Sinful Chocolate

“No, we were talking about your birthday boy last night,” Nicole said, piping up.

Gisella’s face flushed. Had her sister heard her in her room last night? Oh, Lord, hadn’t she called out his name a few times?

Nicole pointed. “Look at her face. Something did happen last night.”

Anna’s arm fell from Gisella’s shoulders. “You didn’t!”

“Didn’t what?” Gisella asked, thoroughly confused.

“Sleep with the enemy,” Anna said. “Charlie Masters is the biggest man-whore in Atlanta.”

“And that’s putting it nicely,” Nicole agreed.

Gisella groaned before she could stop herself. Didn’t these girls ever give it a rest? Men were not the enemy. “Relax,” she huffed. “Nothing happened. I went to network, remember?”

Unconvinced, Nicole planted her hands on her hips. “Did you meet the birthday boy?”

Four sets of eyes locked onto Gisella and waited.

“I met him.” Gisella shrugged. “He said he loved the cake, and then I took off.”

Anna smiled as her arm magically reappeared around her shoulder. “See? I told you she knew how to handle herself.”

Ivy, the petite and soft-spoken member of their group, voiced her suspicions. “You mean Charlie didn’t even try to hit on you?”

Gisella shook her head, even though the memory of their light flirting replayed in her head. “Nope.”

“Damn.” Emmadonna chuckled and eased back into her seat. “We really are living in the last days.”

Chapter 4

Life had gone from bad to worse.

It was the only way Charlie could explain it. His company, Masters Holdings, continued to edge toward bankruptcy. Hopefully, his upcoming trip to South Africa would change all of that. His bid for a lucrative government contract was all that stood between him and financial ruin. The housing market combined with the credit crisis had formed the perfect storm to sink his financial ship. He was going to lose everything. The high-rise. The cars. The boat. The plane. His lifestyle.

To make matters worse, Charlie had been less than forthcoming with his frat brothers. How could he be, when they were still very rich and very successful in their own right? The last thing he wanted was to be labeled the failure of the group, nor did he want anyone’s sympathy.

After all, he did have his pride.

No. Charlie shook his head. He was going to rebound from this. He had to.

First, he had to survive this basketball game. Hylan and Taariq were running rings around him today, and Derrick looked ready to kick him to the curb and pick Stanley as his partner.

But something was changing. Charlie felt it the moment Hylan passed Taariq the basketball and he launched into trying to block the next shot. Sure, he was in shape. He worked out five days a week at his local gym. Pumped iron, practiced kickboxing and swam like a fish in their indoor pool. And every Sunday afternoon, like today, he and his frat brothers got together on the half-court at Derrick’s spacious estate in Stone Mountain for a few friendly games.

Bottom line: he was in shape.

So what was this change he was feeling in his body? The same change he’d been feeling since the moment he blew out the candles on his birthday cake.

I’m getting old.

Charlie frowned at the continuous thought circling his mind. Trying to dispel the notion, he pushed himself a little harder, ignored a few straining muscles and wiped the pouring sweat off his forehead with the back of his arms like windshield wipers in the midst of a thunderstorm.

Still, he didn’t feel as aerodynamic as he had in college. Why weren’t his other frat brothers struggling?

Taariq faked a shot, Charlie jumped and a collection of muscles in his lower back throbbed in protest. Recovering, he jerked to his left, intersected Taariq’s running dribble for a clean steal.

“Yeah!” Derrick shouted as he did his best to clear the perimeter for Charlie to take his shot. Some people who’d watched them play in the past thought it was a bit odd for the teams to be divided as three on two. Those same people quickly understood when they saw how Stanley epitomized the term: white men can’t jump…or shoot, dribble, block or run.

“Take your shot!” Derrick shouted. “Take your shot.”

Charlie took aim and then launched the ball. Everyone stopped to watch its perfect arch. Taariq, Hylan and Stanley groaned when it swished beautifully inside the netting.

The game tied, Charlie and Derrick whooped in excitement and pumped their fists in the air.

Charlie took a moment to bend at the waist and chugged in a few deep gulps of air.

“You okay, hot shot?” Taariq asked, eyeing him up and down.

“Never better.” Charlie righted himself and forced a smile.

Taariq shrugged off his concern and turned back to wait for Stanley to toss the ball back into play.

Charlie’s resentment toward the other guys’ boundless energy returned. Of course, they could be faking, too, he realized. He couldn’t see any of them admitting to the pull of aging.

Kicking it into overdrive, Charlie tapped into the energy reserves he had left and started zigzagging in between the fellahs. But somewhere along the line, he lost his mind.

That was the only explanation for his delusion of being like Michael Jordan in 1989 and launching across the court with the song “I Believe I Can Fly” playing in his head.

Flying wasn’t the problem.

It was landing.

The ball swooshed through the hoop, giving him and Derrick the winning two points. However, when Charlie’s feet hit the concrete, his ankles folded like paper.

“Ooh, damn!” the Kappa brothers chorused and winced at the same time.

“Owww!” The sound that erupted from his throat wasn’t unlike a roaring lion. But when Charlie looked down and saw the odd angle of his foot, his deep bass disappeared and he sounded like, what Derrick would later call, a wailing banshee.

“Oh, my God, I’ve died and gone to heaven,” moaned Waqueisha, Isabella’s good friend and Delta Phi Theta sorority sister, as she bit into another one of Gisella’s chocolate truffles. “I know you said the girl was good, but damn!”

Waqueisha was the epitome of the round the way girl. She wore a lot of hair weave, tight clothes and was still rockin’ bamboo earrings. Despite all that she was a very successful entertainment publicist.

“Everything just tastes so fantastic,” said Rayne, another soror and a timid elementary schoolteacher. “I want two dozen of these chocolate coconut nuggets. Make that three dozen.”

Gisella beamed at the women. “Isabella, I can’t thank you enough,” she gushed, rushing to fill the ladies’ orders. “It’s been crazy since that birthday party, and every day I’m getting calls and orders from people that say you’ve recommended my shop.”

“You can thank me by agreeing to let me be your business partner,” Isabella said. She’d given up tax law when she became Mrs. Derrick Knight and searched high and low for a career change. Since she found her courage and stopped being the person her parents wanted her to be, she’d spent the last year doing some much needed soul searching. She wanted to be involved in something that inspired her and elicited her passion.