Catt Chasing

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Authors: Shana Burton

BOOK: Catt Chasing
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Catt Chasin'
 
 
Shana Burton
 
 
 
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Dedication
This book is dedicated to the wonderful men in my life who have been my friends, brothers, handymen, lunch providers, book hustlers, confidants, and, in a few cases, my significant other: Adrick Ingram, Demetrius Hollis, Damon Wilson, Brian Harmon, Manuel Johnson, Anthony Richards, Scott Harris, Quinterrence Bell, Davarious Lamar, and Phillip Lockett.
 
It is especially dedicated to my good friend and favorite Nupe, James “Jimmy” Lunsford, Jr., who inspired my male protagonist, Jamal Ford, and to Dwarka Jackson, who brought my heart out of its hiding place.
Acknowledgments
Before I acknowledge anyone, I must acknowledge and give thanks to God, who is the joy and the strength of my life. Without Him, I have nothing. With Him, I have everything. To Him be all the glory forever and ever. God has given me the gift to write and opportunity to do what I love while ministering to other people. More important, He placed so many wonderful people in my life, which is more than I could have ever hoped for. If you are listed on these next two pages, please know that I thank God for you all the time. I pray that God will use me to be the same kind of blessing to you that you have been to me.
I would like to thank my boys, Shannon and Trey, for being the best kids ever! You are my heart, and you have kept me going during my darkest moments. The two of you are the kindest, most talented, brilliant, resilient, handsome, loving, and fun people I've ever met. I love you more than you'll ever know.
Thank you to my mother, Myrtice C. Johnson, who never fails to love and support me unconditionally. I don't know what I did to be worthy of a mother like you, but I thank God for you every single day. I love you so much! Thank you to my father, James L. Johnson, for being my sounding board and friend. Thank you for never prying! I love you. I hope you know that.
Thank you to my sister, Myrja, and my brothers, Jay and Matthew, for your love and support. I especially want to thank my brother Jay for starting a book club, convincing the members to read my book, then disbanding the club. That's gangsta! Love ya, boo!
Many thanks go to my best friend and play-sister Deirdre Neeley. Aside from the Lord and my mama, I don't think I've ever had a more loyal friend. Thanks for all the times you loaned me your couch, a listening ear, and unsolicited advice. More than that, you introduced me to Nikki and Lola, for which I will always be grateful. Nothing compares to having a friend who will have your back, even when you're wrong. Thank you for always being there.
Thank you to all of the book clubs, bloggers, bibliophiles, and reviewers who have supported me, whether it was from my debut novel or my latest release. If it wasn't for you getting the word out about my books, the only one reading them would be my mama! A supersized thank you goes to Ty Moody, Ella Curry, Urban-Reviews, Chocolate City, Black Expressions® Book Club, Raw Sistaz, APOOO, OOSA, All the Buzz Reviews, Christian Fiction Blogspot, Chick Lit Gurrl, Books A Latte, Christian Bookworm Reviews, Arms of a Sister, Joey Pickney, Dreams 4 More Radio, Bella Online, The Unique Reviewer, Shelfari, Divas Read 2, Books & Beauty, Victorious Café, Chapters of Conversation Book Club, Positive Minds Book Club, Book Remarks, Wanda B. Campbell, Tiffany Warren, Rhonda McKnight, Ashea Goldson, Curled Up With a Good Book and a Cup of Tea, LaShaunda Hoffman, Cyrus Webb, Words of Inspiration Book Club, Tamika Newhouse, Romance in Color, Sisterhood Book Club, Anjuelle Floyd, Sherrell Valdezloqui, Literary Gumbo, This That and the Other Thing, The Coupon Sista, Nubian Lit, Simply Said Reading Accessories, Loving Heart Mommy, Macon State College, Morehouse College, Virginia College, and a host of other people who I can't think of at the moment, but know that I love and appreciate you!
I would be remiss if I didn't acknowledge my awesome writers' group, The Writer's Voice, and all of its members: Brian, Traci, Van, Rena, Keisa, Della, and Lady T. To members Nicole Ingram and C. Lindsey Pennimon, your support has been nothing short of amazing. You all are my sisters, and I love you so much! I also have the best Facebook friends, and I sincerely thank all 2,500 of you for your support and well wishes, especially ride-or-die chick, Yolanda Gore.
Thank you so much to my publicist Dee Stewart. You have been extra patient with me, and you've become so much more to me than a publicist. I consider you to be a friend. Thank you to my editor, Joylynn Jossel. There was hardly any bloodshed this time; I must be getting better!
Thank you to my Northeast family for continuing to support me, especially Becky Ehalt, for always keeping my books in stock, and to Aaliyah James and Yocasta DeJesus for keeping me motivated all of those days on the road. Thank you to my Beulahland Bible Church family for continuing to buy books out of my trunk after church and sending me those encouraging and uplifting e-mails.
