. I stood up Kandy, with a capital k. Had plans to make her number one on my hit list, but I didn't get off till damn near sunrise. Wasn't getting a refund from BobbyRay, so I sure nuff wasn't missing the boat tonight.
Sent a quick text: Hey, sweet goddess, had to work late. Let me make it up to you. Swing by Dupree's at 8 p.m.
Tagging on the address for Kandy, I went to the back door of Dupree's to enter. Our upstairs tenant came down the stairway. "Hey, Alex. What's up?" I said, pounding his fist with mine.
"Thinking about popping the question, man. Nervous," he said with a flat smile. "You know I look up to you. Any advice?"
Alex was Scottish. Tried hard to be like a brotha. "Don't be nervous. Be sure," I told him, entering the restaurant.
"Hey, sis. Thanks for holding it down for me. I'm going to need you on standby every day for the next thirty days. Working on the unbelievable! Fifty grand in your hand if you got me." More like needed her to find my replacement.
During special events, to maximize our bottom line, we opened at 7:00 a.m. Come Monday, we'd be back on the daily of 10:00 a.m. until midnight, or until business slowed down.
"Ba-bay, you are not going to have my husband pissed at me. I barely see him as it is. You're the one in a relationship acting as though you're single. You should cover for me so I can ride my man's dick every once in a while," Penny complained. "Don't think I didn't hear you. I want my fifty-grand promissory note up front." Reaching toward the counter, she slapped a napkin to my chest. "Write it on here or text it to me."
A fine female sat at the bar alone. Immediately I noticed her wedding set.
"Cool. Help me out. Call DJ and see if he can be here by eleven tonight." Damn, forgot about Kandy just that quick. "Make it eight o'clock. Please." Donald Jr. would do anything for Penny. Nothing for me.
"Donald Jr.? Come here before he closes his location? Ba-bay. You pushin' it. You lucky I love you. Regardless, I got you. But I want my money, Trymm. My daughter can use the extra change. If DJ can't fill in, she'll help out," Penny said. "I've got to check on things in the kitchen. Don't be rude. Help the staff service the customers."
Penny was thirty-four, five years older than me. Her eighteen-year-old (whom our mother raised the first six years) was starting college next month. My sister claimed her husband was the only man she'd had sex with. Ever. They'd married right after high school. Women lied all the time, and although I had no proof, I did not believe my sister had never let another man dip his stick.
A text confirmation, CU@8p, registered from Kandy.
The Mrs. at the bar — her dude was either rolling in dough or broke as hell, still paying on that rock damn near bigger than Gibraltar on her finger.
Leaning on the bar, I stared in her eyes, then asked, "What can I get you?"
My sister yelled from the kitchen, "One day Francine gon' kick your ass! Stop holding out. Marry that girl and give Mom a grandbaby!"
Dana at the Trolley Stop, Penny, they heard every damn thing. Francine knew I was not a one-pussy man. No matter how many chicks I banged or times I got caught, Francine wasn't going anywhere. Besides, we were on my off-again break. I'd make sure it stayed that way the entire month.
The woman at the bar stared back. I loved the confident ones. Shy girls lowered their heads. Spoke low. Always wanted a man to make the first move in and out of the bedroom. Fuck that! The attitude-for-no-reason ones were worse than the shy females. Thought they were entitled to being treated well, even when they acted like shit. Fuck them, too! Whenever a lady was uncomfortable, she avoided eye contact by staring to the left, right, or down when speaking. Everywhere except in my eyes.
This one didn't blink when she spoke. "Heard the Hand Grenades here are so big I'll need both hands to hold it. Is it true?"
I took a step backward. Immediately her eyes did a quick scroll down to my dick, then froze.
Propping her elbow on the bar, she spoke to my genital. "Looks like it'll explode the second I suck on it. Give it to me."
Wow. In most cases I didn't want the pussy if it was easy, but her timing was impeccable, and the way she kept staring had me intrigued. "We don't serve the Grenade but our Atomic Bomb, you gotta be real grown to get that down your throat. Can you handle it?" I widened my stance.
She nodded. "That'll work."
Hadn't noticed Penny was behind me until sis said, "You're moving slow. I'll make her an Atomic Bomb.
"No, thanks," the customer countered. "He's going to give it to me," she said, focusing below my waist.
