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Women are supposed to be kind and support one another and all that flowery bullshit. But listen, she started it with her attitude, just saying.
My annoyance doesn’t show on my face, which remains neutral. I’m not here to start shit or get into it with the club girls, which she is. Even though this woman is making it evident that she’s trying to show me who the boss is between us. Her stank face is on full display now and makes that clear. And it takes a lot of energy not to roll my eyes.
“Whiskey neat, top shelf,” I say, sounding bored.
When words leave my lips, her eyes narrow into a glare. Which makes me smile. She looks as if I told her to eat shit. I try damn hard not to say some smart shit at the look on her face. She continues to give me a stank face look, and I give her a fuck you smile. Tiring of the little staring game, my brow raises, finally showing her my annoyance. Rolling my neck in only the way a woman of color can. All the while saying without saying with my eyes that I’m not the one or the two, so she’d better save herself the trouble and get my drink. She scowls when I don’t back down and sucks on her teeth. This isn't my first rodeo. This chick is not the first, nor will she be the last to test me. But I’m not afraid to go off and handle a bitch. She’ll back down before it gets to that point. She’s that type. I've worked with an MC or two in my life. And their bitches are territorial as fuck. And this chick seems to be the type. But she needs to calm her ass down. And stow that scowl for someone who won’t molly-wop it off her face.
Listen, I won't lie.
One thing about me is that I get in, get off, and get out. A lot of these women, club girls, club whores, or whatever, are looking for forever. So they try to run off anyone they deem a threat to their status or station within the club. Which is why I end up having to deal with stank-face bitches like Caterpillar Lash Betty. She doesn’t know me or that I’m not looking, but she doesn’t care, and that has me letting out a hard sigh.
Hennyways…
Whenever I’m in a situation like now and can engage with the opposite sex, I wouldn’t be opposed to finding my forever. But I'm not actively seeking it. My mother tried that. And her forever fairytale resulted in what our lives are now, with me sitting in my sperm donors club. Watching, waiting, leaning, and dealing with stank-face bitches.
I'm a good-looking woman, and I don't hide it. I embrace the reality that is my mixed heritage. Don’t get it twisted; I’m Black, BLACK! No matter the percentage. I got the good stuff from both of my parents. I don't have to work for it. So, it's not a stretch to understand that being pretty in the presence of the I have to work damn hard and be faker than a Barbie to look this good crowd has them getting testy. Like Petty Betty, they always give me an instant attitude. I don't take offense unless they get out of hand or become disrespectful cunts. I do what I need to when bitches want to test me. I will indeed leap when chicks get froggy. I don’t play like that, and disrespect is not something I will ever ignore.
Big Boob Barbie is still staring at me like I asked her to tell me the secrets of life or a cure for all the world's illnesses. I roll my eyes and repeat my order. She blinks a few times, looks behind me, and her overly made-up eyes widen. Whatever she sees has her turning away quickly and shuffling away. Interesting.
Soon I discovered why she scurried off like her ass was on fire.
Two
BELLAMY
?
Oh boy, here we go. Is it too much to ask to sit at a bar, have a whiskey, and be nosy? Is it too damn much universe? I look up at the ceiling because I want to know. When I get no response from Sky Daddy, I sigh, exasperated. It is? It is too much to ask. Mentally, I prepare myself before turning around because I do not doubt that some foolishness is about to ensue. I felt eyes boring into my back causing me to let out a deep breath. Turning ever so slowly toward the individual who insists on interrupting my people watching time. I come face to chest with a behemoth. My eyes trail up from his bulging pecs and impressive broad shoulders encased in a black long-sleeved Henley and a neck that looks like it has its own damn workout regimen. Damn, who has those kinds of muscles in their neck? Apparently, this guy. Also, what is it with bikers and Henleys? Is it a requirement, along with good looks and being muscley? I shake off the question I don’t want nor need the answer to. My eyes slowly trail up to his chiseled jaw, full lips, and expressive green eyes. Eyes of someone who's seen some shit. Eyes I know from my research and photos. Eyes I recognize, the eyes that look similar to the ones belonging to my sperm donor.
