Marry Me Twice
Monica Walters
B. Love Publications
Copyright © 2020 by Monica Walters
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Epilogue
Afterword
Other Titles by Monica Walters
Introduction
Hello, Readers!
Thank you for purchasing and/or downloading this book. This work of art contains explicit language, lewd sex scenes, and moments of depression. This is also an insta-love type EROTIC novel. If any of the previously mentioned offend you or serve as triggers for unpleasant times, please do not read.
Also, please remember that your reality isn’t everyone’s reality. What may seem unrealistic to you could be very real for someone else. But also keep in mind that despite the previously mentioned, this is a fictional story.
If you are okay with the previously mentioned warnings, I hope that you enjoy Haji and Chinara’s story.
Monica
1
Haji
“She a fine muthafucka,” I said to my friend, Jarius.
“Hell yeah. You gon’ holla?”
“Naw. Not today. I met this woman earlier, so I wanna see what she talking ’bout first.”
“What if you don’t see her again, nigga?”
“She came out of the hair supply store. I’m willing to bet she’ll be back in a couple of weeks.”
He rolled his eyes as we walked inside his barbershop for him to give me an edge. Just because I was a bachelor didn’t mean I had to holla at every female I found attractive. Ever since I’d been in the States, though, that reputation followed me. When I got to Lamar University from Sierra Leone, I nearly lost my mind. Being away from the watchful eyes of my parents was like a dream come true. The beautiful women were plentiful, and I made my way through as many as I could my first couple of years in school.
The women loved me. I had dark skin, but it had lightened up some over the years. That African sun hit way different than this American sun. I was motor oil black when I got here. That shit didn’t matter, though. They loved my height of six-feet-three inches and, not to mention, all this African dick I was slanging. Just like guys talked about their conquest, so did the ladies. Most of the ones I slept with had approached me. Despite those distractions during the fourteen years I’d been here, I’d obtained a master’s degree in chemical engineering.
My dad was pissed. He said I was supposed to come here, get an education, and bring my wealth of knowledge home to my people. Truth was, I loved it here. I’d submerged myself in American culture and absolutely loved southern rap music. As time went on, my accent became more and more faint, and I could barely hear it now. Everyone else could still hear it, though. When they heard me speak, their first question was always to ask where I was from. Sierra Leone was a poor country. Most of the people were living in poverty. While our family was really well off due to my dad’s involvement with the mines, what kind of money did he think I was going to make there?
I didn’t want to be connected to the diamond mines at all. After all the corrupt forces mining there… blood diamonds and shit, that was the last place I wanted to be. I was fine right where I was. I was a thirty-two-year-old chemical engineer, making bank at Hargrove and Associates, Inc. I’d been working there for the past two years and had been able to save almost one hundred grand since then. Before that, I’d gotten my experience at one of the refineries in the area. I had plenty of money that my parents had sent me here with as well. “So, what’s the woman’s name that you’re talking to?”
“Why does it matter, Jarius? It ain’t yo’ mama, so you shouldn’t be worried about who I’m ’bout to slide up in.”
“Nigga, fuck you. I was just asking. Get the fuck out of my chair.”
I chuckled as I stood and looked in the mirror at my fresh lineup. He’d gotten my beard just right. Hopefully, tonight, Kyley would be running her fingers through it. Slapping a fifty-dollar bill in his hand, he slid it in his pocket and was about to call the next person to the chair. “Nigga, if you don’t run me my ten dollars, I’m gon’ sit back in yo’ chair until I get it.”
“Why you gotta be so tight?” He looked over at another barber and said, “Man, them Africans crazy when it come to their money.”
He chuckled. Everybody was familiar with me in there and knew we joked around a lot. So, they didn’t pay us any attention. He finally slapped my ten spot in my hand and I gave it back to him, as always. “You know this shit is stupid, right? You do the same shit every week.”
“I don’t want you getting comfortable with not bringing me my change. One day, I might need that shit.”
He rolled his eyes, then we slapped hands and I headed out. When I got to my Range Rover, I saw that pretty, black, porcelain doll again that came out of the beauty supply store earlier. She was so gorgeous. I usually went for lighter to medium-brown complexioned women, but this woman made having a preference sound stupid as hell. I licked my lips as she walked back to the beauty supply store, looking at a bag of hair.
After cranking up, I decided to just leave. I was getting too old to still be sticking and moving. I was thinking about my future and my legacy a lot more these days than I wanted to. My one-nighters had slowed way down. The only way they were limited to one night now, was if the sex was trash. For the most part, I dipped back. The problem was that nobody seemed worthy enough to carry my name. Haji Okiro Abimbola. Pilgrim born with fat cheeks and wealth. While I didn’t travel to America for religious purposes, it was definitely sacred compared to Sierra Leone. I was definitely born with fat cheeks and money, still had them both.
