Robinson writes another insightful and funny story about black men and the dating scene. As far back as Mitchell Stone can remember, he has been timid around women. He is always the guy that women have as friends but few find him romantically interesting. After completing college and beginning his career, Mitchell discovers he is still attracted to his high-school classmate, Nikki Coleman. After three months of dating, Mitchell shares his feelings and asks that they become more than friends. Nikki gives a heartbreaking answer that sends Mitchell on a crusade to change his image and become the type of man that he perceives every woman wants--a Dog. To learn the rules, Mitchell seeks counsel from his two buddies, who seem to have perfected the Dog rules. Women and men will enjoy this love story. Lillian Lewis
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved
Review
“Funny, nimble, entertaining storytelling with laugh-out-loud moments.” —Marcus Major, author of 4 Guys and Trouble
“Young, black, single and mad as hell . . . [A] lighthearted look at the irrationality of dating.” —Kirkus Reviews
From the Inside Flap
Mitchell Stone has had it! No more Mr. Nice Guy. Sick and tired of dates that end with a pat on the back, he's decided it's time to even his odds with the ladies and become the type of man they really seem to want: a mysterious, mischievous, deceitful Dog! With the help of his "Player" instructors, Tony and Trey, he's dipping his toe into a stream of booty calls, baby-mamas, and sexual spin, winning over every woman who crosses his path!Nikki Coleman has had it, too! The men in her life have been good for one thing: disappointment. There's her high school sweetheart, Barry, a successful attorney who got someone else pregnant and derailed Nikki's early hopes of marriage. Then there's Jomo, a guitarist who's great in bed—except Nikki's not the only one he's great in bed with. There's Mitchell Stone, an old friend and fellow executive at her record company, who's handsome but just a little too nice. Last but not least, there's her father, Gene Coleman, who took a few years to acknowledge that, yeah, she's his. Now that a case of sexual harassment has Nikki on the verge of losing her job and with it her entire career in the music industry, the lack of a strong man in her life is even more painful. She can survive on her own, but in her heart she wants a Mr. Right to stand by her side and help her ride out the storm.
Meanwhile, Mitchell is well on his way to becoming a real Player. With his handbook of "Dog rules" and a new, swaggering style, he's attracting women left and right. He's even got Nikki reconsidering their just-friends status. But has this Dog bitten off more than he can chew? And will Mitchell's newfound womanizing ways come back to bite him before he and Nikki find true love?
From the Back Cover
“Funny, nimble, entertaining storytelling with laugh-out-loud moments.” —Marcus Major, author of 4 Guys and Trouble
“Young, black, single and mad as hell . . . [A] lighthearted look at the irrationality of dating.” —Kirkus Reviews
About the Author
C. Kelly Robinson is a graduate of Howard University. He and his wife live in Dayton, Ohio, where he is currently working on his next two novels. Visit his website at www.ckellyrobinson.com.
Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
CHAPTER 1
IF YOU CAN’T BEAT ‘EM JOIN ‘EM
Early May
The night I decided to become a Dog, Nikki Coleman reached over our table and slit my chest wide open. As her razor-sharp nails took root, she gripped four smooth fingers around my heart. Gaining the traction she needed, she skillfully maneuvered the still-beating, pulpy mass from its place and let it thud onto the red tablecloth at Luigi’s Fine Dining. A veteran of these attacks, I swayed to and fro on my side of the mahogany booth, awaiting the death blow. I knew I wouldn’t be disappointed.
Nikki thought she knew how to let a brother down easy. As my heart flopped around on the table, she said, “Mitchell, you are so sweet. I’m enjoying our friend- ship, too.” Her wide eyes beaming with detached warmth, Nikki smiled at me like a nurse comforting a dying patient. “Thanks for sharing that with me.”
Thanks for sharing that with me? As I processed Nikki’s response, my brain began to spin like a pig roasting on a spit. What was she talking about, Thanks for sharing that with me? I’d spent many hard-earned dollars taking this woman to restaurants, theaters, symphonies, and comedy clubs throughout the Windy City. God only knows how many gallons of gas I’d used up. The drive from my pad in Hyde Park to her overpriced digs in downtown Lincoln Park could be a real killer. I had probably spent close to fifteen hundred bucks on Nikki, and only tonight, after three months of sexless friendship, had I laid my feelings for her on the line. Nothing overblown, just the truth: I was interested in being more than friends. Thanks for sharing that with me. The words stabbed at my every nerve. What the hell kind of response was that?
Even in that moment of agony, my eyes rested on the curves of Nikki’s fleshy lips as she smiled innocently. “Mitchell, are you okay?”
Before I knew what was happening, the words escaped my mouth. “Did you, uh, understand me, Nikki? I just said I’ve been infatuated with you for years, and after getting to really know you, I have real feelings for you. I want to make you happy.” Aware my voice was a bit louder than necessary, I leaned forward and placed my elbows on the tablecloth. “I didn’t tell you how I felt so I could be patted on the head.”
The woman of my dreams had taken a sudden interest in the details of the tablecloth. “Mitchell, just let me—”
“Could you ever feel the way I do? Yes or no. I deserve a real answer.”
The sudden arch of Nikki’s back told me she wasn’t expecting this. A woman of her quality probably broke a new heart every day. I suppose that’s why I never had the courage to rap to her back when we were classmates at Martin Luther King High. I could tell I had thrown Nikki off, but she was struggling to keep her cool. She mussed the edges of her hairdo and looked at me suspiciously. “I—don’t know what you want, Mitchell. I just thanked you for your honesty.”
