Free The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel by Jill Conner Browne Page A

one to me. Peering over the top, he said, “I’ve been thinking about you all day long.”
    We finished our champagne and he wordlessly led me into the bedroom.
    It would be the first time I’d ever made love on a bed. My previous sexual encounters had taken place in the backs of cars, in a storeroom, and once hanging off the swim platform of a ski boat in the middle of a lake (which I discovered is a lot better in theory than in practice. Who woulda thunk there was such a thing as too much moisture?).
    Foreplay ensued, sweet-little-nothings were exchanged, and disrobing went without a hitch. I’d purposely worn a dress with a zipper, so I’d slip out of it like a greased pig. (Stop it! Don’t think about pigs, greased or otherwise.)
    I remember feeling extremely relieved when it was over. Sonny held me in an awkward way, as if his embrace was motivated by something he’d heard—“women love to cuddle after sex”—rather than something he really wanted to do. And apparently the cuddling thing was about the only woman-pleasing kinda thing he’d heard about.
    â€œI have to go to the bathroom,” I said, extracting myself from his arms. I started to take the sheet with me—like I’d seen women do in the movies—not being at all interested in him having an unobstructed view of my ass this early in the deal. He didn’t seem too keen on lying there splayed out nekkid either, so I just sort of backed out of the room while he pretended to be otherwise distracted while I performed this ridiculous maneuver.
    â€œDid you climax?”
    I was so young and self-conscious about my body that his question seemed overly intrusive, as if he had asked me, “Do you fart much?”
    â€œYes,” I lied.
    â€œI’m glad,” he said, and the delight on his face was so apparent that fibbing seemed like the right thing to do.
    Â 
    Now I had no idea how to break the truth to him and here we were, buying an avocado tract house and about to get married.
    â€œJust think. This is the first time we’re doing it as property owners,” Sonny had said, just before he entered me. And a little mortgaged piece of earth moved that night—at least for Sonny.
    Sometimes when we were making love I’d try to think sexy thoughts, hoping something climactic actually would happen for ME, but unfortunately nothing ever did. I tried so hard, one night I nearly called him “Elvis,” which clearly would have stirred things up but prolly not in a good way.
    Still, I mostly enjoyed making love with Sonny—it was just sorta comfy. His body was firm, and he smelled like Lifebuoy soap. I liked being close to him and having our limbs tangled together. My favorite part was when Sonny reached orgasm. For a split second, I’d look at his face and think, that’s the real Sonny, but then he’d melt away as quickly as he’d appeared.
    Later, as Sonny was reading Time magazine in bed and I was filing my nails, I said, “I wonder how long it takes to be a real estate agent.”
    â€œI don’t know. Why?”
    â€œI’m just weighing different options. I’m not sure if teaching is for me.”
    â€œReal estate agents work nights and on Saturdays,” Sonny said, lowering his magazine an inch to glance at me. “That would be a problem with children. We really should stick with our original plan.” The magazine went back up, as if that was the end of the discussion.

Chapter
7
    T here’s something I want to show you,” Tammy said, giddy with excitement.
    She startled me. I’d just gotten back to our apartment from the Piggly Wiggly and was stashing a box of Little Debbie Swiss rolls behind a row of tomato soups in the pantry. I hid my treats because Tammy had a terrible sweet tooth and would gobble them up in a single day.
    Tammy didn’t even notice the Little Debbies, she was so worked up. She seized my