“That’s my people. Keep yo’ fuckin’ eyes on the dice cuz you gone swear a nigga cheatin’ in a minute.”
Jogging up the concrete stairs that led to the porch, I spoke because I’d been raised up right. I stood near the little Cuppacios and took in the scenery. It was too open out here, so I wouldn’t be participating, but I’d watch their backs and kick shit.
Italian’s young ass talked shit as he rolled all the right numbers, making everyone empty their fucking pockets.
“This nigga be cheating so bad,” the one whom he’d been having the conversation about Yo Gotti with said as he shook his head and stood.
“On foe ’nem! I ain’t gotta cheat. Just admit this nigga is the truth. Y’all may as well give it up unless y’all want to play for that costume-ass jewelry.”
Italian pointed to a bystander, who was wearing a thin diamond chain. It wasn’t the best quality of diamonds, but it was worth gambling for, depending on who you were.
“Shit, leggo!” He squatted, accepting Italian’s challenge.
“Ro!”
My neck cracked when I turned as if the woman had been calling my name. There was a thick, pretty, peanut butter-hued beauty standing on the porch of a cream-colored house that was in better condition than the rest of the row houses. Not by much, but enough to show whoever lived there cared enough to make it look presentable as best they could. With her hand on her hip, she ran her free one through her short, blunt bob as she waited for a response from whoever Ro was.
“Roooo!”
She was in scrubs with the bottoms slightly discolored due to excessive washing, and her top had Tweety Bird all over it. I could see the stress lines in the crease of her eyes, even though she didn’t look too much older than my sister, Tuscany. She was fine as fuck with her slim waist and slick curves, and she had the face to match, but her looks weren’t what had me fixated on her. There was a familiarity about her. I knew it was because I’d seen the same look on my sister’s and my mama’s faces. She was a black woman who was tired and trying to make do with what life had given her, yet it still wasn’t enough.
Her eyes were fixated on the group around me. I did a quick sweep of the porch to see who she was talking to as the guys simply ignored her.
“Aye!” Italian shook the dice in his fist. “Tell dat nigga, Ro, his fine-ass sister on her good bullshit again.”
One of the little Cuppacios kicked off the wall and opened the door. The smell of bleach, Windex, and Pine-Sol spilled onto the porch. From where I stood, I could see a couch, a TV, and a gaming system, but the space was sparse, although it was clean.
“Aye, Ro… Your sis want you,” he called into the house before letting the door close.
Ro’s sister continued to stand on her porch, leaning on the railing, which made her hips spread even more. With the way she was squinting and tapping her Crocs against the concrete, she was most definitely on good bullshit.
Seconds later, the door opened, and a tall, lanky dude who looked exactly like Ms. Peanut Butter over there appeared. He pulled at his sweats and groaned. When a girl walked from behind him in a little-ass dress that showed her ass cheeks as she walked by, I chuckled. I remembered those days. The shit used to drive Tuscany crazy, and when my mama finally got her right mind, she used to be pissed too. It was a blessing that five boys had made it into adulthood without any pregnancies.
“Fuck!” he complained out loud.
As the girl switched down the porch steps, his sister glared at her, turning her lip up in disapproval. He looked over at me, paused, and then jutted his chin. I returned the gesture.
“You still breaking niggas, I see,” he said to Italian, like his sister wasn’t ready to tear his ass open.
“You know it.”
“Aye! You got another job coming up soon?” he asked low enough for only Italian’s ears since everyone else were in side conversations.
“Yeah… I think so. I’ma talk to my people, and then I’ma hit you up.”
Visual relief expelled from his chest. “’Preciate that.”
Ro left the porch without saying anything else and jogged toward his sister. I watched as she talked her shit, in which all he did was rub his hand down his waves and then pull her into his side, leading her into the house.
“His sister is so fucking fine! My brother said she been fine since they was kids. He also said her ass been stuck up since thentoo. I think she gay,” the nigga, who was playing for his chain, gossiped.
“She gay cuz she not paying yo’ young ass no mind?” Italian retorted.
“Nah, she’s gay cuz she ain’t giving no nigga out here no play. She been in the hood her whole life and can’t nobody say they fucked.”
“That just means she’s selective about who she fuck with,” one of Italian’s friend’s spoke up. I didn’t think he was a Cuppacio, but he may as well have been. “Don’t nobody want no ran-through-ass girl.”
“Shit, speak for yourself. As a matter fact, Porsha can bring her good pussy ass right the fuck back when I’m done with this game.”
