Crazy Love

Chapter 1:What I Want in a Man 1. Must be nine inches or bigger2. He must be six-feet-one-inch or taller3. He must have light eyes, green or gray4. Must have soft curly hair -- none of that nappy shit5. Gotta have Shemar Moore's cheekbones6. Gotta be able to wear a mesh muscle shirt and look good in it7. His ride gotta be phat8. He must be making at least $80K (after taxes)9. No kids -- I don't need any baby momma drama10. He'd better be a freak in bed Stacie Long ran her index finger down the list and mentally placed a check mark after nine of the items. This was her list. The nonnegotiable items she wanted in a man. It had been revised, scrutinized and analyzed more than Bill Clinton's love life. A frown marred her pretty face, so much so that the space between her eyebrows looked like a halved prune. She was draped across a velvet couch, reviewing her list as if it was the Holy Grail. So intent on her list, she missed the hateful glares that were shot at her from the women who wanted to sit and rest their feet."Nine out of ten...not bad. Not bad at all," she said, laughing softly. Her body tingled with excitement. If she hadn't been sitting in the ladies' lounge in the Marriott Marquis in downtown Atlanta on New Year's Eve, she'd be howling with joy. Right now all she dared was a smug laugh. It was too easy...way too fucking easy, she thought.Men usually sniffed after her the same way a fat man sniffed after a Big Mac, with desire, longing, greed and lust. At five-feet nine and one hundred thirty-five pounds, she was all woman; the red sequined dress she had slithered into earlier that eveninglovedher because it hugged every inch of her body. The color of warmed honey, with high cheekbones and full lips, she had a butt that made many a man stop dead in his tracks. Depending on when you saw her, her hair was either grazing her shoulders or kissing her ears. Tonight, she had it parted in the middle and the bone-straight strands framed her artfully made-up face. Blush lingered on her high cheekbones; fireengine red lipstick glistened on her full lips and little sparkles glittered playfully on her mascaraed eyelashes.Two women dressed to the nines were standing a few feet away from Stacie. Their heads were so close together that they looked like Siamese twins. "You know what? You can't takeusout anywhere, look at her," muttered the one wearing a pair of toe-pinching shoes. "It wouldn't surprise me one bit if I saw her walking out of here with a plate of food. I bet she has a roll of aluminum foil in that Wal-Mart-looking bag of hers.""Mmm," the other one agreed. "We should tell her to get her ass up!""Yeah!" The lady in the toe-pinching shoes hissed to her friend. But neither moved. Instead, one reached into her purse for lipstick. The other grabbed her cell phone and shrugged lightly; who needs a fight on New Year's Eve?Stacie snuggled deeper into the plush cushions. A satisfied gleam brightened her eyes. This was her type of party. Men,finemen, were everywhere for the taking, fine,wealthymen, that is. They were like apples on a tree, hanging around for the picking. Atlanta had a lot of them. Not only that, but only the creme de la creme attended Atlanta's Annual Sexy and Sultry New Year's Eve Bash. So far she had spotted the mayor doing her thing on the dance floor, former Ambassador Andrew Young and Denzel Washington huddled together near the buffet and a former child star working the room like a twentydollar-an-hour whore. Yep! This was her type of party.It was only ten o'clock, but her evening purse was bulging with business cards. Where other ladies had to work for the numbers, men nearly threw their cards at Stacie. She'd hold on to them and sort through them tomorrow morning. Then she'd organize them by jobs -- doctors, lawyers and professional athletes on top,Day, Desiree is the author of 'Crazy Love', published 2005 under ISBN 9781416503507 and ISBN 1416503501.