He's Fine... But is He Saved?

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9780976039006: He's Fine... But is He Saved?

He's Fine...But is He Saved? is an entertaining and inspiring novel about three friends and their relationships with men. Sandy attracts men who are only interested in sex. Now that she is saved, will she ever meet the right one? Michelle dated Pierre Dupree, her church's finest and most eligible bachelor. Could he be The One? Liz hasn't dated in over two years. She is too busy taming her single mother who is forty-five going on twenty-five. Will Liz ever have time for a man, or does she even want one? Three Single Girlfriends Three Separate Issues with Men One Lord and Savior of ALL

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About the Author:

Award-winning author, licensed minister, national speaker and songwriter, Kim Brooks, of Detroit, MI is the Black Expressions Bestselling Author of, He's Fine...But is He Saved? its Bestselling sequel, He's Saved...But is He For Real? highly acclaimed non-fiction debut, The Little Black Survival Book for Single Saints and self-help book recognized as the official dating instruction manual for Christian singles, How To Date and Stay Saved. She is an honors graduate of Word of Faith Bible Training Center, and an English graduate of Michigan State University. A former guest columnist for Gospel Today and Hope for Women Magazine, Kim publishes a monthly eNewsletter for singles and a daily devotional for single women that reaches thousands around the world and is subscribable for free on her website and blog http://www.kimontheweb.com Also follow her online: Facebook.com/kimbrooksofficialpage Twitter.com/kimontheweb Blogtalkradio.com/kimbrooks Youtube.com/kimontheweb

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.:

Flirting

"He's fiiiiiiine," Sandy sang across the restaurant table and ran her tiny, cream-colored hand through her short black tresses. She was referring to some stranger seated at the bar.

Sandy, Liz, and I were enjoying Sunday brunch on a chilly afternoon in April at one of Detroit's finest restaurants downtown. The soothing jazz sounds coming from the black, baby grand increased my enjoyment as I swayed with the music.

We single ladies are celebrating the fact that we're "big girls now." We're all in our early-to-late twenties, graduated from different colleges, and have fairly decent jobs. We can afford to splurge once in a while.

I snapped back into the reality of Sandy's comment and looked around to make sure no one else heard her remark. "Who's fine?" I asked and then looked back down at my jambalaya.

I tell you. Sandy can be so obvious at times. One day I'm going to teach her young, twenty-three-year-old self how to do things with class, or at least learn how to use codes so that the whole restaurant doesn't know we're checking a brotha out.

"What man are you talking about now?" retorted Liz. Liz is twenty-seven, two years older than I am. She has never approved of Sandy's flirtatious ways.

I watched Liz play with her house salad. Her meal selection is a result of her trying to lose weight. In the past three months, Liz went from a size ten to a size sixteen. I believe a lot of her weight gain has to do with having to put up with her single mother's wild antics at home. Next to praying, Liz's favorite thing to do when something is bothering her is eat. However, she still looks good with her flawless caramel-colored skin and shoulder length, black micro-zillions that are half braided, half loose.

Liz and I have always had lunch together after church. Then four months ago, the Lord reunited Sandy and me, former high school classmates, one day at the grocery store. We exchanged numbers, and I invited her to church. That following Sunday, dressed in four-inch heels and a short and tight jean dress with rhinestones, Sandy responded to the altar call. I walked down the aisle with her and she, in tears, got saved. I haven't been able to get rid of Sandy since that day. Now the Lord has given me a spiritual assignment to be her spiritual guide and friend.

I don't mind too much, I guess, even though sometimes I do have to remind Liz, my best friend of five years now, that Sandy is still young in the Lord. Sandy's behavior can be quite unpredictable at times, especially when it comes to her interactions with the opposite sex.

"Him, at the bar," Sandy whispered loudly while pointing toward the bar with her fork. I peeked at the bar section and saw an older white gentleman wearing a hideous toupee, an older black woman wearing a tight red dress holding a glass of mimosa, and a black man who looked to be in his late twenties.

He was dark-skinned with a bald head, had thick juicy lips, and enough muscles to make Tyrese look bad. The black muscle shirt he wore proved he was built, and his tan pants hugged his thighs.

I must admit, the brotha was fine. As Sandy kept flirting with him with her dark brown eyes, the man responded by looking over at her with hungry eyes of his own and a sexy smile.

"Give me a break," Liz said after sneaking a glance at the man and then snapping her neck. "You just got out of church not even an hour ago, and here you are flirting with some man. Ghetto."

"The Bible doesn't say that anything is wrong with flirting, right Mickey?" Sandy dipped her shrimp in its cocktail sauce and took a bite while keeping her eyes on the good-looking stranger. She kept her left hand positioned underneath her shrimp so she wouldn't get any sauce on her white, form-fitted dress that perfectly complimented her small, size-four frame.

Sandy is one of the smallest girlfriends I have, although she eats all the time and should weigh three hundred pounds. It must be in her genes.

"Her name is Michelle," Liz corrected Sandy for the umpteenth time. Liz hates when Sandy calls me

"Mickey." I've gotten pretty used to it myself.

"And besides," Liz continued, "the Bible says 'he that findeth a wife, findeth a good thing," not she that is desperate throws herself at a man so she can catch one."

