by Mary Monroe
Also by Mary Monroe
The Lonely Heart, Deadly Heart Series
Every Woman’s Dream
Never Trust a Stranger
The God Series
God Don’t Like Ugly
God Still Don’t Like Ugly
God Don’t Play
God Ain’t Blind
God Ain’t Through Yet
God Don’t Make No Mistakes
Mama Ruby Series
Mama Ruby
The Upper Room
Lost Daughters
Gonna Lay Down My Burdens
Red Light Wives
In Sheep’s Clothing
Deliver Me from Evil
She Had It Coming
The Company We Keep
Family of Lies
Bad Blood
“Nightmare in Paradise” in Borrow Trouble
Published by Kensington Publishing Corp.
Never Trust a Stranger
MARY MONROE
KENSINGTON BOOKS
www.kensingtonbooks.com
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Also by Mary Monroe
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Chapter 1 - Lola
Chapter 2 - Lola
Chapter 3 - Joan
Chapter 4 - Joan
Chapter 5 - Joan
Chapter 6 - Calvin
Chapter 7 - Lola
Chapter 8 - Lola
Chapter 9 - Joan
Chapter 10 - Calvin
Chapter 11 - Joan
Chapter 12 - Calvin
Chapter 13 - Calvin
Chapter 14 - Lola
Chapter 15 - Lola
Chapter 16 - Joan
Chapter 17 - Joan
Chapter 18 - Lola
Chapter 19 - Calvin
Chapter 20 - Calvin
Chapter 21 - Lola
Chapter 22 - Lola
Chapter 23 - Joan
Chapter 24 - Joan
Chapter 25 - Joan
Chapter 26 - Lola
Chapter 27 - Lola
Chapter 28 - Joan
Chapter 29 - Lola
Chapter 30 - Lola
Chapter 31 - Joan
Chapter 32 - Joan
Chapter 33 - Joan
Chapter 34 - Joan
Chapter 35 - Calvin
Chapter 36 - Lola
Chapter 37 - Lola
Chapter 38 - Joan
Chapter 39 - Calvin
Chapter 40 - Joan
Chapter 41 - Lola
Chapter 42 - Calvin
Chapter 43 - Joan
Chapter 44 - Lola
Chapter 45 - Calvin
Chapter 46 - Joan
Chapter 47 - Lola
Chapter 48 - Lola
Chapter 49 - Calvin
Chapter 50 - Calvin
Chapter 51 - Lola
Chapter 52 - Calvin
Chapter 53 - Calvin
Chapter 54 - Joan
Chapter 55 - Joan
Chapter 56 - Lola
Author’s Note
NEVER TRUST A STRANGER
DISCUSSION QUESTIONS
DAFINA BOOKS are published by
Kensington Publishing Corp.
119 West 40th Street
New York, NY 10018
Copyright © 2017 by Mary Monroe
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.
Library of Congress Card Catalogue Number: 2016955142
Dafina and the Dafina logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.
ISBN: 978-1-6177-3804-3
First Kensington Hardcover Edition: April 2017
eISBN-13: 978-1-61773-805-0
eISBN-10: 1-61773-805-0
Kensington Electronic Edition: April 2017
This book is dedicated to Gloria Malone of Alliance, Ohio—one of the best teachers on the planet.
Acknowledgments
I am so blessed to be a member of the Kensington Books family. Selena James is an awesome editor and a great friend. Thank you, Selena! Thanks to Steven Zacharius, Adam Zacharius, Karen Auerbach, Mercedes Fernandez, Lulu Martinez, the wonderful crew in the sales department, and everyone else at Kensington for working so hard for me.
Thanks to Lauretta Pierce for maintaining my website and sharing so many wonderful stories with me.
Thanks to the fabulous book clubs, bookstores, my readers, and the magazine and radio interviewers for supporting me for so many years.
I never thought I’d be celebrating the release of my twentieth book, especially when so many people predicted I’d be a one-book wonder (the same ones ask for a free book each time I release a new one . . . ha ha).
I have one of the best literary agents on the planet, Andrew Stuart. Thank you, Andrew. Without you I would still be answering phones and running out to get coffee for my bosses at the utility company instead of writing full-time.
This is Book 2 in my Lonely Heart, Deadly Heart series
Try to be a rainbow in someone’s cloud.
—Maya Angelou
Chapter 1
Lola
February 2015
“WOULD A MAN WITH EVERYTHING GOING FOR HIM MARRY A woman he met on a sex club website?” This question had been burning a hole in my brain for weeks, but I’d just drummed up enough nerve to ask it today.
Joan Riley was the only person I could ask. She had been my BFF since elementary school. She knew almost every one of my deep, dark secrets, and vice versa. We had done things that could have sent us to jail, or gotten us killed.
With a curious look on her face, Joan repeated my question. “Would a man with everything going for him marry a woman he met on a sex club website?”
“I asked you first,” I said impatiently.
Joan gave me an incredulous look. “Now what the hell kind of off-the-wall question is that?” she asked, rolling her big, brown eyes. “And why are you asking me?”
