Happy Sunday! Today MRN is shining the spotlight on a new author on the romance scene, Ms. Alexandria House.
Hi Alexandria! Welcome to My Reading Nook! To begin, tell us a little about yourself and your writing.
I’m a southern girl at heart. I have an affinity for a good banana pudding, neo-soul music and tall men in suits. When not shopping, I’m writing steamy stories about real black love.
What are you looking forward to in 2017?
I’m excited about continuing to share my stories with the world.
Describe yourself in 4 words.
Passionate, driven, funny, and at times, a little unhinged. 😉
Who/what inspires you and your writing?
I’m inspired to write stories of black love by the black women of the world who, like me, love them some black men! I truly strive to celebrate black love in my stories.
If your life were a book, what would the title be?
Love, Sex, and Magic (I know that’s song, lol)
Do you have a favorite character that you’ve written?
Yes! So far it’s Nyles Adams from Made to Love! He is cocky and can be a douche at times, but he loves his woman fiercely. I had a blast creating him!
Describe your latest book, Made to Love, in 3 words?
Sexy, absorbing, unique.
What next can we expect from you?
The third and final book in the Love After series, tentatively titled, Real Love.
Find Alexandria on the interwebs:
A year after a messy break-up with her stripper ex-boyfriend, seamstress, Trevia McCall, is still feeling the after-effects of his betrayal…and their mind-numbing sex life. She’s done with him, but her subconscious mind and body haven’t gotten the memo.
Spoken word artist, Nyles Adams, is the kind of man Trevia loves to love—handsome, talented, and cocky as hell. But as far as she’s concerned, he’s everything she wants and nothing that she needs.
Could it be possible that Trevia and Nyles were made to love each other?
Read an excerpt from Made to Love (Love After Book 2)
Club Tribe was located in a not-so-good neighborhood in a tiny building, not much larger than a regular-sized McDonald’s restaurant. I had to stand in line for nearly an hour before I could get in, even though I had bought the VIP tickets in advance, and that pissed me off and also let me know what kind of establishment I was dealing with. So I wasn’t surprised when I got to my table, the one they assigned me when I paid that ridiculous price for my ticket, to find two people sitting at it. And I’m using the wordpeople loosely.
“Excuse me!” I shouted over the music as they sat there pretending they didn’t see my five-foot, ten-inch tall, red dress-wearing behind standing in front of them.
It was two women with multicolored hair and matching nails wearing similar but not quite identical emoji dresses. One smacked her lips and rolled her neck and eyes, then said, “You excused.”
I should’ve brought Denise. One look from her and these heifers would’ve already been gone.
I shoved my clutch under my arm and put my hands on my hips. “This is my table.”
Miss Attitude’s friend flapped her hand at me. “This is Tribe. Ain’t no assigned seats up in here.”
I pointed to the sign sitting in the middle of the table. “Can you not read? Do you not know what reserved means?”
They both fixed their eyes on anything and everything but me, with smirks on their heavily made-up faces.
I narrowed my eyes at them and then noticed a waitress at the next table. I walked over to her. “Excuse me. Sorry to bother you, but can you direct me to the manager? I paid for a VIP table, and it’s occupied.”
The waitress looked around me at the table and shook her head. “Shit, them again?” She sighed as she approached my table. “Y’all know y’all didn’t pay for this table. Get on up before I have to get Omar.”
Both of them dropped the attitudes. I had no idea who Omar was, but they definitely didn’t want to see him, because Thing One was as meek as a lamb as she said, “But the place is packed. We’ll never find another seat!”
The waitress stared at them for a second, and they both grabbed their purses and stomped away.
“Thanks,” I said.
“No problem. They know better. Always tryna get over. You want anything to drink?”
“Yes, I’d love a blackberry mojito.”
“What kind of liquor goes in that?”
I frowned. “Uh…rum, I think.” Was I going to have to give her the damn recipe?
“We got rum…”
I sighed. “Fine.”
She left, and I sat on the uncomfortable, unstable, cafe-style chair at my table front and center before the stage and started second-guessing my decision to come here. I glanced at the crowd and decided Tribe had far surpassed its fire code capacity. Beyond the small, four-table VIP section, there were people crowded around other tables and standing against the black-painted walls and between the barstools at the tiny bar. There were even people sitting on the floor. How did this club manage to book someone like Nyles Adams?
That thought didn’t take long to marinate before I heard a loud commotion coming from somewhere near the entrance. People started rushing toward it, and I didn’t have to turn around to know it was a fight. A fight and a fire were the only things that sent black people running like that, and I hadn’t heard anyone scream, “Fire!” All I could do was sit there and be ready to duck under the table if anyone started shooting.
I shouldn’t have come here.
The last time I’d stepped foot in a place even remotely as rachet as this was back in high school when Denise and Greer and me snuck out of my window during a sleepover to go to a club called Frenchy’s. Once had been enough.
I knew I needed to leave, but a quick glance toward the suspected fight showed me the entrance was blocked.
They need to sell t-shirts that say, “I went to Club Tribe on a Saturday night and made it out alive.”
Feedback from a microphone filled the club and took my attention. My eyes widened at the sight of Nyles Adams onstage. Alone, no band. He was wearing skinny black jeans and a black hoodie with Trayvon Martin’s face emblazoned on it. He looked just like his pictures—deep bronze skin, neat goatee and mustache, but instead of cornrows, his hair was in a curly afro that made him resemble the R&B singer, Lloyd. As a matter of fact, the two of them could’ve passed for brothers, only Nyles was taller than him. His eyes were closed as he clutched the microphone. For the first time since I’d arrived, I felt my body relax as I gave him my full attention.
As he began to speak, a hush fell over the room:
“I remember back in the day when Nickelodeon was the shit, and the deepest thing in the world was a Badu tune. I was just a kid, but I remember.
“I remember back in the day, when OJ got away. When Jordan used to play. When Oprah ruled the day.
“Shit, I remember when I was yay high, and Maxwell would sing about the highest high and Shaggy’s ass told that lie. ‘It wasn’t me,’ was his alibi.
“Remember Pac and Biggie? I was just a little kiddie, didn’t know a nickel from a penny. Had no idea that Naomi was so pretty.
“There was this one time, my mama was watching Good Times. I thought Willona was fine, but I didn’t understand her lines.
“Old shit is the new shit. The best shit is the through shit. We need to bring back the days, the nights, the years of Neo Soul and head wraps, black pride over dead presidents. I miss what I never had. I want what was never mine. I wanna be a kid again. Maybe then I’ll understand this world I’m living in.
“Maybe then I can settle down, not be lost but found. But right now, I’m stumbling in a haze of mumble rap and Instagram fame, foreign hair and body shame.
“But as long as I remember…I damn sure won’t forget.”
Available for purchase or FREE via Kindle Unlimited!
If you’ve read Alexandria’s work, you know she’s one to watch out for. Check out Higher Love, Book 1 of the Love After series, if you haven’t already.
I hope you’ve found your next favorite book!