LOVE’S REQUIRED By Aja

  Only Love Can Heal What's Broken ...

 Camille "Cami" Douglas doesn't have it all figured out. In fact, she is known for making a lot of mistakes in the name of living-it-up and following her free spirit, but this time she has bumped her head and broken her own heart in a way that has taken its toll. She's done. Logan Graham, also known as "Angel" by fellow paramedics, has issues of his own, but his came from a 911 call he responded to months ago that still gives him nightmares and makes him avoid the people closest to him. Two people, each broken apart by life's choices and circumstances, form a deep friendship because of one's need to be saved and the other's need to be hero. Both have to learn to use LOVE to heal old wounds and to redeem their battered souls.

 Love's Required debuts January 18th

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B07KRKGXXH

About Aja: Aja is the writer of sensually erotic and passionate women’s fiction. Her stories allow readers to experience realistic, inspiring, and soulful interactions and intense passion while overcoming life’s challenges. She is inspired by soulful music and sensual art to craft her stories.

Her published works include the Love & Passion series and the Unexpected series with Roy Glenn.


 Author Links: Aja's website: http://www.ajathewriter.com

 Amazon Page: https://www.amazon.com/Aja/e/B00K30K138/

 Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/aja_thewriter/

 Twitter: https://twitter.com/AjaTheWriter

 FB Fan Page: https://www.facebook.com/ajawriter/

 Sign up for Aja's mailing list here: http://eepurl.com/cnEs1f

Pray... Slay... Journal...

#JUSTLOVEMINISTRY

Four by Nia Forrester

 Four couples, four transitions, four seasons of marriage …

 Grace
Most couples wouldn’t have weathered one mistake of the kind Shawn made when he and Riley first got married, let alone emerge with a commitment that’s stronger, a beautiful family and a love that’s even deeper. Is there any way their relationship can survive mistake number two?


 Balance
Whatever Brendan wants, Brendan gets. It’s an arrangement Tracy doesn’t mind, because he provides everything she needs: love, financial security and the comfort of never having to work outside the home. But now, the most important thing she wants, he doesn’t have the time—or maybe even the will—to give. With a relationship built on giving all of herself, is it fair to now ask for a piece back?


Growth
Robyn’s career is in a growth-spurt just as Chris’ seems to be at its natural end. No longer empire-building, he’s struggling with his new reality, and the need for a sense of purpose separate from his work. His wife seems way too busy to notice. That is, until someone else does.


 Renewal
Once a mistress, now just a suburban wife and working mother, Keisha doesn’t recognize herself most days. The problem is, Jayson doesn’t either. If he’s reading her right, she wants out. And unless she’s mistaken, he might not mind too much if she decided to go.

 The ‘Commitment’ series finale.

 Coming Soon from Nia Forrester

ENTER TO WIN

 ABOUT NIA FORRESTER Nia Forrester lives and writes in Philadelphia, PA where, by day, she is an attorney working on public policy and by night, she crafts woman-centered fiction that examines the complexities of life, love and the human condition.

 She welcomes feedback and email from her readers at authorniaforrester@gmail.com or tweets @NiaForrester.

 AUTHOR SITE | FACEBOOK | TWITTER | GOODREADS | AMAZON AUTHOR PAGE

GAINING GEILIA

Walking into the small, stone house felt surreal. Gelia and her mom Glenda lived there from the time she was twelve until she left for college at seventeen. Actually, for her last two years of college because Gelia graduated with an AA degree two days after graduating high school. She was never sure if Glenda was proud or not because Glenda wasn’t given to saying but she had always pushed her to excel. Glenda graduated high school and immediately started working, doing laundry and cleaning rooms at the Hilton. She never aspired to higher education, she was a party girl who worked hard and played harder. Getting pregnant with Gelia at twenty-seven didn’t stop her but it slowed her down. 
In the earlier years, Glenda took care of her daughter by working and the largesse of Genia’s paternal grandmother and a succession of boyfriends; at thirty-nine, and Genia twelve, she bought the small stone home. It was in a community with homes just like it and across from the housing apartments they lived in before moving. It was Glenda’s neighborhood and she didn’t aspire to moving. It also formed Genia as a person who loved who she was and where she was from.
Genia moved as soon as she graduated college. She was offered a job with a growing tech company, she was twenty and brilliant in 1996, and the world was waiting. Ten years later, she fell in love, married and rarely came home during those years. Malveaux didn’t like where she was from, though he was from a worse place. His education and her money made him better than where they were both from, and she had been so in love then... but now Glenda was gone at sixty-seven, and Malveaux was her ex-husband and this little stone house, all twelve hundred feet, was hers. She could live anywhere she chose, but in this season, she needed and wanted to be there. The housing projects was long gone across the street and was now a park and many of the homes were either still inhabited by the original owners and lovely or filled with their children and in differing states of repair but it was home... 
Walking through the house she was filled with memories... 
“Genia, you can do and be anything you want to as long as you work hard and don’t get caught up with the wrong man...” Glenda said the night before Genia flew to Seattle. 
“Mom, I’m not thinking about that. I’m trying to have a career and travel...” Genia said lightly. Everyone seemed worried about her getting the wrong man. What was it about her that made them think that?
“But you will be. I see you and men watching you and I see the men you watch and are drawn to... they’re all handsome as sin and not living up to nothing but pleasure and the streets. You’re better than that. It took all I had to keep you safe... but you’re on your own now.”
Genia didn’t quite meet her mom’s eyes because Glenda knew her. They had in common the attraction to the men her mom just described. The difference was Genia was also driven...
“I know mom, I know...”
Shaking away those thoughts, Genia walked from room to room, deciding what and how to transform the house and her life... she was forty, childless and never had to work again unless she chose to... 
£££££
After decorating her home mentally and writing out a list, Gelia’s stomach rumbled and she realized it was almost seven p.m. and she was starving. She wondered if Verna’s Restaurant was still open. 