When I got home, I could only hope Kyley would be worth my time. She was pretty enough and had ass that could claim any man’s attention. I met her at the post office earlier today when I went to mail some beard cream that Jarius sold in his barbershop to my boy. Glenn had moved back home to Austin after we finished school, but we kept in touch. When I left the line, I noticed her leaving her post office box. I couldn’t help but holla at her. She’d smiled big when she looked at me and gladly gave me her number.
Hopefully, that wasn’t a bad sign that she’d already called me, asking to come through. My dick hadn’t been wet in a month, so I was way overdue. She was twenty-five and worked at Verizon while going to school to get her master’s degree in family counseling. The more I thought about her, the more skeptical I was getting. What type of woman showed up at a nigga’s house alone and at night the first day they met? She was that damn trusting? She was either a hoe or she was naïve as hell.
After grilling some chicken, I made a salad, while my old school southern rap playlist blasted through the speakers. “Let Me See It” by UGK was one of my all-time favorites. I danced a bit while I cut my vegetables and boiled eggs for my salad. All the memories I’d made at frat parties in my college years slid through my mind, making me smile. The ass that t
werked on my dick after those parties… shiiid, I couldn’t count. There were more Sigmas and Alphas on Lamar’s campus back then, but me and my boys would ride out to Prairie View to party with the Q-Dawgs and the Kappas, getting ass in a three hundred mile radius. As I reminisced, my cell phone started ringing. Grabbing my remote to turn down the music, I grabbed my phone with the other hand. “Hello?”
“Kusheh, Haji! Aw di bodi?” my mom asked in Krio, my native language.
“Kusheh! Di bodi fayn! Aw di bodi?”
She squealed in excitement. She loved to hear me speak Krio. They swore I was so Americanized that I didn’t remember it. I’d only roll my eyes. We spoke English in Sierra Leone. I didn’t understand why they had to be over the top about everything, where I was concerned. She’d said, hello, Haji! How are you? And I’d responded, I’m well.
“Di bodi fayn!”
I chuckled. “How’s everybody doing, Mama?”
“We’re all fine, baby. I was about to turn in for the night and wanted to check on my baby boy.”
They were five hours ahead of us here in Beaumont, so it was almost ten at night, there. “I’m glad everyone’s good. I’m doing well, just preparing dinner.”
“What are you eating?”
“Just a grilled chicken salad.”
“Still sounds good. Your dad has a doctor’s appointment in the morning, so I better get my rest. He’s like a big baby when he goes to the doctor.”
I chuckled. My dad rarely called me. He’d hear all about how I was doing from my mother and vice versa. She was our middleman unless he just couldn’t avoid calling me. It was sad, really. He refused to talk to me because of decisions I made for my life. I didn’t understand him sometimes. We loved one another and we both knew that, but it would be nice to hear him say it sometimes.
He was more concerned with appearances. The fact that I wasn’t married yet had bothered him more than me living in America. I was at the age where I should have had a wife and children by now. Instead, I was too busy sowing my oats all over the country. His words, not mine. I was sowing them, but only in southeast Texas and southwestern Louisiana. “Okay. I hope all goes well. Talk to you soon.”
“Okay, son. I love you.”
“I love you, too, Ma.”
I ended the call, then cranked my music back up and sat at the table with my salad and bottled water. I’d pour me a glass of Patrón later, before Kyley got here. If she wanted to get down, I wasn’t gon’ stop the show and it was always better when I had liquor in my system. As I ate, I received a text message. I’m on my way.
Looking at the time on my phone, it was only a little after five. She sure in the hell was coming early. I told her I should be home by five and she barely waited ten minutes past that. Whatever. I was just grateful I was off this weekend. I didn’t feel like analyzing chemicals and samples. I was tired as hell because we were shorthanded. Companies expected their certificates of authenticity, what we called C of A’s, in a decent amount of time. Those certificates told them what all was in the chemical sample they’d sent us. Being shorthanded made it even harder to get those out in a decent amount of time when we were busy.
Once I’d finished eating and had cleaned the kitchen, I poured a glass of Patrón and changed the playlist. It was my chill mix. Dwele hit the speakers, causing me to do as the song suggested and dim the lights. I sat on the couch and put my feet up on the ottoman, and surprisingly, my mind went back to that pretty, black doll going in the hair store. She was on my mind heavy, so I knew I would have to say something to her if I saw her again. She had a gorgeous shape, proportionate in every way and it commanded my attention. Her looks were perfect, but I wondered what her mind was like.
With all the women’s legs I’d spread, I still hadn’t found one that intrigued me intellectually. It wasn’t that I was just so damn smart or had intelligent conversation all the time, but it would be nice to meet a woman that thought beyond the present… one that had shit in motion for their future. I was tired of that lackadaisical attitude, where they were just trying to land a nigga with money. However, I’d probably missed my one a long time ago, because of my reputation. She probably looked at me and said, Damn, he fine as hell, but shit… he fuck everything with a pussy. I had to shake my head at the thought.
