Standing beside the nineteenth row, Chancelor thought, Sister Peaches need to be ashamed of herself for dropping $5 for the Lord. The Göt2b glue for her front lace from Atlanta Beauty Depot cost more than that. Then he moved along to row twenty. Peaches always raved about her exclusively patronizing the black-owned wig shop in Smyrna and tried to recruit every wig and extension-wearing member. Maybe she could become a kickback millionaire.
Joining a mega church was not what Chancelor wanted when he relocated to Atlanta. Nor did he want a small congregation where regulars shared each other’s DNA.
The wicker basket made it to the opposite end of the pew to his fellow usher-friend Victoria. They made eye contact before sidestepping to the next row. Kingston and Jordan were on the other aisles over. Kingston and Victoria were back-to-back.
Chancelor’s anger toward Tracy intensified. His full lips tightened. Eyes narrowed with disdain for the woman that called herself a “child of God.” He was in part to blame. When he saw she, too, had a profile on the app ChristianFornicators, he couldn’t resist asking her for a date. The only thing Tracy had put out was her hand.
Slightly shifting his eyes to the left, he felt the soft laughter from Tracy to the man next to her was intended to agitate him. If Tracy fainted right now, Chancelor couldn’t confirm he’d check to find out if she had a pulse. His cocoa-colored lips kissing distance from hers would never happen again. The moment had come for him to move to the last row, and his heartbeat had quickened with hatred.
Tracy was the fifty-seventh female Chancelor pursued after moving to Atlanta from Beverly Hills, Michigan. It was time for him to do like she’d done and move on.
“Hi, Brother Chancelor Leonard,” Tracy said seductively with that fake-friendly smile that once lured him in.
He nodded, wanting to knock out her teeth with her red-bottom stilettos he’d bought. Chancelor hadn’t given up on finding a good churchwoman to marry. But each time he expressed interest in a lady at their church, Tracy found a way to ruin it. Why did women let ex-girlfriends get in their heads? Hell, why was Tracy still on his mind? She didn’t deserve him.
Forming a double-file, two-person line in the center aisle at the rear of the church, Chancelor followed Victoria, and Kingston was next to him, and behind Jordan. Marching to the altar, they stood while the pastor blessed the congregation’s offering.
When the choir began singing, Chancelor noticed Tracy’s hourglass waist and big booty standing in the center aisle, facing the exit. Maybe he should give Tracy a second chance . . . he’d have to be the stupidest dude in Georgia.
She is fine, though. Maybe I misunderstood her or wasn’t compassionate enough when she shared her childhood trauma of sexual abuse . . .
Interrupting his mental monologue, Brother Melvin stood behind Tracy, blocking Chancelor’s view. He was so close to Tracy’s ass, one more step and his dick would touch her butt.
Where the fuck did he surface from?
Chancelor wished he had a bowling ball; he’d strike with just enough force to tap Brother Melvin so he’d knock Tracy in the gutter, where she belonged.
“Ahem. Ahem.” Victoria cleared her throat, then whispered, “Stop worrying about Tracy, she’s part of the penis-welcoming committee.”
Chancelor didn’t acknowledge Victoria’s warped sense of humor.
Under the volume of the choir’s singing, Chancelor replied, “Why hasn’t she recruited Kingston?”
Kingston mumbled, “Stop it, both of you. I’m steps ahead of her kind.”
“Give her a minute.” The music ended as Victoria added, “Tracy will welcome your penis, Kingston.”
In the deepest voice, Pastor Baloney said, “Let. Us. Pray.” Following the blessing of the contributions, all of the ushers headed to the back.
“I need a drink,” Chancelor told Victoria, Jordan, and Kingston. “This conversation is going to be continued at Bar Purgatory.”
“Our usual stop it is,” Kingston said. “Meet y’all there in an hour.”
“Why’re you always an hour late, man?” Chancelor questioned.
Kingston replied, “My pattern ain’t changed, bruh. This is your crisis, not mine. I need to switch out of these slacks, vest, tie, and this white shirt, man. You should do the same sometimes. The bar isn’t going anywhere.”
Jordan chimed in, “Kingston has to call his wife. Or as he claims, babies’ mother, Monet.”
Nodding at Jordan, Kingston squinted, then asked, “What’s wrong with that? I raised her up to keep the media out of my face. I’m not legally married. Okay?”
Victoria said, “Then Kingston, in the name of God, you need to honor and marry the mother of your illegitimate children.”
Holding up his palms, Kingston took a step back. “I don’t have to explain myself. I’m single.”
“The man acknowledged his status. He’s single. Damn, what’s wrong with women?” Chancelor lamented.
“Everything and nothing.” Kingston gently patted Chancelor on the back. “Depends on who you ask. See y’all in a few.”
CHAPTER 4
Kingston
Sitting in the black-and-white paisley chair in his hotel suite, Kingston searched BottomsUp to find a nearby guy seeking to have a quickie. A text registered from Theodore: Why are you still on here?
Definitely not to stalk him, Kingston thought, not responding.
Damn! Kingston drooled over the guy, who showed his body from the upper lip arch down to the defined dip of his abs, which led to the barely exposed pubic hairs. Was he an athlete, too? Didn’t matter. They were both on the app. Kingston messaged: Want some adventure right now? along with a picture of his dick.
232323 replied, If the pic is real, I’m wide open, then pin-dropped his location.
Kingston made a quick wardrobe switch. Out of the usher uniform into all black: button-down shirt, a pair of denims, tennis shoes, and a zip-up hoodie despite the ninety-degree temperature outside. He then grabbed a box containing designer shoes. In less than fifteen minutes, he was headed to his interim destination.
One of the fifty private parking spaces located in the rear of the adult-entertainment establishment on Cheshire Bridge Road was all he needed. Flipping the hood of his jacket over his head, Kingston eased on a pair of dark sunglasses to shield his identity, then secured his cell phone in the armrest compartment of his black-on-black Mercedes SUV with tinted windows.
Hurrying inside, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. His chin touched his neck as he eagerly strolled past the cashier; he was anticipating what was to come. He wasn’t there to finger the vagina of the silicone human-sized sexbot displayed at the entrance or purchase a glass-blown dildo enclosed in the case. He was there for the real thing. Kingston bypassed the exotic-toys section, then trotted downstairs to the dimly lit basement. Lifting his eyewear to his brows, he scanned the room, identifying what appeared to be a few women and lots of men, but he was solely interested in the latter.
Kingston quickly trolled the entire area one time, spotted a male image slumped in the corner. Watching the guy massage his thighs up and down sparked a rise in Kingston. The dude’s dick pointed north without assistance.
Lowering his shades to his nose, Kingston sat on the bench beside the stranger, then whispered, “Triple twenty-three?”