Adrianne Byrd - Wedding Chocolate - Two Grooms and a Wedding

“Sounds like we need to do an intervention,” Taariq said somberly. His eyes still trained on Derrick. “He’s forgotten the BBD golden rule.”

Stanley nodded. “Yeah. Never trust a big butt and a smile.”

“Cut it out.” Derrick plunged his hands into the bowl of potato chips and took another swig of beer. “You can’t go the rest of your lives living and partying like drunken college students. It’s time to grow up, settle down—even have a few kids or something.”

“This is more serious than I thought,” Charlie said.

His three buddies sat back and glanced at each other.

“If it ain’t broke don’t fix it,” Hylan quipped. “It’s not broke, is it?”

Derrick hedged, wondering how to tell his boys the truth. Men didn’t talk about feelings. Well, they could express anguish or joy about their favorite sports team. Anger was celebrated especially if it was attached to plans of vengeance, but tedious soliloquies about longing, loneliness or emptiness was a definite no-no.

“Derrick?” Stanley elbowed him.

“Nah.” Derrick shook his head and flashed everyone a quick plastic smile. “No. It’s not broken.”

* * *

After a week in Atlanta, Isabella regretted agreeing to let Waqueisha give her a complete makeover—especially now that every bone and muscle in her body ached in revolt.

“Very good,” the striptease instructor praised from the front of the classroom. “You all are doing much better today.”

Better must’ve meant they hadn’t had to call the paramedics, Isabella thought. Of course, if she had to put in another full hour of bending, twisting and sliding down a slippery pole it might be her turn for an emergency room trip.

Cookie, the instructor who looked more comfortable on a stripper pole than walking, glided up beside Isabella and helped her arch her back and extend her leg higher. “That’s it. Just like this.”

Nothing about the supposed erotic pose made Isabella feel the slightest bit sexier and neither did the other class participants, judging by their pained expressions.

“C’mon, ladies. Work with what your momma gave ya.”

Isabella groaned and shot a look over at Waqueisha, the teacher’s pet. “Are you sure all of this is really necessary?”

Waqueisha sprang high onto the pole, flipped upside down and flashed a bright smile. “Oh, yes. When you come back from your honeymoon, you’ll want to name your first kid after me.”

“Don’t get your hopes up,” Isabella mumbled under her breath.

Somehow, probably through the grace of God, she managed to make it through the rest of the class and collapse into a heap on the floor.

Waqueisha laughed and pulled on Isabella’s arms for her to get up.

“I can’t move. Just leave me here to die.”

“Hey. You’re the one that wanted to do this, remember? We can quit at any time.”

Remembering her humiliation at her own engagement party, quitting wasn’t an option. Whether or not she did go through with this wedding, she vowed to become the kind of woman who knew how to keep her man happy in the bedroom. She wanted to be more than a political trophy.

Isabella released one last groan and then climbed back up onto her ridiculously high-heeled shoes and draped a towel around her sweaty neck.

“That’s m’girl,” Waqueisha praised. “Let’s get you over to Monique’s, so we can pick you out some wonderful lingerie pieces. Nothing says sex kitten like silk and lace.”

Isabella perked. Finally, something fun. After waving goodbyes to their exhausted group, Isabella allowed Waqueisha to pull her out of the workout room and across the gym.

Derrick, drenched in sweat while running five miles on the treadmill, caught a glimpse of a familiar face and temporarily slowed his pace. In a flash, he lost his balance, hit the console and then fell backward on the spinning belt.

Taariq and Charlie, who were running on opposite sides of him, shut off their machines and quickly came to his rescue.

“Dayum, man. Are you all right?” Taariq asked.

Derrick hardly heard them as he peeked around their legs in the direction he had last seen Isabella and then jumped to his feet when he didn’t see her.

On seeing that he was fine, Charlie laughed. “D, I’ve never seen anyone bust their butt like that.”

Their comments drifted in one ear and out the other as Derrick sprinted off to make sure what he’d seen wasn’t a mirage.

Taariq and Charlie looked at each other and then chimed together, “Must be a woman.”

Derrick weaved through treadmills, step machines and one corner of the free weights section in chase after what logic told him was impossible. He made it to the railing that lined the second story gym and peered down to the first floor.

Nothing.

“I must be going crazy,” he chuckled. Turning away, he saw Isabella, rounding a corner on the lower floor. “It can’t be.” Derrick raced down the stairs.

“Hey, watch where you’re going,” a few gym members shouted in his wake.

“Sorry,” he said over his shoulder, but refused to slow down. Derrick caught a glimpse of an outfit: short shorts, halter top...and high heels?

“Hey, wait!” he shouted, but the woman rounded another corner.

Derrick picked up the pace until he was at a full run and then raced through the first door he came upon. Before his brain registered his mistake, sonic waves of hysterical screaming pierced his eardrum.

Shutting his eyes, he performed a 180 and raced back out of the women’s locker room, apologizing the whole way. Once he was safely back out into the hallway and before a long wall of windows, he saw his mysterious woman from Washington, or her look-alike, climb into a SUV. Before he could reach the door, the vehicle peeled out of the parking lot and disappeared into traffic.

Chapter 9

Isabella’s makeover went from bad to worse.

Lingerie shopping turned out to be one of the most humiliating experiences of her life. But after hours with Waqueisha and the best-looking drag queen she’d ever seen, Monique, Isabella’s B cups were pushed up to C and her flat behind had been upgraded to bootylicious.

“What happens when I have to get naked?” she innocently asked. “Don’t you think this is false advertising?”

Monique rolled her eyes and cradled her hips. “Honey, after you do your little striptease number, your man is only going to be interested in getting to one thing.”

“Amen to that,” Waqueisha co-signed and gave the boutique owner a high five.

Isabella couldn’t stop glancing at her image and feeling like a fraud.

Handing over her credit card, Isabella charged a ridiculous amount of money for very little material. Next stop was Prestigious Hair Salon.

“I don’t know,” Isabella said after hearing what the stylist, Aubrey, had planned for her long locks.

Aubrey cradled Isabella’s shoulders and leaned close so their gaze would meet in the mirror in front of them. “Sweetheart, trust me. You’ll be looking fierce when I get through with you.”

Isabella looked over at Waqueisha, who was talking and texting half of Georgia in preparation for the Kidd Rhymes CD release party that night. “I don’t know,” Isabella hedged.

“Hold on just a minute,” Waqueisha told her caller and then lowered the phone to speak with Isabella. “Izzy, trust my girl Aubrey. She’s the best.”

That was not the support Isabella was looking for.

“What do you say, girlfriend?” Aubrey asked.

“Okay,” Isabella said through gritted teeth. “I’ll do it.”

An hour later, Isabella was in tears.

“It’s orange!”

“Now calm down,” Aubrey said, trying to shush her and calm her growing hysterics.