Before my thoughts could get carried away in my mind, the doorbell rang. I gulped the Patrón and went to the front door. When I opened it, Kyley was standing there in a jumpsuit that looked like it had been painted on. I stepped aside and let her walk inside. “You have a nice house.”
“Thank you. You want a tour?”
“Mmm-hmm. Let’s end the tour with the bedroom.”
Just what I thought. I should’ve hollered at Pretty Black earlier. This shit would probably be a one-night thing.
2
Chinara
“I’m sorry to tell you, but we have to lay you off.”
“What? When?”
“Today is your last day, Chinara. I’m so sorry. We had to make some cuts, and three of you just started within the past year. We just aren’t pulling the money in like we thought we would.”
They always called me by my first name because they couldn’t pronounce my last name, Nwachuku. They couldn’t seem to grasp the fact that the N was silent. “I understand,” I said as I turned to walk out.
Going to my desk, I started gathering my things. I didn’t have much on my desk, because most of my time was spent in the DJ booth. I left my job at the news station to come here, thinking there were more opportunities here. I wanted people to hear my voice. The news station was ideal as well because I wanted to give little Black girls positive images of dark-skinned women making strides in society.
For as long as I lived here in Beaumont, I’d never seen a woman as dark as me as an anchor on the news. Sure, there had been some pretty, brown women to grace the TV screen, but again, none as dark as me. However, the news station only had me running errands and so forth. So, I came here in hopes of getting my voice and name out there first, then go back to a news station to apply for a job as an anchor. Apparently, that was the wrong choice.
I only had enough money to survive for a month on my own. My parents had allowed me to come here, knowing we didn’t have the money for me to go back and forth to visit. Nigeria wasn’t a hop, skip and a jump away. I’d never been able to afford a trip back home to visit since I’d come here ten years ago. Their security was the fact that my aunt lived here. That blanket was snatched from under me when she passed away two years ago from a major car wreck. I promised my parents and myself that I would make it on my own. I was living in her condo, but I knew I wouldn’t be able to keep up the rent without having a job.
Once I gathered my things, I headed out to the parking lot. One of the DJs ran out to catch up with me. “Chinara, wait!”
Stopping, I took a deep breath as Donovan caught up with me. I was doing my best not to cry and worry about what I would do. Tomorrow morning, I would hit the ground running. Had I known this would happen, I wouldn’t have made a hair appointment for this evening. I could have done my hair myself, but I wanted something cute and protective, so I’d gone to the hair store, as instructed, to get hair for my braids. “I’m so sorry. I really hate to lose you, but you are meant for greater. Use this opportunity to seek out greater.”
“Those are encouraging words, Donovan, except that no one’s hiring. I’ve been looking. Right now, I’ll have to take whatever I can find, whether it’s in communications or not.”
I continued to my car that I would no longer be able to afford after the next monthly note. Calling my parents was out of the question. There was nothing they would be able to do to help. Times had only gotten harder on them and I was sending them money whenever I had extra. After I put my things in the backseat and closed the door, Donovan was still standing there. “I’m sorry, Chinara. I’ll be looking out for you, too. Okay?”
“Okay.”
Before I could object, he pulled m
e in his arms and hugged me. Ugh. He was always a little musty and it made my stomach turn. I didn’t understand how he couldn’t smell himself. When I pulled away, I adjusted my nose ring. I normally only wore a stud, but today, I’d decided to wear a loop. Donovan had my face mushed right into his chest. God, help us all. “Thank you, Donovan.”
He opened my car door and I slid into the driver’s seat. I cranked up my Avalon as he closed the door, then stared at myself in the rear-view mirror for a moment. It was facing me since I’d applied my lipstick before going into the building. Deciding to do the right thing, I called and canceled my hair appointment and just paid the twenty-five-dollar cancellation fee. That was a lot better than spending over two hundred dollars to get my hair braided.
Heading to the hair store, I decided to bring all that hair back for a refund and just get me some good moisturizers and maybe a cute wig. Turning the radio up, I tried my best to groove to the sounds of Lucky Daye. Huffing loudly, I knew I would soon lose that, too. Satellite radio wasn’t a necessity. I pulled in the parking lot, and the moment I got out, my eyes met another pair, staring at me from the barbershop. Oh my. Brother must have been fresh out the chair. His beard was lined perfectly.
Making my way to the hair store, which was in the same strip, I noticed him taking slow strides in my direction. Today wasn’t the day. I was in a funk and I wasn’t about to tell some stranger all my business, making me look desperate for help. Nothing was worse than having a man thinking they were rescuing me. I found that out the hard way when I first got to America and couldn’t afford those expensive-ass books. He’d bought my books with his financial aid refund, but he held that shit over my head the entire semester and tried demanding that I pay him back in other ways. Didn’t happen, and eventually, he left me alone, thankfully.
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