Sandy rolled her eyes at Liz. I lightly kicked Liz under the table. Liz looked at me innocently as if to say, "What did I say?"

I've had enough of those two. I love my best friend and all, and Liz is called to be an evangelist and just graduated from ministry school last year, but she still has room for improvement when it comes to having patience with people who are recently born again. Sandy is a rare and difficult case, I agree, but we still have to work with her and be a Godly example.

Our waiter came over with a bottle of Merlot in his hand.

Who ordered that? "Compliments of the gentleman," said the attractive waiter. He pointed toward the man Sandy had been flirting with all along. The man looked over and winked at Sandy. Sandy beamed as she realized that the kind stranger had bought a bottle of red wine for our whole table.

"Thanks anyway, sir, but we don't drink," Liz blurted.

"Oh, no?" the waiter asked. Sandy's facial expression grew dim as she gave Liz the evil eye. "No, we don't," I cosigned.

Dejected, Sandy put her hand on her head and didn't say a word.

"What, do you want the wine?" I asked her.

"No," Sandy said with a sigh.

"Well, then, what's wrong?" I asked.

"Nothing. I guess. I mean, that was nice of him to send it over. What if he paid a lot of money for it?"

"We would have still sent it back, and he would have just wasted his money," Liz interjected.

"But he didn't have to go to all the trouble and buy it for us," Sandy whined.

"If we turn it down, then the waiter just takes it back unpaid for. Isn't that right?" I asked the waiter.

The waiter nodded and said, "That's right, ma'am."

"That's fine then. You can take it back," I instructed. The handsome waiter tugged on his tuxedo jacket and departed with the bottle.

I looked over at Sandy's frowning face and assured her, "That may have been a nice gesture, but you have to remember something, Sandy--we don't drink."

"I know. At least, I don't anymore," Sandy said with lowered eyes.

"Look," I said. "I know you probably didn't want to appear to be rude by turning down that man's bottle of wine, but we have to set the standard. We don't drink, and that's that."

"He shouldn't have assumed that we did anyway," Liz added, folding her arms.

Sandy didn't say another word but continued to eat her food and sip her water. She glanced toward the bar and saw that the man's spot was now vacant. Maybe we did offend him by not accepting his bottle of wine. Oh, well.

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" asked a deep voice behind Sandy. Sandy turned around, looked way up, and saw her dream man, whom she thought had gotten away. I didn't realize he was so tall; he looked about 6'4". He made a motion to sit in the seat right beside Sandy.

"No, this seat isn't taken," Sandy said with renewed joy.

"Well, good. Mind if I sit here?" he asked Sandy, ignoring Liz and me.

"No, no! Go right ahead, have a seat." Sandy beamed as she pulled out his chair for him. That girl still has a lot to learn.

"I'm Dustin, Dustin Richmond," he said as he took his seat and reached his hand out toward Sandy.

Sandy shook his hand softly and said, "Nice to meet you, Dustin. I'm Sandra A. Moore."

"Nice to meet you as well, Sandra A. Moore," he said and then turned her hand over and kissed it ever so lightly. Sandy grinned.

Dustin released Sandy's hand and said to me, "And you are?"

"Michelle Williamson," I said confidently without extending my hand. He wasn't about to kiss my hand. No telling where his lips had been.

"And you?" He looked at an agitated Elizabeth Coleman. I could tell already that Liz didn't like this brotha.

"Liz," she replied with clutched teeth and folded arms. I could also tell that Liz wasn't too pleased with Mr.

"God's Gift to Women" inviting himself over to dine with us. Sandy, on the other hand, was elated. "Excuse me for one moment," Dustin said. He took his silver flip cell phone from off his hip and proceeded to press buttons. I should have known this man was just another brotha who thought he was all that, trying to show off and be rude with his cell phone. He probably was just calling his momma.

Dustin looked over at a now disappointed Sandy and said, "Excuse me while I phone my father--he told me to call him the minute I fell in love."

Sandy's wrinkled face mustered up a huge Kool-Aid grin. I had to chuckle at that one myself. The brotha was smooth. Dustin closed his phone, returned it to his hip, and got comfortable in his chair.

"Did you ladies get the bottle of Merlot I sent over?" Dustin looked around the table for it.

"Yes, we did get it, Dustin," Sandy said, "but we sent it back." She lowered her eyes.

"Oh, really? Why did you do that?"

"Because we don't drink, Dustin," Liz blurted.

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know."

"Don't be. That was nice of you, though," Sandy said while lightly patting his hand.

"A woman that doesn't drink," Dustin said while looking deep into Sandy's eyes. "I think I've hit a gold mine," he added with a charming smile.

Sandy smiled in return.

Dustin continued, "In all seriousness, Sandra, I must admit I have never laid my eyes on a woman as beautiful as you."

How original. However, I could tell Sandy was eating it all up because her Kool-Aid grin never went away. "Maybe you haven't," Sandy said with sheer confidence.

"But you know what? I think I have though, because I think it was you."

"Excuse me?" Sandy said, confused.

"I think I've seen you somewhere before."

"Don't they all say that," Liz w...

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