I let out a loud sigh and slid my tongue across my bottom lip. “You, of all people, know that there is nobody else I can ask such a bold question. The thing is, I’ll be thirty-three years old this year.”
Joan shrugged. “So? So will I.”
“I don’t want to wait too long to have my first child.”
“Then don’t. As much action as you are getting between the sheets these days, you can have a baby whenever you’re ready, honey.”
“That’s true. But the only men I sleep with ‘these days’ are members of our online sex club.” I couldn’t believe how casual I sounded. I’d just made a statement that was as bold as the question I’d asked.
“You don’t have to be married to have children, and you don’t have to look for a baby daddy on the Internet. If we walked down the street right now, we’d see at least half-a-dozen sperm donors who would love to make you a mommy.” Joan snickered. Then she paused and cleared her throat. From the mischievous look in her eyes, I could tell she was gearing up to mess with me. “If you want to get pregnant in a more sophisticated way, there’s that sperm bank on Pike Street.”
We occupied a booth in Jocko’s Bar and Grill that Sunday afternoon in February, a week after the Super Bowl. Jocko’s was a popular sports bar located across the street from our favorite San Jose mall, which was about half an hour’s drive from where we lived in the suburb of South Bay City, California, in the heart of Silicon Valley.
No matter where Joan and I went together, we were always two of the hottest women on the premises. We received equal
attention from the men we encountered. They admired my smooth cinnamon-colored skin, thick, black hair, and pearly white teeth as much as they admired her light brown complexion, jet-black hair, and heart-shaped face. We were both petite, and Joan had had a baby but her body parts were still as firm and perky as mine. We were enjoying our lives, and spending time drinking together in a bar was one of our favorite pastimes.
Today was warmer than usual for Northern California this time of year so we wore jeans, Windbreakers over halter tops, and sandals. There were other women in the crowded bar, but almost every man’s eyes were on us.
I was the designated driver, so I was still slowly sipping my first and last Cadillac margarita. Joan had just finished her second, but she wasn’t even slightly buzzed. My girl was from a huge family of seasoned drinkers, so she was much more alcohol friendly than I was. She licked salt off the rim of her empty glass, and then she signaled the waiter to bring her another drink.
I glanced around the bar. I didn’t see any men I’d be interested in enough to sleep with so I could get pregnant. I returned my attention to Joan. “I’m serious.”
“So am I!”
“Then give me a serious answer.” I gave Joan an exasperated look. “And please do me a favor and don’t mention sperm banks or sperm donors again. I don’t want to raise a child on my own. I want a husband.” I paused and took another tiny sip of my drink. “Some of the men in our club are the cream of the crop. Handsome, intelligent, and they make a lot of money. A couple of weeks ago, I received date requests from two doctors, a lawyer, and a software company executive.”
“A couple of weeks ago? You haven’t heard from anybody since then?”
I heaved a sigh and nodded. “A dishwasher and a mailman left messages in my club in-box yesterday. The mailman lives in Denver with his mother. He’s coming to California to visit his sister next month. The dishwasher lives in Vegas in a Section 8 apartment with his sister and her five kids. He’s coming up here on a Greyhound bus next week to visit his brother and wants me to spend time with him in his brother’s trailer!”
“Humph! The nerve of some people! I hope you didn’t respond to those two.”
“No, I didn’t. I wish low-end men would stop asking me for dates. There’s nothing wrong with them, and some are hot and really sweet, but you and I have both been down that road. I’ve had some fun times with broke dudes. Someday I’ll probably hook up with a few more on that level again, even though they can’t afford to show a woman as good a time as a doctor or a lawyer.”
“Tell me about it. But getting jiggy with a dude in a trailer—who came to town on a Greyhound bus? OW! Girl, some of the men on the Internet have more nerve than a terrorist. Oh well. We can’t stop sad sacks like them from trying to sleep with us, and it is kind of cute and flattering. Last month I received requests from a busboy, a maintenance man in a low-rent apartment building, and a discount store security guard. Even though they were gorgeous and a lot of women raved about them on the club’s review board, I didn’t respond. I deleted their messages right away.”
“Sometimes I wonder if we’re missing out on something real good by not accepting dates with club members in the low-income bracket. I checked the reviews for the dishwasher, and most of them were good.”
“So what? If you can drive a Rolls-Royce, why settle for a Toyota? Last night I received requests from a judge, a real estate mogul, and a TV producer. The bottom line is, all of these men joined a sex club to have casual sex, not make babies.” Joan snickered again. Then she finally got serious. “I’m sorry, so get that pitiful look off your face and go on,” she told me, waving her hand in the air.
“What about the members who post comments on the club’s blog and in their review section about how they developed a serious relationship with a fellow member? Some even got married!”
Joan gave me a steely look and a nod. “Oh yeah. Quite a few.”
“Let me rephrase my first question: Do you think any of the high-end men in the club would marry women like us?”
