bad boy heaven wmbw romance novels new interracial romance by jamila jasperIf you love romantic stories and enjoy reading interracial romantic comedy novels, you'll love Jamila Jasper's upcoming BWWM Bad Boy Romance release, Bad Boy Heaven. This is slated to be one of our best contemporary romance novels for the year and perfect if you love steamy interracial romance and real chemistry between a black woman and white man.

This romance novel has a big theme of forbidden love! Tessa and Phil are perfect for each other but as is often the case in love, there are many challenges before they can be together. Tessa has worked hard for everything she has but she comes from a world steeped in privilege. Still, she has nothing to be ashamed of. She's a Georgetown and Howard graduate with mahogany colored skin and gorgeous doe-eyes. She's smart, quick on her feet but very unlucky when it comes to love! 

Maybe the problem is she doesn't see who is right in front of her… 

Phil Tremblay isn't the man she's supposed to want. He's wrong for her in every sense of the word! He doesn't seem to have ambitions past working at the bar, he is covered head to toe in tattoos and she doesn't think she'll ever  be able to introduce him to the partners at her law firm. Uh oh! 

The big problem here is that Tessa and Phil can't seem to stay away from each other, no matter how much they try. Stay tuned for the end of September launch so you can catch the end of this gripping story.

Romance Novel Excerpt: Bad Boy Heaven by Jamila Jasper

 

 

Phil’s arms tensed as he shook the cobbler shaker. Ice slammed against metal. His tattoos stretched and morphed with his swift hand motions until the drink was ready. He poured it, through a strainer into a tall martini glass and slid it across the bar to a skinny blonde who loudly asked, “WHAT’S IN THIS?”

 

He winked, and I couldn’t hear what Phil said in response.

 

Cuthbert reached across the table and touched my arm.

 

“Distracted, Tessa?”

 

His touch dragged my attention back to our second date, which I’d vainly hoped would be less mechanical and dispassionate than our first. 

 

“No. Not distracted.”

 

“You keep looking over there. Watching the game?”

 

The TV above Phil’s head played the Nationals game, which I hadn’t noticed until Cuthbert pointed it out.

 

“No.”

 

“I love baseball. I always wanted to be with a woman who loved baseball as much as I do.”

 

“Oh?”

 

Our waiter, dressed head to toe in black, with a gaunt starved look on his face, had yet to serve us. I was desperate for quenelle de brochet and more importantly, the bottle of wine. I immediately regretted not ordering a cocktail, even if the last thing I wanted was for Phil to notice me here again. With a new date. 

 

“Yes,” Cuthbert continued, “Baseball is the most beautiful game. It’s so interesting too. You know, most women in this city don’t care for the sport. They lack the intelligence to understand it.”

 

I forced myself not to roll my eyes.

 

“Really?” I asked flatly, hoping Cuthbert would get the message.

 

He didn’t. Of course. 

 

“Well, you’re beyond intelligent, obviously. Where did you say you got your law degree?”

 

Perfect. Work talk. We’d had plenty of that on our first date but apparently, Cuthbert couldn’t get enough.

 

“Howard.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“What?” I snapped. 

 

I’d received that response about Howard a lot from dates, but I didn’t expect it from a fellow black man, especially not one wearing an ankh around his neck.

 

He shrugged.

 

“It’s just that… well… Howard Law? Really?”

 

“What’s wrong with Howard Law?” 

 

My eyes narrowed and I went into attack mode. My heart raced. My skin pulsed with the same fire I felt during court. Cuthbert could tell he was walking through dangerous territory and he ran his hands over his fresh fade.

 

“It’s just that… black people don’t need to be separating themselves. It’s 2018. What do we need historically black colleges for?”

 

His ignorance baffled me. Really? A grown man in his thirties living in America couldn’t understand the need for historically black colleges? I didn’t want to hand hold him. I didn’t want to argue with him. All I wanted was to end this date and delete this man’s number from my phone.

 

But the waiter materialized and with our food set out in front of us and the wine, I decided to take the mature approach.

 

“You know Cuthbert, that’s a very ignorant view.”

 

“Ignorant? How?”

 

Now I was starting to get agitated. I had just given this man an out and now he dug his heels in deeper. Where on earth did he think this was going? 

 

“Listen, I went to Howard Law and I’d just appreciate it if you didn’t slander my alma mater.”

 

He grinned and then chuckled.

 

“Oh it’s a pride thing.”

 

I grit my teeth and sipped my wine.

 

“I get it,” he replied.

 

No Cuthbert, I thought to myself, you definitely do not get it. I politely cut into my food, putting a small bite in my mouth. Cuthbert tasted his and spat it out. Yes, he spat it out.

 

“My God! This is disgusting!”

 

Heat rushed to my cheeks. I didn’t think it was possible for me to be more mortified. 

 

“Is something wrong with it?” I asked, choking down my shame with a large swig of wine.

 

“Is this pork!?”

 

“Yes… boudin means pork.”

 

“Oh hell naw! Waiter! WAITER!” He screamed.

 

Our waiter was halfway across the restaurant attending to another, quieter table. Phil was the only server in action and he came bounding across the room, standing above our table smugly.

