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Overview
You'll never hear the truth from your man, so . . . Ladies Listen Up
Diego Christian's trail of deceit follows him all the way to the altar. After ruining the life of the woman he was to marry, he continues to find himself in one casual relationship after another with other men's wives and girlfriends. Through his sex-a-thon he meets a magazine editor who helps him develop his own column—"Ladies Listen Up"—dishing out relationship advice to women. When his behavior finally begins to cost him, Diego has to decide if he can—or wants to—change.
Jacob Marsh, a teacher at Lyndon B. Johnson High School, is Diego's best friend. Jacob has always been cool under pressure and is a master manipulator. When he makes a critical mistake with a student who has a crush on him, he soon learns that covering it up may cost him everything he's worked so hard to keep.
Through their drama-filled trysts, Diego, Jacob, and others give women the lowdown on the way men work.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780061746390 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | HarperCollins |
| Publication date: | 04/16/2024 |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 336 |
| File size: | 651 KB |
About the Author
Darren Coleman is the author of Before I Let Go and Don't Ever Wonder. A former elementary-school teacher, he is now a full-time writer and coaches in a youth football league. He lives in Bowie, Maryland.
Read an Excerpt
Ladies Listen Up
A NovelBy Darren Coleman
HarperCollins Publishers, Inc.
Copyright © 2006 Darren ColemanAll right reserved.
ISBN: 0060851910
Chapter One
. . . and I Can't Get Up
You got questions he got answers. I liked the way it sounded the second I read it through my windshield. It was the slogan that was being used to pitch my new radio show. I had driven past the billboard posted on New York Avenue on my way to a Mystics game earlier in the evening. Seeing my face plastered across a sixty-foot billboard for the first time, right next to that blurb, had my head spinning, in a good way. Diego Christian, better known as Dr. C., was coming soon to WJDS, Smooth 99. My own radio show during the afternoon drive, three to seven. A brother was about to blow up. There was even talk of a book and a talk show on TV One.
I cruised through the remainder of the rush-hour traffic with Jill Scott blasting through the twelve speakers of my Range Rover, her voice soothing me like a glass of Remy VSOP. I drove calmly, like a man in no rush to go anywhere. With the windows down, it felt good to be seen in all my affluence. Call me a pretentious fool, but I'd blown nearly every penny of my advance on the down payment for the Buckingham-blue beauty that got me eye-fucked, surprisingly, by more men than women. I remembered my friends clowning me about mylittle column for the past year, calling me the hip-hop version of Dear Abby. Now who was having the last laugh? I'd gone from teaching elementary school for thirty-five grand a year and writing my one-page advice column part-time for a thousand bucks a month to hosting my own radio show. Like Don King says: Only in America. I was gonna turn the nation's capital out first, then maybe the nation. Who'da thought? I grinned from ear to ear at the whole idea as I pulled into the parking garage at the MCI Center.
Six hours later I was no longer smiling. I was now simply hoping that I'd live to do the first show. What I'd thought would be a discreet outing with one of my favorite women had turned into a nightmare. She wasn't my girl, mind you. We simply shared an intellectual attraction and a physical chemistry that was too tempting to resist. We'd met at a bar four months back. Oddly enough, she'd been smoking a cigar and made it look sexy.
She'd offered me one. "It's a Cuban. This is no habit for me," she said as she lit the stogie I'd accepted. "It's just a little conversation piece."
I nodded and responded, "Well then, let's converse." Ozio's was packed and we'd found a booth in the back to sit and talk shit.
"I love your eyes," she commented. I might have heard that before but never really understood why. "They make you look so innocent, like a little boy."
I laughed into a smile when she said that.
"And those teeth, there's nothing like a man with a nice, sexy smile."
"Thanks, your smile is nice, too." I wasn't lying. I realized that my focus was more on her lips. She had big juicy lips like the chick Jill Jones from the UPN show Girlfriends. And truthfully, I had fantasized about a blow job from Toni Childs on more than one occasion.
The girl continued to compliment me on all the things about me that she found oh so wonderful. By the time she finished, my head was big as a hot-air balloon. The last thing she said almost made me spit my drink out. She leaned in after taking the cherry from her martini into those big lips. "Now, as cute as you are, if you can fuck, then we're in business."
Needless to say, we'd hit it off, in spite of the small fact that she was married.
Over the next few months I'd found out that she loved to fuck as often as possible, which turned out to be another thing that we had in common.
She also loved basketball, so this particular evening I took her to see the Washington Mystics versus the Houston Comets. We of course drove separate cars and met at our seats. Because of the hundred-plus-degree heat, she wore a pair of cutoff jean shorts and a pink wife beater. She knew her coming out half-naked like that would drive me wild -- as always. We were planning to go our separate ways after the game, but as usual, after we'd fondled each other through the entire second half, she decided she had to come home with me. We barely remembered that the Mystics lost. "Just for an hour and then I'm gone," she promised.
I didn't put up any resistance.
One hour turned into three. The next thing I knew, it was one in the morning and shit was hitting the fan with the force of a bull charging toward a matador.
Usually great at thinking on my feet, I was stuck. Honestly, I was as nervous as a tick in a forest fire. My heart was beating so hard it almost leaped out of my chest with each knock. This was indeed some bullshit of my own design and I was neck-deep in it.
I could swear he was staring straight at me as if he had X-ray vision. Though I couldn't really make out the details of his frame, he reminded me of a black Mr. Clean. The nigga was at my door with a tight body shirt on. His arms were folded and the grimace on his face let me know that he wasn't going anywhere, not peacefully at least. Just as I pulled my eye from the peephole he banged again. "Open this motherfucking door. I know she's in there. If I have to kick this motherfucka down, I swear, I'm going to kill you both when I get in there."
Continues...
Excerpted from Ladies Listen Up by Darren Coleman Copyright © 2006 by Darren Coleman. Excerpted by permission.
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