“A thank-you isn’t going to cut it, Nikki,” I said. “How do you feel about what I told you? Do you even care?” I refused to break eye contact with her, despite the fact that I felt a good pitch hike building up in my throat. I never was good at hiding my emotions.
Nikki glanced around the room, seemingly hoping we’d be interrupted by our waiter. She managed to keep a crisp, sweet air to her voice. “Mitchell, this is really not the time or place for this discussion. Besides, I’m not ready for anything serious right now.”
My mind whirred in frustration at the familiar sentence. I get this type of bull from women all the time. Always in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you’re me, the woman says she needs a break from relationships right now. But if you’re a brother who’s been with every woman in town and treats them all like trash, the same woman suddenly makes room in her schedule.
I wasn’t buying what Nikki was selling. I think she expected me to meekly accept her verbal pat on the head. She probably even figured we would end the evening in a civil fashion, like two grown adults. She was mistaken. “Okay, sister, no hard feelings. It’s cool.” Knowing full well that our dessert had yet to be delivered, I decided to fast forward through our date. “So, how do we split this bill? I can pay for the appetizers, but you’ll need to handle your own entrée, drinks, and half the bottle of Chablis.”
It took every ounce of my manhood not to crack up hard at Nikki’s reaction. Beautiful as she was, shock was not a look this woman wore well. Her jaw plunged into her firm, buxom chest. Her right eye twitched violently and looked ready to drop from its socket. I swear her hairdo frayed and melted around the edges.
“Is this a joke?”
I told her no.
“You’re out of your mind, Mitchell. You invited me out tonight.”
“Yes,” I replied in a cool tenor, “but that took place under a separate set of circumstances. You knew when you stepped out that door how you felt about me.” Shifting in my seat and staring Nikki down, I leaned in again. “Based on your condescending reaction, I’m guessing I never had a shot with you.”
Nikki waved a hand dismissively. “Mitchell, has it ever occurred to you that maybe I haven’t thought about it?”
I was having none of it. “Please, Nikki. You were morally obligated to dis and dismiss me a long time ago, sister. You know how many other women I could have been pursuing these past weeks?”
“You’re a damn fool, do you know that?” She grabbed her sequined purse. It was clear she was ready to go.
I decided to discard any remnants of shame. “You got that right, I am a fool. I’m a fool for thinking we’d ever be more than buddies. Nikki, buddies don’t buy each other extravagant, expensive meals. You better be glad I got those Milos tickets for free, otherwise you’d really be in debt.” I extended my right palm as she reached for the coatrack behind our booth. “Now pay up.”
That line got me an eyeful of ice water and a string of four letter words. Nikki had completely changed personalities now. “Like it’s my fault nobody wants your dull ass!” As she struggled into her black wrap, she slammed three twenties onto the table, threw her maroon Coach bag over her shoulder, and stepped. Better her than me, I thought; at least she can hail a cab in this city. I’d be kickin’ it solo in my Accord tonight.
The first few minutes after Nikki stormed off into the cool night air, I was a little embarrassed by the stares and snickers of couples at the surrounding tables. When a red-nosed man in a loud aqua suit caught me staring back at him, he stopped laughing long enough to apologize. “Tough break, bub. I hope you drove tonight!” As he slapped a meaty palm against his knee, I turned back to Nikki’s empty seat. I accepted a pile of napkins from my waiter and began to dab at the plaid pattern of my tailored suit. It took just two minutes for my embarrassment to turn to a feeling of liberation. I faced up to the ugly truth: I didn’t seem to be the type of man most women wanted. Now, finally, I was going to do something about it. Settling back into my seat, I asked the waiter to bring the Italian ices Nikki and I had ordered for dessert and began to construct a battle plan.
“Sir,” the waiter asked, “you still want me to bring both desserts?” I guess he figured Nikki wasn’t coming back.
“My good man,” I said, stuffing a twenty into his hand, “bring ’em both, along with another glass of the house wine.”
When he brought the ices, I downed them in minutes. Dessert never tasted so good.
Four hours later I walked through the door of my apartment and joined my older brother, Marvin, on the L-shaped leather couch in our living room. I packed my mouth with a wad of strawberry Bubblicious and tried to explain the evening’s disaster. A former star wide receiver at Ohio State, Marvin has massive shoulders that shuddered in amusement as he lounged on the other end of the couch. “My little brother, I think it’s safe to say you pushed a bit too hard. God don’t like ugly, Mitchell.”
I turned over onto my stomach and buried my head in one of the puffy cushions. He’ll never understand, I told myself. As much as people think Marvin and I are two peas in a pod, we couldn’t be more different when it comes to our attitudes about women. Marvin’s already been married and seen a woman bear what he thought was his child. It may not have lasted forever, but he knows what it is to experience a long-term romance. Sometimes I wonder if I’ll ever taste such pleasures.
Even though I knew he would never get it, I tried to educate him. “Marvin, what you’re hearing is raw emotion. I am a good man, can’t nobody tell me different. For years I’ve been cutting these sisters a break. ‘Sorry, Mitchell, you’re just not my type.’ ‘Sorry, Mitchell, I already have a boyfriend.’ ‘Sorry, Mitchell, I’m not ready for another relationship right now.’ You know what? I’m through taking the blame for the way these women treat me. They got the problem, not me.”
Fiddling with the remote control of our Sony wide-screen, Marvin got up and paced the floor of the dimly lit room. “You know what? It’s too late for one of your anti-Oprah, woman-bashing rants. I’ve gotta be on a plane to D.C. in the morning.” He tossed me the remote and stood over me with a look of concern on his face. “Bottom line, Mitchell, are ...