“You lost, sweetheart?” He smirks down at me with amusement at my appraisal of him.
Ewe! Gross, does he think I find his behemoth ass sexy in any shape or form? Because again, Ewe!
Listen, I was born a snarky bitch, and I never apologize for that very teeny-tiny, itsy-bitsy minor flaw. I answer in the only way I know how, “Nope,” popping the P, and spinning my ass around, ultimately dismissing him when I do. Once I face the bar, I find my whiskey waiting for me. Yum!
Looking up, I stare at the intruder to my whiskey peopling time through the mirror above the bar, my resting bitch face on full display. I don’t need to engage or encourage a conversation with him, not just yet. My purpose tonight was not to engage with the wildlife. My goal was to get a feel for the place and people. When the back of my head tingles, I feel that by the end of the night, I’ll be far more entangled with the club than I intended. My eyes remain on the mirror as I watch him step closer to my back. Luckily, not so close that it feels uncomfortable or inappropriate.
“Well, if you're not lost, there are few reasons for someone like you to be in a place like this looking like you do.” He trails his eyes up and down my body, and I recoil in disgust as I turn my head to look at him.
Once he finishes his perusal, his eyes meet mine. Luckily for him, I don’t see lust in them. And hold up? Did he say someone like me? What hot, stunning, brilliant, and badass, with a hint of sass and a dash of crazy. Because that's what someone like me is. Jackass.
Listen, I'm fine... fine. I'm five foot ten with curly, thick natural hair. It's naturally dark brown, nearly black. Currently, it’s in a picked-out ‘fro. Embracing and displaying my heritage fully and completely is my style. I may not have 4C hair because of my mixed heritage, but I can still pick my hair out like a champ. I’m full, luscious, and curvy, and I embrace that shit to the fullest. My dark hazel eyes are a few shades lighter than my mom's, and because of their almond shape, people always think I’m looking at them in some kind of way. Sometimes I am, but not always. And my skin gives glowing Goddess, which I got from my mamma, brown, smooth, and beautiful. I’m not conceited. I know I look good and don’t feel bad about saying, thinking, and feeling it.
Watching him closely. His curiosity shifts to a hint of annoyance because I haven’t responded to him. Of course, he tries to hide it. But I see it as a slight smirk plays on my lips. I live for this shit.
Patients, patients, big brother, sheesh.
I decide to take pity on him, seeing that he is being so friendly. I shift back around on the stool. With my head tilted to the side, eyeing Chase. I give him my brightest smile, hoping to keep him disarmed enough to say what I need to. Shuffling through all the scenarios that can occur with this interaction, I decide how to handle this line of questioning. I squint my eyes slightly, knowing I may piss him off no matter what I say. He seems the type to get all manly when someone challenges his reality. They don’t call him Bull for nothing. Discovering who I am and why I’m here will do that.
I sigh. Here we go.
“Listen, I'm in town for a little while trying to connect with my long-lost sperm donor, who may or may not know I exist.” My voice is calm and even. There's no need to start on a ten when two should work. I don’t want to rile up the beast or bull. I internally cackle at my joke.
Am I being intentionally evasive? Yes, I am. I know for a fact Gunner, the sperm donor, knows I exist. At least he understands he has a spawn somewhere in this big old world. But that's neither here nor there. He and my darling siblings will learn soon enough about me and Blaze.
Chase shifts his stance while his eyes narrow on me. His face becomes thunderous, and I know he doesn’t like where this conversation is going. Ask me if I care. Seriously, ask me. I don’t.
Call me petty for taking enjoyment in fucking with people. The shift in his demeanor makes it clear he’s getting riled up. And as his sister, who missed out on twenty-three years of teasing and poking the bear. I've got a hell of a lot to make up for. Why not start now? Hmm?