“Who the fuck cares, Lola? I already have a handsome, intelligent husband who makes tons of money. And anyway, almost every single one of the men I’ve dated in the club is already married or in a committed relationship.”
“Well, I’m not married or in a committed relationship, so I care,” I said firmly. “I just want to know if you think there’s a chance one of the club members I’ve been with, or one I haven’t been with, would marry me knowing I’ve slept with a bunch of other members.”
“Pffft!” Joan waved her hand in the air again. “Get real, girl. If you marry a club member, he’s doing the same damn thing we’re doing, so he’d have no room to talk.” She glanced at her watch. “What’s taking that damn waiter so long to bring my drink?”
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough? The tequila that they put in the margaritas here is the strongest spirit I’ve ever come across,” I said with a mild grimace, wanting another drink myself.
“No, I don’t think I’ve had enough. I know there’s going to be another showdown when I get back home, and I can’t face it without a lot of strong ‘spiritual’ help.”
Chapter 2
Lola
A FEW MINUTES LATER, OUR WAITER SET ANOTHER MARGARITA ON the table in front of Joan. She wasted no time taking a long drink. Her eyelids had begun to droop, and her light brown nose was now a bright red. Other than that, nobody could tell she was drunk.
After a mighty belch, Joan wiped her lips with a soggy napkin and looked at me with her eyes narrowed. She belched again and snapped her fingers. “What about what’s-her-name?”
“What’s her name who?”
“Miss Black Piggy—I mean Shirelle, your daddy’s ex. She married that architect she met online and had three kids. And don’t forget about her niece, Mariel. She met her husband through the same club. You told me yourself that Shirelle and Mariel are living like queens. They have children, big fancy houses in upscale neighborhoods, fat bank accounts, and all of the other shit every woman wants. And neither one of them is half as hot as you or me. I wonder if those two hoochies managed to hold on to their husbands, though.”
“Oh! Didn’t I tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
“I bumped into one of Shirelle’s cousins at the beauty shop last month. She told me that Shirelle is happier than ever and Mariel is pregnant again. She’s also very happy.”
“Oh? Humph!” From the harsh tone of Joan’s voice, I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, jealous, or both. “Well then. All that should answer your question about men marrying women like us that they met online.”
“Joan, the dating site where Shirelle and Mariel found their husbands is a regular dating site. The kind that can advertise on TV. The club we belong to was created exclusively for people who want to hook up with other members only to have sex. You will never see a TV commercial about our site.”
Joan hunched her shoulders, drank some more, and then swallowed with a grunt. The alcohol had finally begun to affect her. She gave me a curious look with her glazed, red eyes. “Well, like I said, I already have a handsome, intelligent, rich husband. Don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with one of your Internet hookups.”
“Well, I—”
She cut me off and started wagging her finger in my face. “Honey, I advise you to forget about making a love connection with any of the men in the club. Didn’t I tell you when I turned you on to Discreet Encounters that it was only about discreet encounters? Just straight-up, consensual, casual sex! And I’ve told you more than once to have a good time as often as possible, but don’t go falling in love with any of the dudes. I—wait a damn minute! Is this about ‘BigBen,’ that well-hung Native American casino honcho from South Dakota that you were with last month? He’s one of the few single club members you’ve dated.”
Just thinking about my encounter with BigBen made me want to laugh and cry at the same time. With his flawless bronze skin, chiseled features
, and long, jet-black hair, he was too good-looking for his own good, and for everyone else’s. “I have no male friends because they’re all jealous of my good looks,” he had told me at least half-a-dozen times during our three-hour date. “I can’t keep a woman because no woman wants to be with a man who is more beautiful than she is,” he’d told me, also at least half-a-dozen times. He had booked a room in an adult motel with mirrors on the ceiling so he could look at himself during sex. To bring him down a peg or two, I did something I rarely did in bed with a man: I checked my watch right in the middle of his orgasm. And I made sure he saw me. That shut him up, but just for a few moments. The stunned expression on his face was priceless. He suddenly gripped the sides of my head with his hands, gazed into my eyes, and said, “I can tell that you’re intimidated by my good looks and can’t wait to leave, but I’m used to women behaving like you when they get around me. You should stick to plain men until you feel more confident being with an extremely handsome man like me.” I had had enough by then, so I told him, “Honey, you can count on that.” I slid out of that vibrating bed, got dressed in record time, and left that motel literally running.
When Joan had asked me about my date with BigBen the next day, I’d told her he had an awesome body and that he’d been a good lover, but I didn’t tell her how much he’d bragged about his handsome features throughout the date. I had stopped sharing all of the details of my dates with her, and I was sure she had stopped doing so too. Last year she’d teased me for days about the Spaniard who’d had a heart attack in bed with me. Even more so than I’d teased her about the midget she’d almost accidentally smothered to death with her legs around his neck while he was performing oral sex on her.
I shook my head to clear my thoughts and returned to the present moment. “The man I’m thinking about is better than BigBen. Remember Calvin Ramsey, that fine-ass truck driver who lives in San Jose?”