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“Shit, when you like someone, you make time for them. I used to feel like I couldn’t have a girlfriend because of my work schedule. Now that I see that it can work, and how smooth it’s been going, I see that back then I was just coming up with excuses. Our shit is simple. We’re never at odds with each other. I bring her peace, and she does the same for me,” I let him know, and he nodded his head to that.

“What she do for work? Let me guess, she a doctor or something? Big time lawyer? I just know that she’s a boss like you. You used to tell me that job descriptions didn’t matter to you, but I know the kind of nigga you are, Wolf. You not going to give a basic woman the time of day, so what’s her story?” he asked.

I knew that question was coming up. I wasn’t afraid to answer it, either. Shit, I wasn’t embarrassed when it came to Deja’s job title. She was the best to ever do that shit.

“She dance. She a stripper,” I told him, and the wing that he was chewing, he quickly started coughing up a storm.

He tossed the wing down on the plate and reached for the water that was in front of him. It took him a few seconds to get it together, and once he was straight, he cocked his head to the side.

“Man, I don’t believe that bullshit for a second. I’ll do a lot of shit, but I ain’t cuffing no stripper. I’ll admit, it’s one out there though. Only one stripper in the fuckin world where I could see it would make sense for a nigga to get with her. Poison that dances over there at Playhouse. Man, that bitch so motha fuckin fine. I was willing to divorce my wife over her ass,” he finished, picking up the chicken wing that he’d dropped.

When he said that, I immediately dropped the wing I was holding in my hand. It felt like the room started spinning. Suddenly, I got hot as fuck. Beads of sweat began to appear on my forehead. I sat back, and images of my best friend fuckin my girl appeared in my head. My chest started tightening. I was praying to God that the shot he took, mixed with whatever he might have had to drink before I’d arrived had gone to his head. I prayed he had it all wrong. I prayed he was sitting here talking crazy.

“You fucked Poison?” I asked him.

“Nah. I could have though,” he responded.

Right after he responded, it’s like it clicked. He knew what the fuck was going on because he paused, looked me in my eyes, and leaned back in his seat.

“Nahhhh. Nigga, you fuckin Poison? That’s your girl? That’s who you were just telling me about?” he asked.

“What’s the backstory with you and her? What you mean you almost fucked?” I asked, ignoring his questions, so that I could ask questions of my own.

“Shit two years ago I was still in a fucked up space. I was still accepting my new norm of no longer being able to play football. You know I was drinking and smoking heavily. This particular night, one of my old teammates was in town to celebrate his birthday, and he wanted to go to Playhouse. That was the first time in a long time that I stepped out. We had a section, and they sent Poison, and a few of the other strippers to our section. I ain’t trying to be disrespectful, but you know that girl beautiful. I damn near fell in love when I saw her. She gave me a dance. I think I blessed her with like thirty racks that night. I was sweating her bad, so I gave her my number, and she gave me hers,” he went on.

He paused for a second, and during that pause, my eyes never left his. I was waiting to see where he was going with this.

“I called her the next day. She didn’t know shit about me. She didn’t know who I was. She only knew I played football because they kept saying it at the club. She asked me if I was married. At the time, the shit that I had going on with Morgan was complicated, so that’s what I told her. She wasn’t going for none of that though. She hung the phone up on me and blocked me. We never spoke again. That’s the God honest truth. I never fucked her,” he finished.

“So, what you mean you could have fucked her then? She found out that you were married and she blocked you. How does that translate to you almost fuckin her?” I wanted to know.

He laughed. I could tell he only laughed because he might have been offended by my question.

“Because if I lied to her and told her that I wasn’t married, I’m sure she would have let me hit. She a stripper, Wolf. They fuck anything. All they need is a nigga to come in there with some money, and they going to let them hit. That’s what I mean when I say I could have fucked,” he went on to tell me.

“Nah. She ain’t that kind of stripper. Maybe you didn’t do your homework enough, main man. She live with me. I see the kind of money she bringing home a night. Just last week, she made close to one hundred bands in a matter of three days. She ain’t gotta fuck niggas because they got money. Not to even tell her business, but she was living with me for weeks before we started fuckin. You probably used to some of these strippers out here not having any morals, but she got morals like a motha fucka. You might have thought you almost fucked, but I’m telling you that ain’t what it was,” I finished.

He laughed when I said that and went to finishing his food.

“You serious about her or this just some lil shit that you entertaining for a minute?” he inquired.

“Nigga, I just told you that’s my girlfriend. She living with me. What about that gives you the impression that I’m just entertaining her for a minute?” I spat.

“Damn nigga, calm down. I was just asking a question. I know the kind of nigga you are Wolf, that’s why I’m surprised. You never gave that you were the kind of nigga that wanted the woman that other niggas can say that they’ve had. I told you that I damn near fucked, so I thought that your mindset on her would have changed,” he went on to tell me.

That’s when I sucked my teeth and raised up from the chair. I felt like the nigga was trying me now. I was trying not to throw away twenty plus years of friendship by beating his ass in here, so I was going to say what I had to say before walking away.

“So, because she’s a stripper, you going to assume that she’s been with plenty of niggas? That’s how I know you just talking now. You don’t know shit about her bruh. Stop saying that you almost fucked her because you didn’t. According to what you just told me, you went to the club, and just like every nigga that goes to Playhouse and sees Deja, you were obsessed with what was standing in front of you. You tricked off money, exchanged numbers, hit her up because you thought she was going to let you hit. You saw that you were dealing with a woman with morals that chose not to fuck with you because you were married. You didn’t almost do shit!” I spat.

“You convincing yourself that I didn’t almost hit, nigga. Wolf, you know me. You know it ain’t a bitch that I’ve never been able to get. If I had lied to her and told her that I wasn’t married, that pussy would have been served to me on a fuckin platter⁠—”

“Pop!”

I didn’t even let him finish that sentence. I tackled his ass out of that chair, slamming him down on his head. I blacked out, allowing years’ worth of friendship to go down the drain, as I swung my fist, beating the fuck out of this nigga. He tried fighting back, but Jamal has never really been a fighter. Football was his thing. Fighting wasn’t. I felt like I wouldn’t get brownie points for beating a nigga’s ass who I knew couldn’t fight, so after a few more jabs to his face, I stood up, leaving his ass right there.

He turned on his side and started coughing up blood. He eventually picked his head up, smiling at me and you could see the blood that filled his mouth.

“That pussy must be good over there,” he shot.