 

“Is everything alright?” He asked.

 

He looked professional, sure. But I knew Phil well enough to know he was containing every bit of his disdain and bemusement beneath a thinly veiled disguise.

 

“Yeah, I don’t eat pork. Y’all got chicken fingers?”

 

“This is a French bistro sir.”

 

Cuthbert glanced up at him bewildered.

 

“So y’all got chicken fingers or naw?” 

 

I stared at my food, desperate to avoid eye contact with Phil like my life depended on it. He swiftly removed the plate and strode back into the kitchen leaving me with a very bewildered Cuthbert. He downed his entire glass of wine in two gulps and poured another.

 

“I don’t eat swine. That shit’s unclean.”

 

“Yeah?” I asked.

 

“Uh huh. You wanna cure your ailments, your diabetes, your pressure? Stop eating pork.”

 

I shoveled another bite of lobster in my mouth, wondering how a man this stupid had worked his way up to Chief Financial Officer in one of the cities largest NGOs. 

 

“Really?” I asked.

 

At that point, my inane responses were part of my survival strategy. I didn’t think I’d make it out of the bar with any of my dignity in tact. 

 

“Yes’m. Stop eating pork and you’ll even stop having a period.”

 

“Huh?!”

 

Now I couldn’t hold back.

 

“Yes ma’am. Periods are unnatural. It’s only the white man that makes us think they are.”

 

“You don’t say…” I mumbled.

 

New strategy: get drunk. Get very drunk. Cuthbert wasn’t just an idiot, he had to be straight up deranged. I made a mental note to kill Sky’s cousin for setting me up with this buffoon.

 

I downed more of my wine.

 

“Shit, we almost finished the bottle,” Cuthbert said.

 

“Guess we’re having fun.”

 

He didn’t read my sarcasm and winked at me, licking his lips in a dramatic gesture which I supposed was meant to be sexual. The lobster I’d just eaten flipped in my stomach.

 

“Tessa, I gotta say, they don’t make women like you anymore. Especially not in DC.”

 

“They say I’m one of a kind,” I replied dryly. 

 

“Yeah. You are. And a lawyer. Wow. How do you get on at your firm with all those white men?”

 

I shrugged.

 

“I get on fine. I know how to play the game. I do what’s asked of me, I mind my business and I win cases.”

 

“When we get married, you’ll have to quit that job though.”

 

My fork clattered to the plate involuntarily.

 

“Huh?”

 

Cuthbert chuckled.

 

“Only joking. It’s too early to talk about marriage. But when we do get there… I believe in the traditional ways.”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“A man works. The woman doesn’t. That’s how it’s been in my family. See this generation ain’t ready to let a man be a man.”

 

Every bone in my body wanted to leap out of my chair and start beating Cuthbert over the head. Ladies, I tell you, I wanted to sink into the earth. I would have done anything to get this man to shut his damned mouth.

 

“I’ll never quit my job. Not for anybody. I worked too hard for what I’ve got.”

 

“Yeah, you one of these independent black women, right?”

 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 

“You black women think you don’t need a man. That’s why more and more of you end up single. If y’all would just humble yourselves, you’d be able to keep a man.”

 

I snorted. 

 

“Whatever.”

 

I’d started to lose my patience with Cuthbert. The waiter returned to our table with Cuthbert’s new meal. It wasn’t chicken fingers but it was the closest thing to it. I paid attention to him as he ate his first bite, memorizing every detail so I could recount the entire experience to Sky without missing any of the particulars. 

 

“Now this is real food!” Cuthbert exclaimed, drawing humiliated glances from the wait staff.

 

Great, now even the waiters pitied me.

 

“Uh huh?” 

 

“Hell yeah! This is one of the best dates I’ve been on!”

 

He shoveled more food into my mouth and I pushed the table back.

 

“I— I gotta go to the restroom.”

 

I clicked my heels all the way to the restroom and locked the door behind me. I leaned back against the door, exhaling and looking at myself in the mirror.

 

Is this how bad dating in the city had become? I was on this date with one of the most insufferable men I’d met and I couldn’t bring myself to run away. I couldn’t bring myself to duck out and leave. Some small part of me hoped that the “good on paper” Cuthbert Wilkinson would somehow stop acting like the woman hating, idiotic nightmare that presented himself to me.

 

I reached into my purse and pulled out my phone to call Sky.

 

“Hey girl, wassup,” she answered.

 

“Sky, I’m going to kill him.”

 

Sky snorted.

 

“Kill him? Oh this is gonna be good.”

 

“I’m serious. This date is awful.”

 

“Fake an emergency. Leave.”

 

“Can’t. Phil works tonight.”

 

“Are you serious?!”

 

“Yes. I’m serious. I can’t catch a fuckin’ break.” 

 

Sky laughed, “Yeah, your life sucks.”

 

“Not funny. Why does he always work on nights when I have a first date?”

 

“You could always stop going there. There are other French restaurants besides Bistro Cacao.”

 

“It’s not my fault! Cuthbert chose the place and I didn’t think Phil worked on Thursday nights.”

 

“If Phil is working, you know what’s going to happen.”

