The Kat Trap

anyway. I sat down to finish my food, grinnin’.

“Bitch, why you have to act all stank ’n shit? You knew I was tryna get at him. That nigga is paid.”

“What the hell my attitude got to do with you gettin’ ya ass wet?”

She sucked her teeth.

“Well, did you get his number?” I asked, suckin’ the meat off a chicken bone. Juice dripped from my lips. I licked them and my fingas.

“No, bitch.”

“Well, then, I guess he wasn’t interested.”

“How you figure?” she asked with her face all twisted up ’n shit.

“’Cause ya ass is a gold digger and he peeped ya shit a mile away.”

“So the fuck what? That nigga couldn’t keep his eyes off me. And I’m gonna have him, watch.”

“Okay, if you say so.”

“Bitch, I know so.”

“I said, okay, ho. Back up off me. It really ain’t that serious. He might fuck ya dumb ass, but a nigga like him ain’t beat for tryna wife no damn groupie chick.”

She stared me down, but I ignored her ass and kept on eatin’. When we were done, we stepped outside and who the fuck was curbside, leanin’ up against a piped-out, brand-spankin’-new 2001 metallic silver Benz, but the one and only B-Love—live and direct. I ain’t gonna front, the nigga looked good as hell in his powder-blue Sean John sweatsuit with an oversized white tee and a pair of crispy white Uptowns with the powder-blue Nike swoosh and sole. The nigga’s neck was glistenin’ with ice. Patrice immediately got all hyped ’n shit the minute she saw him.

“See. I told you, bitch. The nigga’s out here waitin’ to get at me.”

He grinned. “Hey, baby girl, let me holla at you for a minute.” She started walkin’ over to him, throwin’ an extra shake in her thick hips. “No, not you, ma. Ya peoples.” She stopped in her tracks. I smirked, watchin’ her face crack. But I didn’t move. Instead, I folded my arms across my chest, and stared him down. “Yo, I ain’t gonna bite you, baby. I just wanna talk to you.”

“You wanna talk, you come to me,” I finally said. And that he did. The nigga walked up on me, almost pressin’ his body up against mine, and looked down at me. I looked the nigga dead in his eyes. Didn’t budge or blink. “Can I help you?” I asked.

“Yeah,” he said, smilin’. “You can tell me ya name.” His cinnamon-fresh breath smelled like Dentyne chewin’ gum.

“Unless that info’s gonna add value to ya life, it ain’t important.”

“I’ma call you Baby Girl, then.”

“Knock ya’self out,” I replied, tryna keep from smilin’ while watchin’ Patrice standin’ at the corner with her arms folded tight. The bitch was sick. She had no time for the cat who was tryna rap to her. She wanted the real prize, and it was standin’ right in front of me.

“You still fuckin’ with that nigga Naheem?”

“Excuse you?” I asked with major ’tude. I was surprised he’d ask me about a nigga I knew he knew was locked the hell up.

“I asked you—”

“I know what you asked me,” I said, cuttin’ him off. “Why you wanna know?”

“’Cause a pretty thang like you,” he said, lickin’ his lips and sizin’ me up, “needs to be fuckin’ with a real nigga doin’ real things instead of fuckin’ with some nigga behind the wall. That nigga can’t do shit for you.”

“And who said I needed someone to do somethin’ for me?”

He smiled. “Do you?”

“Nope,” I lied. “I make shit happen on my own.” Well, that was partially true. But a nigga like him would help me stay on my feet. I looked down at my watch. It was gettin’ late.

“You got somewhere to be?”

“Maybe,” I said. He stepped in closer. I stepped back. “Umm, is there a reason why you all up on me?”

“Yeah, ’cause I dig you.”

I laughed. “Nigga…”

“Kat,” Patrice called out. “I’m goin’ to the truck. Don’t be out here all fuckin’ day either.”

“Yeah, whatever,” I said, wavin’ her on. And pick ya face up on your way, trick. I looked back up at him. “You don’t even know me.”

“Maybe not,” he said, lickin’ his lips again—thick, beautiful, kissable lips made for eatin’ my pussy and suckin’ all over my titties and toes. This nigga was so fuckin’ sexy. But I wasn’t gonna gas his head. I played him to the left and kept shit light. “But I’ve seen you several times. And I know you’ve seen me, Kat.” He smiled. “Interesting name; just like you. And so far, I like what I see. So stop tryna front like you ain’t beat.”

I rolled my eyes all dramatic ’n shit. Knowin’ damn well I really was frontin’, I simply ignored that last remark. “Do you always stand outside of restaurants tryna pick up chicks?”

He laughed. “Baby Girl, let me school you on somethin’. I run these streets. I don’t hafta try ’n do shit. Pussy and money come to me.”

“Well, then, let it keep comin’ to ya. ’Cause I ain’t the one.”

“Maybe not,” he said, grinnin’. “But you the one I’m gonna wife. Now let me get ya digits so I can get to know you better.”

I stepped away from him. “Well, since you run these streets, and shit comes to ya so easily, I guess you can figure out a way to get at me.”

He laughed. “So you just gonna walk off?”

“Yep,” I said. “Enjoy ya night.” I walked off, leavin’ him with a grin on his face. And if I knew nothin’ else, that nigga was gonna track me down. And I was right.

Two weeks later my cell phone rang and when I peeped the caller ID, I wasn’t familiar with the number, but I picked up anyway. “Hello?”

“So, now that I got ya number, Baby Girl, you gonna let a nigga take you out or do I hafta beg?”

I smiled. “I’m impressed,” I said. And I meant it. “But I don’t know you to go out with you. And beggin’ ain’t ya style, especially a nigga who got pussy comin’ to him real easy.” I already knew the nigga was not used to puttin’ in work with bitches ’cause they threw themselves at him. Dumb bitches! And I could tell by his attitude that he was the type of nigga used to gettin’ what he wanted. But I wasn’t gonna make shit easy for him.

He laughed. “Yeah, but I want you.”

“Well, I’m not available.”

“So do I need to come ring ya bell?”

“You don’t know where I live.”

“Try me,” he said, laughin’.

“You fuckin’ crazy,” I said, laughin’ with him.

“I’m crazy for you, Baby Girl. And I’m tryna get at you. I’ll be at ya spot in a couple of hours.”

“Nigga, you not invited. So don’t even try it. You come here and you gonna find ya ass standin’ out on the stoop.”

“Oh, word. You’ll really do a nigga like that?”

“Yep, try me.”

And sure enough, the nigga showed up at my door two hours later, ringin’ the buzzer. I hit the intercom to see who it was. When he announced himself, I reminded him that he wasn’t invited, and refused to let him in. I ain’t gonna front, I was gassed. He was gonna be my damn meal ticket. But I wasn’t gonna act all hungry ’n shit.

I couldn’t believe this nigga. He stood outside all fuckin’ night. It was after three in the morning when I finally gave in and went downstairs and walked up to him. He grinned. “Yeah, that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout, Baby.”

“Are you crazy?” I had asked, pullin’ my robe tighter and tryna keep a straight-face. “Why are you standin’ out here like you have nowhere else to go?”

“’Yeah,” he said, flashin’ his sexy smile, “as a matter of fact I am. And a crazy nigga like me got nothing but time on his hands. So unless you brought ya fine ass out here to invite me up or go for a ride, then this is where I’m gonna stay. So what’s it gonna be, pretty baby?” His hungry eyes roamed all over my body.