She knew Ms. Verna was dead, but her daughter supposedly had taken over and refurbished it. She was going to drive there and find out. Her plan was to stay in the hotel a couple of days until she could get some work done on the plumbing and get furniture delivered. When she left Seattle, she had sold her home, furnishings and car before buying a truck and driving southeast.
Getting out of her car, Genia smiled when she saw the sign still read Verna’s Restaurant, but the stone building was painted white rather than its standard gray stone color and an outside eating area had been added with an awning and several table and chairs. Several people were outside eating and the scent of smoked meat filled the air. Several eyes met hers and she nodded in greeting before walking inside. It was still a simple restaurant with tables and booths and the cooks were behind a glassed-in desk cooking. There was also a huge jukebox. A young woman greeted her and took her to a table near the middle with a view of the door.
“Welcome to Verna’s. Are you new here?” the young woman asked.
“I was born and raised around the corner but I’ve been gone for a long time. I want smoked wings, sweet potatoes and cabbage.” Gelia said and the young woman smiled and strutted to place her order. Looking around, she took in the relaxed atmosphere and felt glad to be home. It made her remember bringing Malveaux home to meet her mom eleven years earlier.
Gelia, we aren’t staying at your mom’s, are we?” He had asked with that disdainful air he had about him. That was part of what attracted her to him and his astonishing chocolate, good looks. Malveaux had reeked of bad boy in a suit the day he came to work at the firm as a graphic designer. She was a senior designer by then and worked on the penthouse floor but was known for mixing and mingling with all levels of employees.
Once Malveaux knew who she was, he made a play for her and in a short time she was smitten by his attitude, the way he said things she only thought and his sexiness… Malveaux was a master at lovemaking and Gelia loved that.
“I guess not. She wants us to…” Gelia said. “But we can stay at the inn.”
“Let’s. I don’t know why your mom still lives here, can’t you help her move?” He asked. 
Immediately Gelia felt attacked because she had offered to purchase her mom a house elsewhere and Glenda always refused. Gelia had done extremely well working in Silicon Valley and wanted to share but Glenda wasn’t having it. She admired her mom for it. In other ways, she made Glenda’s life as comfortable as she could.
“We will stay at The Inn, Malveaux.” She said. They spent three days there, most of which Malveaux spent at the hotel while Gelia visited with her mom. She recalled the conversation with Glenda the night before leaving.
“He ain’t shit, Gelia. That boy thinks he is better than others and he will let you pay for him to be better. If you marry him, you will pay for everything and do everything and he will walk around like a cock, taking credit.”
Gelia hadn’t listened and it all turned out to be true. Gelia earned ten times as much as Malveaux, who earned a good salary. At first she was okay with it and thought their marriage was a good one. But over time she discovered Malveaux downplayed her accomplishments and didn’t contribute to her betterment, not to mention their household. The final straw was when he told her he wanted to open their marriage to other sex partners. She had moved out that night and filed for divorce, she knew she hadn’t signed up for that and it confirmed her suspicions that Malveaux was already cheating. He had contested the divorce but she won it, gave him the house and retired from her job at forty and returned home.
When the waitress placed the fragrant food before her, she shook thoughts of Malveaux and the past from her mind, focusing on her food.
Her plan was to eat and rest, and start on her house the next day.

https://www.amazon.com/GAINING-GELIA-Angelia-Vernon-Menchan-ebook/dp/B073RWGZWM/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1501360515&sr=8-1&keywords=Menchan

SCHOOLING HIS SON?