 

“Shut. Up,” I grumbled.

 

“It happens every time you two see each other.”

 

“You’re supposed to be helping me!”

 

Sky laughed at my pain once again.

 

“Sorry!”

 

“Yeah, you sound real sorry.”

 

“Listen, Cuthbert can’t be that bad.”

 

“He told me periods were the white man’s invention.”

 

Sky laughed out loud again, cackling like a hyena.

 

“I hate you,” I mumbled.

 

“You don’t hate me,” she teased, “You love me. Just like you love Cuthbert.”

 

“I’m gonna hang up on you,” I threatened.

 

“You’ll have to soon. Do you think he’ll try to kiss you again?”

 

“Oh God, I hope not. What happened last time was barely a kiss.”

 

“It was more than a kiss,” Sky teased.

 

“It was a lick. A full tongued lick. On my face.”

 

Sky cackled again.

 

“Why did I think calling you would make me feel better?”

 

“Sorry girl but your dating woes give me life.”

 

“You’re lucky you don’t have to deal with men.”

 

“Hey, us lesbians have it hard too.”

 

“No, you don’t. You’ve had a stable girlfriend for three years.”

 

“And that hoe still won’t wife me!” Sky replied.

 

I rolled my eyes, but her joke did force me to crack a smile — the first smile I’d cracked all night.

 

“I’d better get back out there,” I grumbled.

 

“Flirt with Phil in front of him. That will make him start acting right.”

 

“Bye, Sky,” I replied.

 

“Cuthbert and Tessa sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N—” 

 

I hung up before she could finish and thrust my phone back into my purse. I regretted wearing a dress this sexy. Cuthbert didn’t deserve it and given his other beliefs, he’d likely interpret the dress as an invitation for something more to happen. I shuddered at the thought. 

 

When I returned to the table, Cuthbert had nearly finished his meal. I marveled at how a man could down his food so quickly. I continued to eat my lobster and our waiter reappeared.

 

“Are you guys enjoying everything?”

 

“Hell yeah man,” Cuthbert replied, “This shit good. But don’t worry about all that fake shit. I don’t believe in tipping so it won’t win you extra points.”

 

I gazed down at my plate in utter embarrassment. The waiter must have felt uncomfortable too because without another word, he wandered over to the bar and began whispering to Phil. 

 

“What do you mean you don’t believe in tipping?” I asked.

 

“Nah, it’s the government’s job to pay people right, not mine.”

 

“The government?”

 

“Hell yeah. Gotta raise the minimum wage. If we don’t take a stand, they’ll never do it.”

 

“But you make plenty of money to tip.”

 

“And they make plenty of money off this plate of food. Listen, you gonna eat that lobster, or nah?”

 

Before I could respond, Cuthbert reached over with his fork and took a piece of lobster off my plate, shoving it into his mouth. My mouth hung open, aghast. 

 

“Go ahead,” I mumbled, pushing my half-finished entree across the table to him.

 

“OH DAMN!” He exclaimed, “This shit is GOOD!”

 

Mortified, I poured another glass of wine. My head started spinning and my tongue grew looser and looser. I wanted to give Cuthbert a piece of my mind and every word that came out of his mouth was another opportunity for me to flip and tell him how much of an uncultured, embarrassing, woman hating creep he was. Whatever sobriety I had left kept me from diving over the edge. 

 

He finished my entree.

 

“Enjoyed it?” I asked.

 

“Hell yeah. How about you? Are you drunk enough to fuck yet?”

 

I gasped audibly this time. I’d had enough.

 

“No,” I replied, glowering at him, “I’m ready to leave.”

 

“Oh shit, no offense baby. I know you’re one of these good chicks who don’t put out ’til the third date. That’s okay, we’ll go out tomorrow.”

 

Before I could protest, Cuthbert reached into his jacket pocket for his wallet.

 

“YO WAITER! Get over here!”

 

The waiter approached our table, his veneer of friendliness replaced by visible frustration.

 

“Yes, sir?”

 

“Get me the check. I gotta get out of here and take my girlfriend home.”

 

The waiter smirked, perhaps at an inside joke, and walked off towards the register. Cuthbert leaned forward.

 

“Yo, is it just me or was that lil nigga smiling at you?”

 

I flinched at his unnecessary use of the n word, especially in reference to our milquetoast waiter. I chose not to respond.

 

“Listen, Cuthbert. I’m not your girlfriend.”

 

He cocked his head to the side, confused.

 

“Huh?”

 

“I’m. Not. Your. Girlfriend.”

 

“You still waiting ’til the third date?”

 

“No. There isn’t going to be a third date.”

 

“Huh?”

 

How on earth was this man still confused?!

What do you think? Should Cuthbert get a third date?! Comment down below and make a guess as to what you think happens. Over the course of next week, I'll be posting more samples on my PATREON. If you want to subscribe and get my latest posts, it's only a small fee. Check out my Patreon here: www.patreon.com/jamilajasper. I've recently published THREE free short stories for all my readers on there. You can check 'em out with as small a subscription as $1.49/month — much less than your usual book budget!  

 

Watch the book trailer for this story here: https://youtu.be/KmptDOStErg

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