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Just like me, Dru used to be real heavy in the streets. Also, just like me, a prison sentence is what had the nigga turning his life around. The fucked-up thing about his story is that he was picked up by them boys literally the day after his baby mama gave birth to their son. He went in before I went in, and when he was coming out, I was going in. I loved to surround myself with people who were on the same shit that I was on.
Dru was legit now. He was a stand-up guy and went over and beyond for his son. I felt like that’s what made certain people a man. I wasn’t going to be running with no deadbeat niggas who didn’t want to get off their ass to make a dollar.
“Shit. I’m at the shop. What’s good with you? Monterius told me about that pretty ass Porsche you just copped. When you going to let me put a sound system in that bitch? I know you want one,” he said, making me laugh.
Anyone who knew me knew that I had to have a good ass sound system in my car, with a pretty ass bass. I had purchased the Porsche a couple of days ago, basically just as a welcome home gift to myself. Not only that, but it was basically me rewarding myself for taking this real estate shit seriously. I kid you not, at two in the morning, I was not up fuckin’ no hoes. In fact, I was glued to the computer with a blunt hanging from the side of my mouth, and I was learning.
The property that Lenny showed me, I was in the process of getting it fixed up. Lenny pretty much knew all the plugs when it came to renovation, so he hooked me up with these Cuban cats who were going to renovate the whole spot. I didn’t just have expensive taste when it came to clothes, jewelry, and shit. When you grow up in the hood, I swear, you learn to have a desire for certain things, so I felt that I knew what came with making a beautiful house. I came up with every idea for that house on my own. Of course, I got a little inspiration from shit that I pulled up online, but for the most part, everything was all me. To renovate that house the way I wanted would take a couple of months, which is why I had two other projects that I was in the process of working on as well. Those two didn’t require as much work, so within a couple of weeks, I would put them on the market, and I was positive that they would sell at
my asking price.
“Soon. I’m in the corporate world, my nigga. I can’t come beating down to the white people neighborhoods, with my shit turned up like that. I gotta pull up playing light music with my windows rolled up and shit. I gotta fit in. Them niggas already telling me to take my golds out and put on a suit,” I said, making him crack up laughing on the other end of the phone.
“Nah, but on some real shit, I need a favor. I got a lil’ shorty following me, and she got two nails in her front tires. I don’t even need you to patch it for her. She needs new tires in general because both of her shits are fucked up. I know it’s late, and you probably getting ready to head out, but say your price, and I got you. Her shit is terrible, and driving on them tires like that is dangerous as fuck. She be going to work and shit, and I don’t want nothing happening to her, especially since I know it’s some shit wrong with her tires,” I voiced to him.
At the same time, I looked in my rearview mirror, just to make sure that she was still behind me, and she was. I had to make sure that her scary ass didn’t go in the other direction. Listen, I didn’t know what God had up his sleeve or what that man was trying to pull or tell me, but he kept putting me in situations where I was about to take a nigga’s head off their shoulders for fuckin’ with her.
Since I’d been home, I hadn’t even been in the city like that no more. I be on the other side of the bridge, taking care of business. Tonight, I was kicking it with my ole boy, and I decided to pull up to the gas station for some wraps because I didn’t have any in the car, and I was trying to roll up. I pulled up, and the lil niggas from around the way just started flocking to me, going on and on about how clean my new whip was. I kicked it with them for a little bit, and then I went inside to get the shit that I had come into the store for in the first place.
As I was walking out, I heard the lil niggas spitting crazy shit out their mouth to shorty across the street. At first, I didn’t know who the fuck they were talking to, but I remembered what her body looked like from the back. On top of that, she had that pink and green tag on the front of her car, so I knew it was her. God kept putting me in situations to be around this woman, so He was trying to tell me something.
“Who is shorty? I know you, Billion. You ain’t paying for no fuckin’ tires for the fuck of it. Awww man, let me find out,” he went on to say.
I laughed, still making sure that she was behind me, and she was.
“Nigga, you going to do the shit for me or not?” I asked, jumping over everything that he was saying.
“I got you, bruh. Bring shorty. Let me get a good look at her and see if she could possibly be Mrs. Billion,” this nigga said, still trying to be funny.
“Look too long, and you know Rajanae’s crazy ass will pull your damn eyeballs out, with her sick in the head ass. I’ll be there in two minutes,” I told him, and then I ended the call.
We pulled up to the shop, and I pulled over to the side. I let down my window and pointed for Normani to pull her car into the shop.
Dru came out and started directing her as well to come on up. I left my car in the parking lot and got out. I then pulled my pants up a little bit and walked over. At the same time, Normani was getting out of the car. I laughed because everyone she stood next to made her look extra tiny. I’ll be real and say that when it came to women, I loved a thicker woman. Just something about holding onto some thick ass thighs while I’m penetrating a woman from the front. I loved the feeling of a whole bunch of ass bouncing around on my dick. Something about a fat ass in a tight pair of jeans just brought out the worst in me, but looking at Normani, she was shifting what I liked. It was the way her little booty poked out when she stood up.
If she fucked with me, I was bound to put weight on her. Between my dick and my mama and my grandmother’s cooking, she would thicken up in no time. I knew it would never happen, though. She was too fuckin’ scared of me, and like I said before, I felt like we ain’t have shit in common. Shorty was in one of the worst parts of Miami, dressed in a black Calvin Klein work dress, Gucci sandals that she probably slipped on to rest her feet, and carrying a Celine purse over her shoulder. When I was standing close to her, I noticed that she had a simple Rolex on her tiny wrist. She wore Chanel perfume; I knew because my mama loved that expensive fragrance.
Her eyes landed on mine, and as much as I tried to front, I’d be cappin’ like a motha fucka if I said that she wasn’t the most beautiful woman that I’ve ever seen in my life. It was those gray eyes on her chocolate skin. It was the silky, curly hair and those crazy ass baby hairs; I loved that shit. Hell, it was even the sleepy look that she had on her face. It wasn’t a compliment to say that someone looked tired, but she really did look sleepy. It didn’t take away from her beauty, though.
“You got tires that’ll match the ones she already got?” I asked, walking up on Dru and giving him a pound.
Normani’s back was turned to us, so she didn’t see when Dru put up ten fingers, basically indicating that Normani was definitely bad and a catch.
I laughed at the nigga, waiting for him to let me know if he had tires that were going to match.
“Yeah, I got matches for her. Shorty, this black ass nigga looked out for you. He saved you a ticket from the police for riding around with these bald head ass tires, and he saved your life,” Dru told Normani.
She looked at me and smiled while she thanked me again. I waved her off because it really wasn’t a big thing.
“How long?” I asked him.
“Shit. You gonna have to give me at least an hour and a half,” he told me, and I nodded.
There was a Jamaican restaurant across the street called Donna’s. I loved me some Jamaican food, and this spot happened to be one of my favorites. They would be open for a few more hours, so I didn’t mind sitting in there and eating because I really hadn’t eaten shit besides the smoothie that I picked up this morning for breakfast. My stomach was rumbling. A nigga could use some oxtail, rice and peas, and cabbage.
“You hungry?” I asked Normani over the loud music that Dru had playing. It was him and two of his workers, who were both working on a car of their own.
“Kinda,” she voiced.
