Never Again Once More by Mary B. Morrison Page A

“Black Diamonds may have never evolved had it not been for Melanie. And I would not be sitting here with such a handsome gentleman.” Fine as hell was what she wanted to say. Snap. Snap. His tinted, lightweight, rimless eyeglasses made Lawrence look even more distinguished. Lady C did a somersault between her thighs, so Jada crossed her feet at the ankles and cheesed. Lunch with Lawrence was Jada’s one-year anniversary of celibacy.
    “I know you’re the woman for me. We’re equally yoked. Look, you’re a busy woman. Right? You already have a child. You own your own company. So instantly we have a lot in common. Unlike my first wife, who was exclusively a housewife, you’re a perfect fit.” Earlier he’d vowed never to marry another woman who was incompatible.
    “Far from it. Besides, you’re not even divorced,” Jada said, turning to watch the volleyball game. Obviously the redhead was a professional. Every time someone was successful enough to block her serve, instead of the ball crossing back over the net, it landed in the water. Her opponents appeared tired of swimming to get the ball.
    The waitress had finally arrived with their order. “Sorry for the delay. Would you like anything else?”
    Jada shook her head as Lawrence responded, “No, thanks.” Lawrence reached for Jada’s hand, bowed his head, and said grace. Several moments later he said, “Amen.” He sampled, seasoned, then immediately started eating his salad while picking up the conversation as if they’d never been interrupted.
    “Men know these things. We don’t have to spend years deciding whether to marry. It’s like buying shoes.”
    Jada redirected her attention toward Lawrence. His goatee reminded her of the one Wellington had recently shaved. Damn, he smelled edible. His navy designer suit wore him well, and his mocha brown complexion heated Jada more than Mother Nature’s golden circle percolating in the sky.
    Curiously, Jada asked, “Shoes?”
    “Yes. For example, I’m six-foot-five, two-ten, and wear a size fifteen.” Lawrence flashed her that smile again.
    If Lady C didn’t stop acting like a 49ers cheerleader at the Super Bowl, Jada was going to need a chastity belt to put her ass on lockdown. Concentrating on Lawrence’s comment, Jada nodded. His size was good, but the feet had fooled her once. Actually, twice.
    “Now, a woman will know she wears a size nine, but will ask to try on an eight and a half and a nine. They pick men the same way. Always unsure of what they really want. Never in tune with what they need.” Lawrence shook his head. “They buy a pair of high heels knowing their feet are going to hurt. They date a man knowing he has all the traits for warranting four legs instead of two.”
    “Ha, ha, ha. That’s a good one,” said the man seated at the next table.
    Two of the kids had resorted to swimming since they were in the water so often.
    Lowering his voice, Lawrence said, “Now, you see a man, he’ll buy that comfortable size fifteen every time. Why? Because a man knows what he needs and likes, no ifs, ands, or buts. That’s until a woman convinces him otherwise; then it’s downhill from there. Because then you have two people who don’t know what the hell they want.”
    “Brother, I wish I would have overheard this conversation before I got married.” Patting Lawrence’s back, the stranger said, “Good luck, man.”
    Ignoring the intruder and staring directly at Lawrence, Jada quietly said, “And your point is?” Maybe they were a good match since he didn’t hesitate to answer this last question.
    “Closing argument.” Lawrence smiled seductively. “You are going to be my next wife. I already know. Just like you already know if we’re going to be intimate. The truth.” Lawrence raised one eyebrow and lowered the other simultaneously. “You already know. Don’t you?” Then he ate the last of his salad.
    A smirk crossed Jada’s face. Lady C gave her a high five.
    “Case