What Cindy Reads - Dime by Aubrey Leatherwood

Blurb: Never in a million years would Nicole Donaldson have imagined she'd become a rapper. But when the reserved middle-manager gets caught up in a lark with her Prince-obsessed brother, she's offered a music deal by hot music producer, Baron Odom. Nicole doesn't know what to make of her entrance into a world and lifestyle she's disdained from afar. She also can't quite wrap her mind around the quickly deepening attraction she has to Baron. Can she resist the call of the stage? The call of her heart?

Pardon me for the cliche opening to my review, but since there seems to be some confusion as to what a 'dime' is, allow me to shed some light on the slang term. The Urban Dictionary defines 'dime' as, "A very good looking female as in a perfect ten." Nicole Donaldson isn't that...she's so much more. She describes herself and relationship to the hip-hop music industry as, "a gainfully employed voyeur." And her voyeurism is mostly confined to her recording genius brother's basement, until one birthday weekend---Nicole is outted for the closet hip-hop freak she is.

Her searing satire of the rapper girlfriend stereotype grabs the attention of music producer, Baron Odom. He's classically tall, dark and handsome--and never misses a beat. It doesn't take him long to size up Nicole, either. Given her attitude toward hip-hop and musical folks in general, he's right on the money when he labels her a snob.

There's so much more to Baron than just his so fresh and so clean-clean exterior. Then again, there's much more to Nicole than her fiercely combative streak. Baron's just the man to get beyond her tough-as-nails facade and find out what really makes her tick. Their whirlwind love affair goes hand in hand with Nicole's meteoric debut on the hip-hop scene. And he's there the whole way telling her not only what she wants to hear, but what she needs to hear. Fasten your seat belts, readers, you're in for one sexy, glamorous, bumpy ride.

This short is far from sweet, but it is slick, smart, and chock full of steamy lovin'. But what else would one expect from Ms. Leatherwood? She is always funny, always powerful, and always on point. Dime is no exception. Nicole might proclaim, "Fuck a damn dime, I'm a nine all the time." But in this author's book, Aubs, you are always a ten.

Get your copy at Phaze today!

Poetry by Aubrey Leatherwood

Today my guest is Ms. Aubrey Leatherwood, author of creative, sensual prose whose book The People You Know, The Sex They Have is up for a CAPA award (YAY, Aubrey!). Pick up a copy of her book today. You'll be glad you did...just for Ingo alone. Aubrey knows what I'm talking about, lol. Learn more about Aubrey at her website. And the great lady has seen fit to grace us with an exquisite poem about love. Enjoy!

______________________________________________________________________________________________In flashes of lily light

and honeysuckle breath

I find you.

No violet

or red, red rose

or indigo even

bring you to mind.

Only shades

cool as water cold as ice.

You don't come with scent strong like lavender

or jasmine.

Only in smells that touch me sometimes

in crowds

but never find their place.

Smells that remind me of something

that I realize late is you.

In syrup movement

not quick like lightning

You slow come to me as

Fans blowing in summer

Flies prying at screen

Hot stick-to-me day

Lazy on the porch

Hummingbird wings beat slow...

And there you are

long legs in short shorts

laying across mine become

truncated body as I grasp for your face.

In flashes of lily light

and honeysuckle breath

and grey soft memory down

you are hidden as I forget.

You are faded from bathing too long

in the bright sunlight.

A day without night

is where I've kept you.

I suppose I was wrong in that--

keeping you there,

suspended in happy times

because to animate you

would have meant

remembering everything.

You couldn't come to me

with scarlet sucking in your body,

with the scent of men's cologne

nestled in your hair or

with a burgundy slash of mouth

with sandalwood and musk

nestled in your hair or

with your mica colored hair soft

like mica, too

with those men's scents

nestled in your hair.

Those memories brought you to me,

brought you to me crystal.

Those sights I knew, those smells I knew

and yet those I would lose to

find you rose-colored hazy and bright

never in the sharp clarity of anger, regrets,

and obsession that even in dimness

painted clear your likeness.

And now, now because of my kind

distortion of you,

I cannot find you at all it seems.

I reach for you constantly and yet

am still forgetting.

I have given your sun to someone else.

Someone who easy comes to me.

I see her:

She lay bronze naked in a field

of ever-changing pansies

with green apple eyes lined in kohl

Sun catching cinnamon and nutmeg in her hair.

She smells of vanilla and (vainly I notice this)

she smells of me.

And importantly, days with her make the

nights easier to bear; never something to deny.

And still, still I grasp for your love as the light

has made it as much tantalizing as elusive.

And yet, I can no longer see your face.