Kismet 3:
When a Man’s Fed Up
Raynesha Pittman
All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.
Table of Contents
Title Page Copyright Page Dedication Prologue - Let Me Reintroduce Myself Part One - Dre
Chapter One - The Decision Chapter Two - Never Saw It Coming Chapter Three - A Piece of History Chapter Four - A Pair of Queens
Chapter Five - Did You Really Think I’d Be Quiet? Chapter Six - Be Careful of What You Ask For Chapter Seven - Full-body Protection Chapter Eight - Stuck behind Enemy Lines
Chapter Nine - Tired of All the Games Chapter Ten - The Line between Love and Hate just Got Thinner Chapter Eleven - If the Apples Are Rotten, It’s the Tree
Urban Books, LLC
300 Farmingdale Road, NY-Route 109
Farmingdale, NY 11735
Kismet 3: When a Man’s Fed Up
Copyright © 2020 Raynesha Pittman
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.
ISBN: 978-1-6455-6049-4
eISBN 13: 978-1-64556-050-0
eISBN 10: 1-64556-050-3
This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.
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Dedication
On January 30, 2013, I was admitted to the hospital after a prenatal visit. My obstetrician said my cervix was dilated, and I would have the baby in a few hours, which was wonderful news to hear, but her timing was off. You see, I promised my readers Kismet 3 would be released under my indie publishing house, Conglomerate Ink, on the 31st, and after making them wait years for it, I had every intention of keeping my word. The only problem was, how do you self-publish a book while in labor? It hadn’t been typeset for e-book nor paperback because I was under the impression that I had at least another week before my baby was due to arrive.
Almost instantly, the contractions started kicking my butt as I began typesetting from my hospital bed. Once a ten-minute drip of pain medicine became my best friend, I passed out, only to be woken up by my doctor, informing that my daughter’s heart was in distress, and they would induce me to push her out, or it would be off to emergency surgery I go. At 6:00 a.m. on January 31, 2013, after pushing for about... well, two minutes, which felt like the longest two minutes of my life, my beautiful daughter, Qui’Layah Chrisette, was born, and with her in my arms less than two hours after her birth, I originally self-published this book from my hospital bed as my readers congratulated the births of both of my babies on social media platforms.
With love in mind, I dedicate this book to my daughter and the beautiful experiences that came along with her birth. I pray she doesn’t read this series until she’s legally old enough to drink and that she doesn’t mirror anyone in this book nor fall in love with anyone similar to these characters. I love you, Qui’Layah Chrisette, and this book I dedicate to you.
Prologue
Let Me Reintroduce Myself
Contrary to what you may think about me, I’m not a stalker, nor am I some ho-ass nigga that’s ruled by his bitch. I agree that from the outside looking in, shit appears a little suspect on my part. That’s because I’ve remained too calm, I’ve been too quiet, and I’ve wasted too much time trying to teach a dog-ass woman new tricks believing that I could tame that ho.
All I wanted to do was to teach Savannah how to find her worth on two feet instead of on all four. She was more than a cute smile and a good fuck, but I don’t think she knows that. She was on that women empowerment, black girls rock, independent women, I am woman hear me roar-type of shit and had convinced herself that dick was the only thing she needed from a man but only after she realized she wasn’t getting the kind of nut she was looking for from the women she was fucking. Her freaky ways and drive for success had her out here hoeing without a pimp and a corner, but in her mind, what she was doing in her bed was no different than what we men were doing... getting nuts and move on to the next.
Savannah was a lost cause, and I was probably the only donor willing to volunteer time into her charity because I could see her potential. It was buried deep inside of her, but it was there, and I’ve never been a believer of the saying, “You can’t turn a ho into a housewife.” I’ve always looked at it like the niggas who went around saying it didn’t have what it took to tame the girl they were pursuing, so it was easier for them to come up with a slogan than to have to admit to their shortcomings. In truth, they didn’t have the right recipe, or they were missing a few ingredients on molding the woman into what
