I shook my head. “Sleep? Nigga, if you sleep, you don’t eat.”
He nodded, smirkin’. I climbed the steps to my door just as my baby boo was opening it. She jumped back a lil’ with a smirk on her face.
“Damn, girl, you good?” I asked as I stood back and looked at my baby girl.
Islah was five foot two, slim, thick, with eyes that lit up as soon as the sun hit them. When she smiled at me, it melted my heart as if it were the first day we met.
She laughed. “Yeah, boy… You scared me. I was just about to set things up.”
I looked down. Comb, gel, rubber bands, and shit in her hands, ready to retwist my hair. I nodded. “Iight, let’s get it.”
I reached inside, grabbed a chair, and took a seat on our porch. As I scanned the block, a black bag fell in my lap.
I looked up at Islah.
“I know the calls ain’t gonna stop while I’m tryna do this,” she said calmly. “I put everything in the bag to catch plays.”
I peeked in the bag. She was right, she was always right. She sets her nigga up proper.
I smiled and pulled her down for a kiss. Islah thought for a nigga, took care of me better than my momma ever did.
“Always lookin’ out for your man,” I said, smirkin’ against her lip.
She shrugged, like she ain’t like hearing that shit, and started to part my hair. “You act like I have a choice.”
“Oh, you have a choice,” I said softly, making her stop parting my hair and come around and look at me. Her smile lit me up inside, and I smiled back. “Your choices are to ride with a nigga or…ride for a nigga.”
Islah sucked her teeth with a lil’ laugh.
“Come on, baby, you know we’re locked in for life.”
“Locked in for life with no ring, no house, no kids?” she shot back.
I paused, leaning back in the chair, lettin’ her tug and twist my hair.
“No ring, no house, no kids…yet,” I said, teasing her. “But that don’t mean we’re not locked in for life.”
She stopped for a second, then pulled my hair tight as shit, making me flinch.
“Locked in for life with no guarantee,” she shot back, voice sharp, like she was trying to test me.
I adjusted myself in the chair, hands rubbin’ my knees. “Guarantee? Girl, I’m the fuckin’ guarantee! You think any other nigga out here gonna treat you the way that I do?”
She hummed, still tuggin’ at my hair with all her damn might. “Gio, you think too much of yourself.”
I smirked, letting it roll off me. “Maybe… shit, you know better than anybody, so you should know what the reality is?—”
“And what is that, Gio?” she cut me off, asking.
“The reality is that you are mine, and we have our whole lives to make those moves. Besides, you know a nigga is grinding.”
“Your grind don’t mean shit if you don’t have a plan,” she said, her voice low but sharp, right behind me. I could feel her leaning in, her chest pressed against the back of my head.
I smirked again, letting my body relax enough to show her I wasn’t fazed. “Everything I do out here has a plan that you are a part of. Nothing moves right without you.”
Her hands paused for a second. I knew she was trying to think of somethin’ smart to say, but what I said was what was needed.
She sighed and continued palm rolling my locs.