Date. Dick. Dump. Fall in love. Proof. Had to find a way to get my first notch. A flow of customers walked through the door. Damn, my condoms are in my car. I couldn't leave. A few more guests came in. Penny and the staff had them covered. Occasionally I took randoms down the street to my villa. No time for that. If I did ole girl out back, in the lot, how was I going to prove I hit it?
"What's your name?" I asked, filling the huge black official basketball sized container with frozen mixed grain alcohol, tequila, rum, gin, and orange liqueur.
"Does it matter?" she questioned, taking the drink. "They say the best thing for a hangover is what got you there in the first place. I just want to enjoy one more giant cocktail, then be on my way." The tip of her tongue circled the circumference from the bottom up to the straw.
I'd never seen her in here. "Where are you from?"
"From is past tense. I have no address. Travel the world. I live wherever I am. Never overstay my welcome," she said, then dragged the icy liquid into her throat. "My flight leaves in a few hours. I need something to sober me up."
Sounds like she was in town with one of those sex groups BobbyRay mentioned. I knew sexually deprived married women were thirsty, but damn. For sho, she knew how to get wet and leave without drying off.
"Would you like a tour? I could show you my" — slowly I scanned down to my dick, then toward the back — "office."
A few more guests entered, then left. With lots of sex clubs, places to shop, eat, and grab drinks to go in the French Quarters, peepers were common on Bourbon Street.
Sliding the straw in her mouth, she nodded once.
"Sis," I called out, "hold it down for a few minutes. I need to take a private call in my office."
Penny was in the back. The workers were on top of things. I gave ole married gurl a slight nod, then led the way.
Locking the door, I unbuckled my belt. Ole gurl unzipped my shit. I reached for her pussy. She blocked my hand. One, two, three, she yanked down my pants and boxer briefs at the same time, shoved me back on my desktop, dropped to her knees, and started sucking me off.
Resting on my elbows, I made sure we were in full view of the camera inside the charcoal dome on the ceiling. My naked ass was atop the desk with a cold paperweight wedged between the crack. I couldn't move. Could only see her head, neck, and shoulders. Her esophagus felt supercalifragilisticexpialidocious. All I heard was slurping as my nuts cradled in her firm hand. I wasn't sure if I wanted her to speed up so I could get back to work or slow down for me to appreciate where I was.
"Give me this cum, you filthy bastard. I love hot cum in my mouth. Skeet. I promise you I won't waste a drop. Your beef is the thickest I've eaten."
Six brothers. All of my dad's boys had the family blessing and curse of being hung like thoroughbreds. She bounced and bobbed. Let her mouth ride my dick. The inside of her cheeks felt pussy soft, the suction was vacuum strong. Her hand pumped up and down.
"Fuck," I grunted. Smothering my word, I tucked in my lips. Wanted to say, "Yes, bitch, yes." Didn't want to interrupt her flow. Desperately wanted to come. Didn't want the feeling to end.
"Trymm, get out here!" Penny slapped once on the door.
"O-kay!" I shouted. Closing my eyes, I prayed my sister would go away.
"You'd better not let Walter catch you. He's on his way." My sister almost screwed up the moment.
Shit! She, whatever her name was, kept on sucking and stroking like a star.
Dupree New Orleans Seafood restaurants had been in business since 1964. We owned five locations. I was the youngest and the only one of our parents' children that wasn't married. This was why I couldn't commit. Too many options.
My parents wanted me to, but I'd never make Francine an honorable woman. That responsibility was hers. Bought her a ring five years ago, but never felt right about giving it to her. This thirty-day challenge was the perfect opportunity to get the ... ruff! ... outta my system before falling in love again. Atlantis got away, but Kandy might be the one if I can convince her to ...
"Aw, shit. I'm about to come," I grunted, picturing Kandy with a k on her knees before me.
"What you waiting for?" she asked. "I told you I have a flight to catch. Come or I'm done."
I felt my shit squirting in her throat. She swallowed until my shaft stopped pulsating. Suctioned out the seeds lingering in my tube. My shit drooped like melting taffy. No way I could do this all night long. Needed some serious enhancements to recoup.
I couldn't wait to see this footage.
She pulled down her dress, stood. Before I'd requested to see her pussy, she insisted, "I know the way out," then left.(Continues…)
Excerpted from "Head Games"
Copyright © 2018 Mary B. Morrison.
Excerpted by permission of KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
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