To Dwarka Jackson: There are some people who change your life forever. You're one of those people. “I was fumbling around in the dark. Then God turned on the light, and there you were.” I'll tell you the rest when I see you . . .
Last, but not least, thank you, loyal reader and book supporter! Thank you for taking time out of your day and money out of your budget to spend with me. I hope you think it was well worth the effort. This is my promise to you: If you keep on reading 'em, I'll keep on writing 'em! Much love . . . be blessed and be a blessing.
Chapter 1
Jamal Ford only ordered a glass of water and calamari that night. There was no point in ordering anything heavy; he knew how the evening would end before they even set foot in the restaurant. It was 8:12
P.M.
when they arrived and by 9:00, he'd be at home, catching whatever was left of the Lakers game. He'd already decided that twenty minutes into dinner, he would offend her, start an argument, then drop his blazer off at the cleaners on the way home because she would predictably saturate his suit with wine, tea, or whatever beverage was close at hand before storming out. He could only hope that she'd grab his drink instead of hers as her weapon of choice. After all, it was a $300 sports coat. A little water wouldn't hurt it too much.
It was Day fifteen, and Patrice Luke had made it to the crucial halfway point without even knowing it. For the unsuspecting Patrice, the third Tuesday in March simply marked her fifth date with Jamal Ford, the handsome head of cosmetic research and development she'd been dating for the past two weeks. To Jamal, however, it wasn't just the third Tuesday in the third month of a new year; it was the midpoint of his thirty-Day Plan, a dating guide that he had created for himself to weed out the scalawags, drama queens, baby mamas, and gold diggers.
Jamal met Patrice while having a drink at The Blue, a trendy bar in Charlotte, North Carolina, the city he'd called home for the past six years. He'd gone to The Blue that day to celebrate being named the new head of Research and Development at Telegenic, an up-and-coming minority-owned cosmetic company. It was a definite pay cut, but offered a much-needed change of pace and a real opportunity to make his mark in the cosmetic world. Jamal quickly decided that physical gratification was a more attractive alternative to the evitable amaretto-and gin-induced hangover when Patrice with her curvy legs and supple figure sashayed through the door. While there was no real escape from the sting of losing money, he could take comfort in temporary, yet beautiful, distractions like his jazz collection and Patrice Luke.
So far, Patrice had fared pretty well on her basic tests. The half-Black, half-Dominican stunner had excelled in the looks department. She was twenty-seven, had no kids, and had never been married—all pluses in Jamal's mental notebook. Although she was a college dropout, she did manage to meet his minimal requirements for intellect, grace, and ability to hold a conversation. Ordinarily, her questionable job status as an aspiring model practicing secretary would have immediately eliminated her as a serious contender for his heart, but after she scored an audition for a supporting role in a Tyler Perry film, he'd decided to keep her around. She wasn't too much in the kitchen but made up for it with skills in the bedroom. She had been well on her way to taking the top spot on his “team” when she made a fundamental mistake: she suggested that he take her to Aquavina for dinner.
The problem wasn't that he couldn't afford an upscale dining experience. His nearly six-figure salary made sure of that. The problem was that
she
couldn't afford one. Considering that this made the third restaurant she'd recommended that was out of her price range, Jamal concluded that it was time to officially take Patrice off “person-of-interest” status and place her squarely on “gold-digger watch.” Gold diggers, like insects and rodents, would not be tolerated, and by the end of the night, both he and his bank account would be rid of Patrice.
Jamal checked his watch. It was 8:32. He cleared his throat and drove his plan into action.
“I have a friend I want you to meet,” he said casually as the waiter set their orders down in from of them.
“Oh,” replied Patrice and took a sip from her glass of Cabernet. “Is he someone from work?”
“No,
she's
an old friend from college.”
Patrice raised an eyebrow. “
She?
”
Jamal laughed. “Don't worry, she's cool. I think you'll like her.”
She rolled her eyes, then muttered, “If you say so.”
“I do. Tamara is great. She's smart, funny, and sexy as all get-out. I think you two would really hit it off.”
“I don't really get along well with too many females, Jamal,” she snapped. “I thought I told you that.”
He nodded. “You did, but she'll only be in town for a few days. Since she's staying at my place, I thought you should meet her. I don't want things to be awkward while she's here.”
Patrice's eyes widened. “Did I just hear you say that she's staying with you?”