Schooling His Son? April 7. Preorder Now

Watching his son as the sergeant led them through the facility Kent could see Kente was spooked. He had asked a former classmate, Sergeant Walker to provide them with a realistic tour of the facility. He needed Kente to see the real thing. Kent noticed Kente was fascinated with rappers, gang culture and movies and he wanted him to see the repercussions up close. He recalled trying to be hard, thirty-three years ago, when he was fourteen, but times were different. He also noted Kente had gained a desire to wear only blue and black.

When they walked into the huge wide-open shower room and though clean, it was rather smelly, Kente looked ashen. There were also open toilets where one could be viewed as he used the restroom.

“Why are the toilets open like that?” Kente asked.

“Because this is jail not a private home.” Sergeant Walker responded. We want this to be a real jail experience so hopefully some of these knuckleheads stay out of here.”
He then led them into a big room filled with tables and chairs where kids ranging in ages from twelve to seventeen were in line for a meal or eating.

“Get a tray.” The sergeant ordered and Kent looked to his father who nodded for him to obey. Now he looks to me, Kent noted with humor.

The meal was bologna sandwiches, tapioca pudding, lettuce and tomato salad and milk. Kent wanted to laugh out loud at the distaste on his son’s face. He watched him take a seat, and how the other boys sized him up. Kente returned the looks before praying over his food.

One of the young men, said, “Oh snap, we got a church boy in here. He was brought in by his daddy or is that just your mama man?” Kente turned to the boy and said, “He is my blood daddy and he is married to my mom, in fact he was married to her years before I was born. What you got?”
The other boys laughed at their friend, who narrowed his eyes at Kente who didn’t flinch or look away.

He isn’t as soft as I thought, Kent thought to himself. He could see Kente could hold his own; he was just spoiled and privileged. The boy looked away first and Kente focused on eating his sandwich, salad and milk. He refused to eat the pudding.

“He has lots of heart.” Sergeant Walker said to Kent. Kent nodded in agreement.

Later in the car, Kent asked Kente what he thought.
“It’s a jail dad and not a cool place. I guess though that for some of the brothers in there it’s probably better than where they live. Over off Myrtle Ave and some places on the Eastside are worse than that.”

Kent flinched at his son’s words. Kente was very astute, much like Cina in that way. Kent hadn’t even thought of that component.

“Are lots of your friends like that?” Kent asked as he turned down the radio. They were on Interstate 75 headed to Valdosta.

“Some are. Some are like me, some in between. Mama said being from the hood doesn’t make you hood. It’s what’s in your heart.” Turning to look at his son, Kent felt bemused.
“You and your mom talk about stuff like that?”

“Dad, mom and I talk about everything. You know mom; she cares about everything. Me and you the most.”

There was nothing to say to that.

That night they had a meal out and Kente went to bed early. Kent knew the juvenile facility affected him more than he could admit.

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XVVVNWD/ref=sr_1_3?ie=UTF8&qid=1490965173&sr=8-3&keywords=Menchan

PREORDER YOUNG but Grown... Womanish

Delva Wright, Colonel Wright’s wife, stared at me throughout the indoctrination, umm…I mean meeting. The purpose of the meeting was to welcome us to that particular unit of the military and for us to meet the ‘senior’ wives...

Delva was tall with long, straight hair, almond colored skin, light eyes and thin lips, but full bodied and curvy, dressed conservatively. She looked, to me like Angela Davis, restrained and restricted. She was the polar opposite of me. She was in her fifties, me, my mid-twenties, I had brown skin with masses of curly, nappy hair and my jeans and forest green dashiki was the antithesis of her look and attire. With the exception of Bonne Bell lip-gloss, my shiny face was bare, and I’m sure my feelings showed on my face.

After the introduction, Delva approached me and literally lifted my hair, allowing it to drop.

“All that hair, it’s beautiful but could be constrained.” She said, her light eyes meeting mine. Biting into a brioche, I simply stared at her. She was the same age as my mom and I had no interest in disrespecting her.

“You’re a pretty girl and when you introduced yourself I could hear your intelligence. You would make a great role model for these young military wives but you’re too much.”

“How much should I be?” I asked, unable to restrain myself further. I knew my tone was clipped and proper because that’s how my annoyance manifested. Her eyes lit with a slight smile.

“Your hair could be pulled back and restrained, the jeans and that shirt or mini dress or whatever is entirely inappropriate and you ooze sexy... there’s probably not much to do about that. It’s all in your eyes. Don’t worry, I’ll tutor you.” She said, gliding away.

