Jordan held her waist as she raised her hand. “It’s funny because Tracy’s mother—”
Victoria squeaked, then added, “Dies every month.”
“That’s how she pays her mortgage, car note, and credit cards,” Jordan said.
What the fuck? Chancelor thought. “So Brother Melvin is on first?” he asked.
Victoria and Jordan nodded in unison.
“Don’t be angry. Consider it restitution.” Jordan chuckled.
Isn’t shit humorous! Chancelor didn’t want to become the man that used women, but he understood why some guys turned opportunist. “I’m forty-two and I’m not getting any younger. I want a wife and kids. Kingston, you’re a d-o-double-g. How do you recommend I handle these bitches?”
Kingston stretched his neck sideways. “Fuck ’em where you find ’em. Leave ’em where you fuck ’em. That’s the ballers’ mantra. Your problem is, you’re trying too hard. Hos ain’t loyal. That’s why I—”
Levi interrupted. “Everybody good?”
Everybody at the table ignored Levi, stared at Kingston.
That was definitely the wrong answer. “I can’t get no wife that way, man.” Chancelor believed in treating women the way he’d expect men to treat his mother. He was never part of a team, nor was he ever a standout athlete. He didn’t even have employees. Contractors only. In order for him to screw over a chick, he’d first have to disrespect his mom.
“If you’re looking for marriage you have to set one lady aside. One that you really like,” Jordan explained. “Make her your friend. Your best friend.”
Victoria added, “That you can be totally vulnerable, open, and honest with. Don’t fuck her right away. Just be her friend.”
“And don’t mislead her. If you wouldn’t do something to Victoria or myself, don’t do it to her,” Jordan said.
Chancelor laughed, rubbed his brows, then looked to Kingston, hoping he had something solid to share. The ladies were trippin’.
Kingston advised Chancelor, “Most importantly, fuck whomever you want, but never let the reserve bitch know you’re getting your nuts drained elsewhere.”
“That’s just it. I’m not a dog like you. Levi needs to pass his golden bone to you.” Chancelor held his snifter high in the direction of Levi. “Bring that bone over here and hand it to our man Kingston!”
“I have an idea,” Jordan interjected. “Have any of you been on a dating site?”
Kingston choked on his cognac, cleared his throat, then responded, “Ballers have groupies. We don’t need apps to get laid. I could’ve fucked that chick who asked for a photo with me.”
What kind of inconsiderate answer is that? “No” would’ve sufficed, Chancelor thought. Who raised him?
“Whatever, Kingston. Let’s all agree to do online dating. I have a friend who met his wife on a dating site,” Jordan commented.
Jordan could try it, but she’d never have luck, let alone find love online. She was too picky. Chancelor reflected on her long list of requirements.
“Casting a net online is one step away from mail-order dick!” Victoria exclaimed. “That’s how trifling-ass Levi met, then moved in on Queen. The woman we have yet to meet. He’s got her on house arrest while these women in the bar emptying their purses, thinking he’s a filmmaker who’s going to make them famous. He gets more pussy than he serves cocktails.”
Kingston cleared his throat again, but didn’t add to Victoria’s comment.
“All mixologists are whores,” Jordan said. “Let’s just try online dating and see how it works out for us. This might be what we all need. Let’s start by revealing our body count. Mine is twelve. Half of that was while I was in law school.”
Liar, Chancelor thought. Women never tell their real number. He was not revealing his body count to those three. Nor did he want to see their profile on ChristianFornicators. The fact that he’d been on a dating site for years was his little secret.
Setting a fresh drink in front of Kingston and Chancelor, Levi said, “Jordan, you’re sitting in my bar talking about me. I keep my Queen first. Post that on your social.” He dug in his pocket, set the golden bone in front of Kingston.
Kingston picked it up, shook his head, then handed the bone back to Levi. “I’m good.”
Jordan defended herself. “How about you post a picture of Queen on your page and tag us in it. I imagine Queen is happy being first in your lineup of whores—”
“Don’t go there, Jordan,” Levi insisted. “I know everybody’s personals.” Giving Kingston a quick glance, Levi emphasized, “Everybody’s. Jordan, your bar body count is closer to—”
“I’ll draft the rules for how we’re going to move forward,” Jordan said, rolling her eyes from Levi to the group.
Kingston told Levi, “Next round on me.”
“It’s already taken care of,” Levi said, walking away as he stuffed the bone in his pocket.
“God knows my heart. I’ma pray about this online dating,” Victoria told the group. “I don’t like putting myself out there.”
Jordan eagerly replied, “C’mon. I don’t want to do this by myself. I’ll do the research, compile a list of sites, create a compatibility spreadsheet for each of you, draft the rules, and I’ll run background checks on our dates before we go out with them.”
Kingston stated, “I’m good with everything, and I don’t need background checks. I can handle mine in person.”
Damn, she is doing everything except an AncestryDNA test. Chancelor decided to go along with Jordan to find himself another dating app. He needed a new fuck pool.
“Count me in,” Chancelor said. “I’m ready for something different.”
Victoria replied, “In the name of Jesus, leave me out. I already have to answer to God for my sins with William Copeland. But you’ve got my blessings, Jordan. Let the church say, ‘Amen.’ ”
CHAPTER 8
Monet
“Thanks, Mother, for helping me. I really need this girls’ day out.” Monet’s silky, wavy high ponytail flowed down her back, stopping above her perfect Brazilian butt lift, which was included in her push gift of a mommy makeover. “Excuse me, Mom, it’s Bianca calling.”
“Hey, Bianca. I’m on my way,” Monet confirmed, then quickly ended their call.
Monet stood in the living room on a—blend of light and dark blue, purple, and pink hues—pure silk Persian area rug. All white Italian leather sofas and several high-back chairs were centered between two seventy-inch television screens that hung on opposite walls.
The real sports bar—pool table, two-player arcade basketball game, movie theater, wall projector, stripper stage, pole, full kitchen—was secured downstairs in Kingston’s man cave, where the girls were forbidden to go and which he’d seldom used.
Why in the hell did women have a damn “she shack”? Monet called her hideaway “Monet’s Diva’s Den,” but like Kingston with his hideaway, she seldom used it. Perhaps it was time to host another overnight lingerie pleasure party and let her daughters stay at their grandma’s house.