Read Online The Sweet Potato Queens' First Big-Ass Novel by Jill Conner Browne - Free Book Online Page B

too hot on the idea. It’d take four years, and I wasn’t particularly keen on school. Well, the truth was, I was dying to go but ever since I nearly failed Algebra II, I’d been too afraid to try it.
    I was about to ask Neecie how long it took to be a real estate agent when Sonny emerged from the den.
    â€œIs this the Phoenix?” he said.
    â€œNo, this is the Flagstaff. The Phoenix has an extra half bath and a foyer,” Neecie said.
    There were five models of houses in Oasis Flats, a brand-new subdivision in Jackson, and for some inexplicable reason, they were all named after cities in Arizona.
    â€œThat extra half bath might come in handy, but I like this floor plan better,” Sonny said. “What do you think, hon’?”
    Whenever I looked at Sonny I had to remind myself that though he was merely “nice-looking” as opposed to “handsome,” there were several of his individual body parts that I adored. He had strong, square, decidedly masculine hands and perfectly honed forearms. His teeth were straight and white, he had well-shaped ears, and his calves were nicely sculpted even if he was bowlegged. He was also, truth be told, hung like Paw Paw’s pony. Even so, while Sonny was well-intentioned enough, sexually speaking, it seemed as if he didn’t even know about “the little man in the boat,” if you catch my drift.
    I smiled at Sonny—thinking of his more pronounced attributes—and said, “Whatever you think is best.”
    I was tired of looking at houses with small, claustrophobic rooms with low ceilings and not a lick of character. But, as Sonny had pointed out, they were reasonably priced, well built, and, most important, located in a good school district.
    â€œWould y’all like to discuss it on your own for a bit?” Neecie said. “I have some paperwork I could do out in the car.”
    â€œYes, thanks,” Sonny said.
    â€œJill,” he said after she left. “There’s something I want to show you in the master bedroom.” He took my arm and led me down the hall. We stood hand-in-hand on the powder-blue shag carpet, and he pointed to the blank wall. “Wouldn’t that be the perfect place for an armoire?”
    I frowned. Was it normal for a man to use the word “armoire”? Wouldn’t it be more masculine to call it “one of those things that holds clothes”?
    â€œForget the armoire, Sonny. Why don’t we try out the carpet,” I said, toying with his belt buckle. “See if we like it?”
    He batted my hand away. “Jill, I want you to concentrate. This house is an enormous decision. We’re going to be living here for a few years, and I want you to be happy.”
    â€œOkay,” I said with a pout. It was just as well. The shag carpet would have given me some god-awful rug burns.
    â€œI think this house is cute as a button, hunny,” I said, giving his arm a squeeze. If I could fake orgasm, I could certainly fake house-lust.
    â€œOur home. Imagine the bed here,” he said, pointing at a spot near the window. “The TV across the room. You and me watching Johnny Carson every night, and then afterward…” He waggled his eyebrows at me. “You know what.”
    â€œAnd the mirror goes here,” I said, pointing up at the ceiling.
    â€œJill,” he said, with the embarrassed smile of a guy who liked to dip his wick without having to discuss the urge with his future wife. She, apparently, should be more like Mary Poppins than Mae West.
    â€œIt all sounds perfect,” I said.
    â€œI also think the living room is the ideal size for entertaining.”
    â€œWho would we entertain?” I asked. We’d yet to make friends with other couples.
    â€œPeople from the accounting firm. Clients.”
    Sounded like the opposite of “entertaining” to me, but being a good little fiancée I held my