Monday, June 2, 2014

Champagne Life by Nicole Bradshaw

Naomi and DeShaun love each other but struggle with money - they don't make enough to pay the bills. It is starting to come between them. DeShaun loses his job as a waiter at a restaurant. Then Naomi loses hers after her boss finds out she took time off to go to a job interview. The relationship goes downhill after that.
DeShaun starts lying to Naomi about where he is going and what he is doing. He cheats on her and then lies about it. Naomi sees him at a party.  She knows for sure he lied. Then she cheats. What is to become od these two?
I liked this book and was stunned by the ending!

From the publisher:
Would you compromise your marriage to get out of debt? Naomi and DeShaun seem to have the perfect life, but when money runs low, they have to face the hard truth: Nothing lasts forever. 

DeShaun and Naomi think they have it all: a wonderful marriage, steady jobs, and most important, undying love for each other. It’s a great life. Who could ask for more? 

Naomi, twenty-three, works for a bank and is steadily climbing toward a promotion—until her coworker, Jeremy, blows the whistle on her after she spurns his advances. DeShaun, twenty-nine, is a server for a high-end restaurant, where women hit on him all the time. His favorite customers are an older, wealthy couple who love DeShaun and his service—especially Jenn, the wife. DeShaun is tired of his job, so when his boss fires him for stealing, he’s more than happy to walk. 

Naomi and DeShaun
Sunday afternoons were my time of solace. At the age of twenty-eight, before getting married, I lived in a sexy, single apartment in downtown Philadelphia. I said sexy because the place always reeked of sex; not in the overpowering, recently finished getting down and dirty way; more like in an artsy way. More specifically, I took pleasure in displaying the sensual nude paintings on my walls of black men and women alone and as a couple. Back then, I liked to walk around naked when I was at home, especially in the sweltering summer months. It was my apartment and I did as I pleased. My single Sunday afternoons consisted of sticking in a Paulinho Moska CD and doing a little baking. It was something I enjoyed. Now, at thirty-two, things were definitely different. I was married and didn’t hang out much with girlfriends because my husband had become my best friend. I had an older sister, but to say we weren’t close was an understatement.

Back then, I never invited guys over much. I preferred to keep my space just that; my space. DeShaun and I dated a year before I even brought him over to my spot. I didn’t want him becoming like the guy before him, who took all of two weeks to move out of his momma’s place and into mine—without paying rent, a power bill or even a measly cable bill. That definitely wasn’t going to happen again. DeShaun had his own spot and I had mine. My momma didn’t raise no two-time fool. You got one mess up; twice was not an option.

“Move a little closer to the cage,” DeShaun said. “That way I can get the full shot of your sexy body.”

I inched myself closer to the edge of the birdcage. It was in the middle of the summer and we were in the midst of a heat wave, the second one of the season. My peach-colored sleeveless summer dress stuck to my thighs as tiny droplets of sweat rolled down my back and settled inside the tip of my crack.

“I feel disgusting,” I complained.

DeShaun narrowed his big, doe-like gray eyes and scanned my body up and down as if he wanted to take more than the picture. He rubbed the tiny, coarse stubbles of hair on his chin and licked his thick, juicy lips. “I like sweat. That’s why I married you.”

I stared him up and down, almost in disbelief that he was my husband. I never ever thought I would get married, especially to a man that was six years younger than me. Add the fact that he was born and raised in the Bahamas and this four-year marriage was damn near mission impossible.

He reached inside his back jeans pocket and pulled out a washcloth. He wiped away the sweat from his deep mocha brown face and neck. “Here. Let me wipe you down now.”

“Ewww,” I squealed. “Get that nasty thing away from me.”

My married Sunday afternoons consisted of DeShaun and me visiting the bird sanctuary, a hobby I hadn’t acquired until three years into our marriage. The admission was free from eleven until closing and we usually carried our own snacks. In the late afternoon, we’d sneak off to our cherry tree in the sanctuary quad and enjoy whatever goodies I had baked early Sunday morning. Today it was apple turnovers that Mom had taught me how to bake from scratch, and a bottle of wine that Mr. Stiles, DeShaun’s boss, had given him. His boss was always giving him bottles of wine. I figured it was because he recognized that DeShaun was such a hard worker and Mr. Stiles needed him much more than DeShaun needed that crap waiter’s job.

His smile was wide and mischievous. “A little closer.” 

To read more, click here.

Pages: 364
Published: 2014

No comments: