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He turns to me, looking bothered at the fact that I knew his name. “What’s up, my nigga?”
“That’s how you address a customer?” “Did you need something?”
“From you? No.”
“Whatever, nigga.”
“You wanna say that again? Maybe come from around that glass before you do. I have time to rearrange your teeth today.”
He seems interested in fulfilling my requests. Which would absolutely make my fuckin’ day. I haven’t whooped some ass in a long time.
“Makai, just chill,” the woman interjects, “I’ll take care of him.”
“You do what I tell you to do. Stay your ass right here.”
After clearing my throat, I calmly wave over the young woman. She turns back to him like she’s been saved, smugly smiling with her hands on her hips. I lean down to her once she’s close enough.
“What’s up, beautiful. I apologize on behalf of my gender. Some niggas just need a lesson in respect.”
I pierce him with a look of death. Just hoping he still wants to throw down. Instead, he scoffs, walking into the back room of the shop. The door slams behind him. Fuckin’ pussy.
“Oh, it’s okay. He’s just being an asshole. He’s the manager here.”
“Really? Well, he’s doing a bad job managing. Can I get two grams of that Insane OG?”
“Yes, you can.”
She quickly retrieves my order, placing it inside a fake M&M’s pouch. I can see her trying not to smile; her brown eyes are dancing around my upper body. She comes right back, ringing me up. It’s funny how much more professional she actually is when a hoe ass nigga isn’t around.
“Twenty dollars,” she says sweetly. “What’s your name?”
“Rosie.”
“Well, Rosie,” I hand off a twenty dollar bill, “Keep the change. Seriously. Fuck him.” I slip a business card out of my pocket, sliding it to her, “If you ever need a real gig? With benefits. And better management. Come see me at Ross Gold Cafe. Okay? Just keep that between us.”
She inspects the card with a smile, sliding it between her breasts. Checkmate. “Okay…I will.”
“Good girl. And tell Makai to fuck off.”
She exposes a cute laugh. “Aight, bet.”
I throw a head nod her way before walking out, stuffing the weed pouch into my left pocket. I really hope she takes my advice. I can guarantee she’d be much better working for me. Either way, I’ll remember that Makai nigga’s face. And if I ever see it again, I’ll rip it off with my bare hands.
Chapter Two
THE STUNNING SYREN
Morgan Parx-Ross
Later that same morning: Metro Market
Mondays are definitely for grocery shopping. Specifically, while everybody else is at work and the store isn’t a hellacious mosh pit. Seems like I’m here at the perfect time. It’s nice and quiet. There’s not many shoppers. Which means I won’t have a bunch of penis-wielding beasts following me around the store, hounding for a number they’ll never get. I almost tased somebody’s son to sleep last time for doing that. The fucking moron followed me to my car.
The lines at the front are pretty thin, guaranteeing a quick exit. Plus, almost all of the shelves are fully stocked. Surprisingly coming off the weekend. It’s a heavenly sight. Not to mention actually being able to snag an Easy Bake Cheesecake, when usually they’re all out. My day has already been made. Hence why Metro Market is my domain. Strangely, being here heals me. It’s an escape, allowing me to free my forever-running mind. Between being an overthinking newlywed, a fresh tadpole swimming with a sea of sharks in downtown nightlife, and a constantly changing woman, I have a lot to release.
Plus, with Damien’s financial help, my mother Miranda finally decided to admit herself into rehab three months ago. Something that’s weighed heavily on me behind the scenes too. She needed it. With all the passing out drunk, begging for weed, and cussing me out she’d been doing. But as borderline crazy as our relationship’s been, I still miss her. Everyone needs their mom. I sure could’ve used one growing up. Could still use one now. Especially considering she missed my wedding.
It’s all good though. We keep up whenever she’s able to contact me. I’d even say it’s much easier talking to her. At least now, she actually calls me by the name she gave me, instead of an ungrateful bitch or hoe like in the past. Guess rehab’s working to some degree. Which was the goal, of course. It’s just eerily ironic. Being the owner of a lounge, serving drinks to a certain contingent of the public, all while Ma’s trying to recover. That’s not to say I’m ashamed of my career, just aware of the dark humor in it.