My only thought, was, Why Me?

FREE SHORT... HE WAS MINE FIRST: A Story of Justification

This is a short story from the book Womanish... How She Survived

1. He Was Mine First:  A Story of Justification
    
   Her feet were on the coffee table, a can of beer beside her feet. Marcel curls covered her small head and she was clearly feeling no pain. There had been the consumption of several twelve-ounce cans of beer. The room smelled of women, black women: that scent of perfume, mixed with the sweetness of hair grease and a curl of smoke from a cigarette.
    
   "I didn't want to marry him, so he married her. I got married and moved away but when I returned free, he became mine again." A couple of the women nodded but one woman asked ‘the’ question.
    
   "What about his wife. He's been married to that woman for years. Doesn't she matter?"
    
   Picking up her beer can, she took a sip, squinting at the audacity of the younger woman to question her. Placing the can on the table, she sat up, removing her feet from the table, squaring her shoulders. The younger woman flinched internally but didn't look away.  She really wanted to know how the other woman felt.
    
   "He was my man first..." She said emphatically as if that was the only answer necessary. Yet for the next answer she told her story, their story.
    
   He walked in the bar and I noticed him immediately. He was tall and handsome and very well dressed with dark skin. All the things I like in a man. I knew who he was. He was arrogant and brash and though it was 1947, he had money. I never thought he would approach me, I was dark skinned, short with no curves to speak of but I had nice big breasts and my legs weren't bad. I also wore thick glasses but they were stylish. I was dressed though, always dressed. That night I was wearing a gold straight dress with satin heels and my lips were red. When I saw him stroll towards me, I turned away and picked up my glass filled with beer.
    
   "You saw me..." He said and I felt his breath on my neck. He smelled like a man of spicy cologne and lifebuoy soap. I didn't turn to him but continued sipping my beer.
    
   Walking around me, he took my glass from my hand and sat it on the counter before lifting my chin with three fingers.
    
   "You saw me and you know I saw you. Come on let me take you for a ride." He said.
    
    I didn't say anything but I picked up my beer and my purse and followed him. He drove to the Pimbleton Hotel, a nice hotel for Negroes. I looked at him and he assured me I didn't have to do anything I didn't want to. After several hours in his presence I did everything I wanted to and he wanted me to. I was twenty-six and enjoyed men but no man ever touched me like that. He told me that night he was my man and I was his woman. He was widowed. His young wife died in childbirth. He also told me he had other women. He said it like it was normal and it was. I had never known a faithful man, not even my father.
    
   For six years we did what we did how we did and he asked me to marry him. I asked if he would still be him. He said he was offering me the house, the car and him but also what we already had. The women wouldn't stop and I would just be Mrs. So and So. No thanks.
    
   He married someone else and I married another. For years we were apart but one night, almost thirty years later, we ended up in the same place again. He was still married to her and I was divorced from him. As if no time passed, we were together again until he died twenty years later. He never stopped being married to her. The house he purchased me was two streets over from theirs and we knew who the other was. She ignored me and I ignored her. When he died I didn't dress in black or attend his funeral, he had a wife for that.
    
    In fact, I sat on my porch in a gold dress, the same color I wore when I first met him and watched the procession drive by.  I knew she was in the limousine behind the hearse that carried his body. I was now in my seventies and had long ago stopped drinking beer or painting my lips red and could not bop or lindy hop any longer. In fact, the last five years of our time together was spent sitting and talking. The love was still there but all the fire that had once consumed us was banked. He was her husband but he was mine, first. That was how I felt.
    
   ¥¥¥¥
    
   In her 84th year I sat talking to her and asked if she regretted her time spent with another woman's husband. She squinted at me in that way she had and didn't answer directly at first. She did ask me a question.
    
   "Have you ever been a fool for a man?"
    
   "Yes ma'am. But as soon as I realized I was being a fool I stopped." She nodded smiling.
    
   "I know. We often talk about you. We are proud. But I didn't stop being a fool for him because I loved him and felt he was always mine even when he was married to her. He married her because he couldn't marry me. You see I could be his woman and accept the other women but I couldn't be his wife and accept it. That part didn't make sense to me. What I said probably doesn’t make sense to you. But I'll say this, if I were twenty seven now I wouldn't settle for any of that; even if I met him first. You and a couple other young women taught this old hen that. Yes you did."
   There is nothing quite like bought lessons and time…

https://www.amazon.com/WOMANISH-Survived-Angelia-Vernon-Menchan-ebook/dp/B01G2ER730/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1486569667&sr=8-1&keywords=womanish+menchan