had it in me. Shit, maybe I still don’t. But I wanna try, if you let me. Look, this is comin’ from a cat who always thought relationships were overrated and monogamy was extinct. So for me to be comin’ at you thinkin’ differently is some major shit for me. That’s on some real shit.”
“Nigga, I ain’t tryna be ya experiment. Go get some practice playin’ boyfriend somewhere else before comin’ at me.”
“Yo, go ’head wit’ that silly shit. I don’t need to practice shit. I already know what it is.”
“Muhfucka, when you come to me, you betta come correct. And be ready to man up. Don’t come pushin’ up on me tryna bag a bitch, knowin’ you still stuntin’.” I walk ova to my nightstand. Open up the bottom drawer, pullin’ out two guns, my Colt Python and a Beretta Storm 9mm. “’Cause trust ’n believe”—I turn, aimin’ ’em at ’im—“I will take ya face off.”
He jumps back. “Oh, shit. You wildin’; for real, yo. Put that shit up.” I keep ’em aimed at ’im. I don’t blink. And neither does he. “Yo, Kat for real, yo. Put that shit up.”
“Alex, Alley Cat, Daddy Long Stroke and whateva else they call you on da bricks. This gun right here”—I raise the Python—“I use to play in my pussy so it ain’t da one I’d use to splatter ya skull. But make no mistake, this one right here”—I raise the KelTec chrome—“is da one I will use to light fire in ya skull if you play me.” I drop ’em on the bed, walkin’ back ova to ’im. I can tell I done spooked the nigga, but he keeps it cool.
“Yo, that was some foul shit, pullin’ guns out on a muhfucka like that.”
“And I hope I don’t eva have’ta again. Soooooo, before you start comin’ at me any more ’bout tryna wife me up ’n shit, you need’a think long ’n hard ’bout what you sayin’. Now hurry up get ya boots on ’n bounce.”
The nigga steps up in my space. “I ain’t no pussy, yo. And I ain’t no confused muhfucka. I know what I want. And it’s you.” He snatches me up and starts tonguin’ me down. And I ain’t gonna front. A bitch’s pussy starts to pop. We kiss for a few minutes, ’til he unlocks his lips from mine and backs away. “Save ya bullets, baby, ’cause you ain’t usin’ ’em on me.”
I smirk, followin’ ’im down the stairs. “We’ll see, muhfucka.”
“Yeah aiight.” He leans in and gives me some more tongue, grabbin’ a chunkful of ass wit’ his hands. “You really think I’m bullshittin’ don’t you?”
“Nigga, what I
He laughs. “Yo, you funny bad. You know what, let me get some-thin’ to write wit’ ’n some paper.” I walk off through the dinin’ room and he follows behind me to the kitchen. I hand ’em a note-pad and pen. He writes sumthin’ down, tears the sheet of paper off’a the pad, then hands it to me.
I glance at it. It’s a buncha numbers ’n passwords. “What’s this?”
“It’s my passwords to e’erything.” My mouth drops open. This nigga done gave me the codes to his cell, Myspace, Blackplanet and Facebook accounts. “You don’t trust a muhfucka. You don’t think a muhfucka can be all ’bout you. You think a muhfucka still gonna be on some extra shit. Cool. Check da shit for ya’self, whenever you want.”
“Mmmph. I don’t need this.” I hand it back to ’im. “You givin’ me this shit means nuthin’.”
He sits the paper on the table, then opens the door. “Well, guess what, ma. For a muhfucka like me, you da first, so it means e’erything. If you can’t see that, then shame on you.”
He blows me a kiss as he walks out, beboppin’ it toward his whip. I stand in the doorway and watch ’im get in, backin’ outta the driveway before closin’ the door.
I scoop up the paper wit’ all his passwords, then take the steps two at’a time to log into the nigga’s shit to see what’s really good.
CHAPTER TWENTY
It’s Saturday night, and I’m speedin’ up the Turnpike on my way to scoop Chanel up so we can get it in tonight. I gotta blunt fired up and Rihanna’s “Rude Boy” knockin’ outta the speakers to get me in the mood. It’s been a minute since a bitch popped ’er hips on the dance floor, so hopefully I can twirl these hips a bit and get it sweaty. I’m hopin’ they ain’t featurin’ a buncha low-budget booga bitches up in that piece. My cell rings. I glance at the screen, then answer. It’s the nigga Tone out in Cali.
“Hello.”
“What’s good, Beautiful, how you?”
“Chillin’. And you?”
“I can’t call it, ma. I had’a call you and let you know I got them papers.”
“Ohhh, shit,” I say all amped, knowin’ he passed the real estate exam. “Get da fuck out. Congrats, muhfucka. That’s wassup.”
“Yeah, ma. Thanks. It’s on now. Yo, you get yours?” I tell ’im no. “Well, when you do we gonna have’ta celebrate.”
“And you know this.”
“Yo, on some real shit, I been thinkin’ ’bout you, ma.”
“Uh-oh.”
He starts laughin’. “Nah, nah, nuthin’ major. I mean, yeah, you been on the brain. Shit, you mad cool, Kat. And I ain’t gonna front, you fine as fuck.”
“And da pussy’s good.”
He keeps laughin’. “Yo, ma, you mad funny.”
“But am I lyin’? Keep shit real, nigga.”
“Oh, no doubt, ma. I’ma real-type nigga. Hell yeah, you got that bomb-ass pussy. I ain’t even gonna front on it.”
“Nigga, you can’t front on it even if you wanted to,” I say, laughin’. My cell beeps lettin’ me know there’s another call. It’s Chanel. “But, look, my girl is on the other line. Let me hit you up lata.”
“Oh, aiight. No doubt. I’ll holla.”
I click ova. “I’m like five minutes away.”
“Shit, well, hurry da fuck up. Divine’s horny-ass tryna get some pussy and a bitch ain’t tryna sweat out ’er hair.”
I laugh. “Then suck da nigga off.”
“I already did. Now he tryna fuck.”
“Poor thing. I’m turnin’ down ya street now.”
“I’m on my way out now. No need to stop, just swing da door open and I’ll jump in, then speed da fuck off.”
I crack the fuck up. “Bitch, you stoopid.”
BY THE TIME WE HIT CLUB EDEN, CHANEL AND I ARE SMOKED out ’n feelin’ right. The line is mad thick and there’s a ton of hoes and niggas fussin’ ’n stressin’ ’bout standin’ on line for over forty-five minutes. The bouncers are poppin’ mad shit to some’a the females, manhandlin’ them ’n shit. But I ain’t pressed. This bitch ain’t the one.
I cut my eye over at Chanel. “Bitch, I know you not expectin’
“Girl, don’t sweat that shit. You already know,” She says, flippin’ open her cell. “I got it covered.” She lets whoever she’s talkin’ to know we’re outside. Five minutes later, this tall, brown-skinned muhfucka waves us over to him. Chanel gives him a hug. Dude eyes me over her shoulder, givin’ me a nod. I turn my head. Act like the nigga