He frowned. “You don't expect me to send her to a hotel, do you?”
“That depends.” Patrice crossed her arms. “Where is she sleeping?”
Jamal smiled a little. “With me, of course.”
“
With you!
” spat Patrice.
Jamal reached out and caressed her hand. “I'm sorry, baby . . . with
us
.”
Patrice's mouth flew open, and she snatched her hand back.
“What?”
“Yeah, what's the problem?” It took every ounce of strength he had to keep a straight face.
Patrice stared at Jamal in total disbelief. “Are you kidding me?” she fired.
He smirked and pushed his calamari around on his plate. “Come on, Patrice. Don't act like you've never indulged in a threesome. You're in the entertainment industry. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you haven't engaged in a few extracurricular activities to land a role or an audition?”
Patrice squinted her eyes. Jamal could almost see the blood rushing to her face. “Excuse me?” she hissed.
“See, there you go, getting an attitude.” He shrugged his shoulders. “What's the big deal?”
“The big deal is that you just basically called me a prostitute and insinuated that I would be willing to sleep with you and another woman!” she raged, pointing a finger at him.
Jamal remained cool. He knew that doing so would rile her even more. “Well, it's not like you would be the first girlfriend I've ever had to be open to that sort of thing. Honestly, sweetheart, with you being an actress and all, I just assumed that you dabbled in a little porn from time-to-time to help make ends meet or to get your foot in the door with certain producers or agents. I didn't think that adding Tamara to the mix would be a far stretch from what you already do.”
“Just what kind of woman do you think I am?” shrieked Patrice and bolted from her seat.
“Clearly not the kind who's down for a little ménage à trios,” mumbled Jamal, looking down at his plate.
When Patrice spied the bewildered looks from eavesdropping strangers, she sat down and regained her composure. She took a deep breath. “We seem to be having some sort of disconnect here,” she stated calmly. “Suffice it to say, I don't do threesomes, and it's definitely
not
okay with me that you're going to have this woman living with you.”
Jamal leaned back in his chair. “I don't think it's your call to make, Patrice. I wasn't asking your permission. I was just giving you the heads-up.”
“You know what—” Patrice fumed and flung her napkin on the table. “I think I just lost my appetite. Take me home.”
“Why? You've barely touched your food.”
She reached for her purse and cell phone. “Are you going to take me home, or do I need to call someone to come get me?”
Jamal sighed and shook his head. He pulled out his credit card, more than happy to pay the bill and send Patrice on her merry gold-digging, hyperemotional way. “You're overreacting, you know that, right?”
“I'm
what?
” she snarled.
“Overreacting,” he repeated and signaled to their waiter. “Not to mention being childish and petty.”
Patrice rose again, visibly agitated. “You know, maybe we need to take a break for a couple of days and give each other time to reflect on whether this relationship is worth pursuing. We seem to have
very
different ideas about what's acceptable and what's not.”
“So now you want to break up, huh?” Jamal shook his head. “So typical. I thought you were different, Patrice. If I had known that you would flip out on me like this, I never would've . . .” He sighed, preparing to bring out the big guns. He stealthily edged his glass of water closer to her reach. If at all possible, he really wanted to avoid that wine stain on his jacket.
“Never would've
what?
” demanded Patrice, anchoring her hands on her hips.
Jamal looked up at her with his deep, honey-colored eyes brimming with sincerity. “I never would've told Adam about you.”
“Who's Adam?” she cried.
“Patrice, Adam was my first love and has never stopped being my lover. A threesome with another woman is no big deal, but if I invite Adam to join our bed, it means that you're someone I could be serious about. I would only share him with a woman I cared for very deeply.”
Patrice froze in horror, as if the world had stopped spinning. This scenario was all too familiar. Jamal began counting down and braced himself. If the slap or the drink in the face didn't come when he mentioned “Tamara,” it came—without fail—whenever he brought up his fictitious lover, Adam, usually within five . . . four . . . three . . . two . . . one.
Right on cue, Patrice called him a sick bastard and followed up with the proverbial glass in the face before telling him to lose her number and storming out in a dramatic fashion. As fate would have it, she reached for the Cabernet.
Jamal blotted the stain off of his jacket, more upset about the damage done to his attire than the damage done to his relationship. He promptly began contemplating which female currently sitting on the bench would be promoted to Patrice's now-vacant spot. But that was a matter he could settle in the morning. For now, he had to drop off the jacket before the cleaners closed at nine and, of course, there was a game to catch.

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