A USA Today, New York Times, Washington Post Bestseller Chauncey Greer, the suave and successful owner of the Cute Boy Greeting Card Company, never wants for the attention of guys just as hot as he is. After a couple of bad dates Chauncey finds himself in church, where the minister’s message inspires him to return to the singing career he had launched as a teenager. Things heat up when Chauncey’s rediscovered singing talent lands him in the middle of a protest over homophobia in the black church, and Chauncey’s old singing partner–and former lover–makes a dramatic and unexpected entrance. “Vintage Harris...A story filled with sex, humor and plenty of plot twists.”— Ebony “From naked cocktail parties to religious conundrums, the “Godfather of the Down Low” gives you just the right amount of raunchiness and redemption in his latest.” — Upscale “Heartfelt.” — Essence “Harris’s addictive latest...capture[s] both the erotic heat and spiritual fervor of Chauncey’s world....[A] moving and honest exploration of sex, sin, and redemption.” — Kirkus “What’s got audiences hooked? Harris’s unique spin on the ever-fascinating topics of identity, class, intimacy, sexuality, and friendship.” — Vibe “Thank God for E. Lynn Harris . ” — Philadelphia Inquirer “The man who helped put the down low on the cultural map returns with another sexy page-turner.” — Out E. Lynn Harris was born in Flint, Michigan and raised, along with three sisters, in Little Rock, Arkansas. Harris sold computers for IBM, Hewlett-Packard, and AT&T for 13 years while living in Dallas, Washington, D.C. and Atlanta. He finally quit his sales job to write his first novel, Invisible Life , and, failing to find a publisher, he published it himself in 1991 before he was "discovered" by Anchor Books. Anchor published Invisible Life as a trade paperback in 1994. Invisible Life was followed by Just As I Am (1994), And This Too Shall Pass (1996), If This World Were Mine (1997), and Abide With Me (1999), all published by Doubleday. Harris's sixth novel, Not A Day Goes By (July 2000) debuted at #2 on the New York Times bestseller list. His seventh novel, Any Way the Wind Blows (July 2001), also debuted at #2 on the New York Times bestseller list. His most recent novel, A Love of My Own (July 2002), was a national bestseller as well. What Becomes Of The Brokenhearted (July 2003), Harris's first non fiction work, debuted at #6 on the New York Times bestseller list making E. Lynn the first African American male to appear on both the fiction and non-fiction lists. Currently, there are over three million copies of Harris's novels in print. For more: www.elynnharris.com CHAPTER ONE Oh, hell naw were the only three words that came to mind, and I found myself saying them out loud. “Oh, hell naw,” I said. “Hold up,” Jayshawn whispered as he held his finger to his lips. “Oh, hell naw,” I repeated. He got up from the bed with his cell phone glued to his ear and walked into my bathroom. I could hear him say­ing, “I’m sorry, babygirl, I don’t like it when you get upset like this. Give me five minutes and I’ll call you back.” I sat up in my king-size sleigh bed and wondered how I got myself into situations like this. I had just enjoyed a quiet evening with great Chinese takeout from my favorite restaurant, P. F. Chang’s, a bottle of Merlot, a blunt, and ended the evening with head-banging sex. I’d fallen asleep wrapped up with a handsome redbone PTB (pretty tall brother) and was having sweet dreams until they were inter­rupted by the sound of his cell phone. I ignored the first call, and didn’t mind when Jayshawn jumped out of bed and took the call in the adjacent bath­room. But then it happened again, and again. Every time I tried to go back to sleep, that fucking cell phone, playing rap music like we were in a club, woke me up. I’d had enough of this shit. I was even willing to give up the promised wake-up sex session with Jayshawn. It served me right for dealing with another so-called DL brother like Jayshawn. That nigga just wasn’t in the closet, he was the closet–all three walls and the double-lock door, too. But what choice did I have, since I didn’t date sissies or men who defined themselves strictly by their sexuality. “I’m sorry, Chaunce,” Jayshawn said as he walked back into the bedroom, completely nude with a semi-erect penis swinging from side to side. “What’s going on?” I demanded. It was going to take more than a fat dick to calm me down. “My girl, you know she be bugging,” he said. “About what?” “Thinks I am up here cheating with another girl,” he said as he sat at the edge of the bed and turned toward me as if he was trying to gauge my anger. “I thought you told her you were working.” “I did, but you know bitches–they always think they know something. Trying to catch a nigga in some shit,” he said. “I think I need to catch the first flight out. I think there’s one at seven A.M.” I looked at the digita