“Since it opened,” I answer, eyeing him. I glance back across the street. The hooded man is standing in the same spot, staring.
“It’s a nice spot.”
“Yeah, it is,” I say, moving a strand of hair from my face as I take him in. I can’t deny he’s a handsome nigga. He has a chiseled face with deep, piercing brown eyes, full lips, and a dimpled chin. His hair is cut close and his neatly trimmed goatee makes him look sexier than he already is. He’s wearing a brown, short-sleeved POLO button-up, beige khakis and a pair of brown designer loafers. For some reason, he reminds me of a computer geek.
He looks back toward the shop, then at me. Instinctively, we both step out of the view of the shops window in case someone was looking. “Congratulations to you,” he says, giving me the onceover.
“Thanks.”
He licks his lips, pulling in his bottom lip. “I was hoping you were gonna be here today.”
“Why?” I ask, pretending to be clueless. “James, right?”
He nods. “Yeah. When I initially saw you the other week, you looked familiar to me, but I couldn’t put my finger on where I knew you from. I went home and kept thinking about it. Then it hit me. Damn, I didn’t think I was ever gonna run into you again.”
I shift my weight from one foot to the other. “Umm, I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”
He smiles. “I’d never forget a face or set of lips like yours.” I nervously shift my eyes, looking around to make sure no one else is in earshot. “Don’t worry, I’m not gonna put you out like that,” he says, sensing my uneasiness. “Your secret is safe with me. I just wanted to let you know, I remember who you are. Shit. I actually haven’t stopped thinking about that night in the park.”
I want to ask him which park he’s referring to, but decide against it. The fact is it doesn’t matter where I had sucked his dick. The point is I did it. He goes onto tell me how that was the best mind-blowing head he’s ever experienced in his life. It’s meant to be a compliment, but it has me feeling extremely uncomfortable. I swallow my nerves down, not believing how shit is unfolding right before my eyes. Of all the times I’ve gone out cock prowling, he’s the first man who I have actually run into in public—surprisingly, my goddamn salon.
I decide to be honest with him. “I remembered you when you were here two weeks ago. I’d definitely like to keep this quiet.”
He chuckles. “I’m engaged, remember? Who you think I’m gonna tell?”
I let out a sigh. “Point taken.”
The cell in his hand chimes, alerting he has a text. He looks down at it. “Listen, that’s her texting me.”
I put a hand up, waving him on. “I gotta get my phone out of my car anyway.”
He shoots his future wife a quick text back, then says, “It was nice talking to you. Maybe we can hook up one more time before we both tie the knot.”
I smile. “Perhaps we shouldn’t. With your wife-to-be coming into the salon now as a client, it’s too close for comfort. The last thing I need in my shop is drama.”
“I’m not looking for any drama either,” he says, eyeing me. He smiles, glancing over his shoulder at the salon. “So this is your shop?” I nod. “Wow, impressive.”
“Thanks. So you can understand how another encounter wouldn’t be good for business.”
He grins. “Then again, it may increase your business. Shit, she doesn’t mind spending my money to come here.”
I return the smile. “And I do appreciate the patronage, but that’s as far as I can go with it. Besides, as you’ve heard, I’m about to be married.”
“I understand. And so am I. But if you ever change your mind,”—he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his wallet—“give me a call, or shoot me an email.” He hands me a business card. I glance at it. He’s an IT tech.
I smile. “Thanks.” He smiles back, then glances down at his cell as it chimes again. It’s another text from his fiance. He walks off, texting back. And I prepare to cross the street. Dude with the hoodie is still standing by my car waiting, watching—or looking, for something. While I’m crossing the street, I see him lean down, picking up something. As I make my way toward my car, this motherfucker lifts up this big-ass cinderblock, draws his arms back, and hurls the shit at the rear window of my car. He takes off running down the street like a bat out of hell at the sound of glass shattering and my alarm blaring, yelling out, “Bitch!”
“OhmyGod!” I scream, running to my car. “Someone stop him! The motherfucker threw a brick through my window!” I quickly unlock my door, snatch my cell out of the passenger seat, then dial 9-1-1. In the meantime, I’m standing in the middle of the sidewalk, watching as this nigga disappears down the street.
“Fuck!” I yell. This is the last thing I need today.
TWENTY
Whoever came up with the saying: When it rains, it fucking (added for effect) pours never lied. ’Cause right now it feels like I’m being soaked by a monsoon. When I get to the shop this morning I am greeted with a slew of fliers taped all over the front door and window of the salon. Fliers, damnit!!! About me! Each one had a different slogan. Shit like: FOR THE BEST HEAD IN TOWN, PASHA ALLEN’S GOT THE DICK SUCKING GAME ON LOCK…FOR THAT 24 HOUR DICK WASH, COME THRU NAPPY NO MORE FOR THAT DEEP THROAT TREATMENT…PASHA ALLEN’S A DICK SUCKING SLUT…VISIT THE QUEEN OF COCK-SWABBING AT WWW.NASTYFREAKS4U.COM…PASHA ALLEN A.K.A DEEP THROAT DIVA WILL LICK YA DICK AND SWALLOW YA NUT ’CAUSE SHE’S A CUM-SLUT…
There were literally a hundred or more fliers covering the door and window. When I say my nerves were rattled, they were wrecked. Two weeks ago it was my car, now this shit! Thankfully, I still get here before anyone else. Then the nut has the audacity to call me. I’m sitting here at my desk, trying to push back a throbbing headache as I replay the conversation. “How’d you like the fliers?”
“Why are you doing this to me?” I ask, feeling exasperated. “Of all the people in the world you just have to fuck with me. Why?”
“I told you before. I want my dick sucked.”
“Nigga,” I snap, “you are outta ya motherfucking mind. I’m not sucking shit.”
“Then I’m gonna keep fucking with you until you do.”
I hang up on him. Two minutes later, the nut calls back.
“Bitch, hanging up doesn’t stop me from calling. I’m gonna call ya smutty ass every day ’til you put those pretty-ass lips on this dick, again. By the way, how many nuts you swallow a day?”
I take deep breaths, counting to ten in my head to calm my nerves down. Even though my nerves are rattled, the last thing I should do is let this nigga know he is getting to me. “You’re fucking crazy,” I respond.
“You sucking this dick?”
“I told you…hell. Fucking. No!”
“I guess having the back window knocked out of that fancy whip of yours still isn’t enough, is it ho?”
“Fuck you,” I snap. Maybe talking slick isn’t the smartest idea. But he is plucking my last nerve with all of this psycho shit.
He laughs. “Yeah, like how I’m gonna fuck that throat of yours. I’ma call every day. And I’ma ask you the same shit. And every time you say no, I’ma give your dumb ass something to remember me by.”
“Like I said, bitch-ass,
“By the time I finish with you, slut, you gonna wish I hada fucked ya nasty, trick-ass. Get ready for ya next surprise,” he warns.
“Nigga, do what the fuck you gotta do. I’m not sucking your raggedy-ass dick.” This time, the nigga hangs up on me. I’m telling you this shit with this motherfucking nut is really getting out of hand. And the truth of the matter is I don’t know what the fuck I’m going to do about it. I definitely can’t go to the police with this. If I suck his dick, then this motherfucker will have me under his thumb. But if I don’t, then the nigga’s gonna keep harassing me. Either way, I’m fucked. I wish I knew someone I could call to handle this…him, for me. Some hood niggas who’d track his ass down, then stomp him the fuck out.
