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I smile. “Nigga, I’ve…” I stop myself, almost forgettin’ I left Zaire in the kitchen by himself. I shut the door and tell ’im to follow me into the kitchen. I turn the laptop ’round. “Umm, ho…is this the package you were talkin’ ’bout?” I go back to feedin’ Zaire. He has food tossed all ova the floor, and all ’round his face. But, he’s quiet and happy and that’s all that matters.
She laughs. “Hey, Allstar; took you long enough to get there.”
He smiles, takin’ off his leather jacket, then sittin’ at the table. “Wassup, ma? Yeah, I got lost.”
“Well, I’m glad you finally made it. She was startin’ ta bore me wit’ ’er borin’-ass life. Blah, blah, blah.” He laughs. I tell ’er to watch ’er mouth. She keeps runnin’ ’er trap. Tells me she wanted to tell me that she had run into ’im at some party a few weeks ago, but figured I wouldn’t wanna hear it. And she’s right. Well, no…not really. Truth is I neva stopped thinkin’ ’bout this nigga. But I knew I didn’t have any intentions of eva callin’ ’im again.
I sweep up the mess Zaire made on the floor, finish cleanin’ ’im up, then take ’im outta his chair. I sit ’im on the floor and he starts crawlin’ ova to Alex. Alex picks ’im. “Hey there, lil’ man. Wassup, dude?” Zaire starts grinnin’ and tryna talk. “Give me five.”
I laugh when he slaps ’im. “That’s right, Zaire, baby. You know he deserved that.”
Chanel is grinnin’. “Awwwww, ya’ll look so cute. Like one big family.”
“Okaaay, bitch, I’ve had’a ’nough of you for one day.”
“Watch ya mouth, Boo.”
“Whateva,” I say, givin’ ’er the finga. “I’ma deal wit’ you later, ho.” She laughs. I slam the laptop monitor close on ’er. Alex laughs. And Zaire starts laughin’ louder. “Now back to you,” I say, takin’ Zaire from ’im. “Why are you here?”
“I’m here for you,” he says, gettin’ up from the table. He walks ova to me and Zaire. He hugs and kisses me as Zaire looks on. “I wanna ’notha shot at bein’ ya man.”
“I’m not givin’ out any more shots,” I say, walkin’ back into the family room. He follows behind me. I can feel the nigga’s eyes all up on my ass. I grin. “Stop starin’ at my ass.”
He laughs. “I can’t help it. There’s so much of it.”
“Whateva.” I sit Zaire in his playpen, then turn to face Alex, foldin’ my arms ’cross my chest. “Nigga, you tell me why you think I should give you anotha chance.”
He walks up on me, wrappin’ me up in his strong arms. “I had three bullets pumped in my chest and stomach by a bitch I aint give two shits ’bout and almost died. I’m willin’ to take those same three bullets in da heart, and die, lovin’ you. Baby, ain’t shit changed. I love you. I honestly thought I’d neva see you again. And my moms kept tellin’ me I needed to get ova you. But I couldn’t. I didn’t want to. Then I ran into ya peeps. And she told me e’erything I needed to know.”
I squint at ’im, raisin’ a brow. “Oh, yeah, and what’s that?”
He kisses me on the lips. “That you loved me.” I keep my trap shut, lookin’ up at ’im. He kisses me again. “That you missed me.”
“You a fool for listenin’ to ’er.”
“Nah, I don’t think so.” I try to step outta his embrace, but he holds on tighter. “You feel good in my arms.”
“Where you stayin’?” I ask, changin’ the subject. He tells me he’s at the Marriott ova on Fourth Street in San Francisco. I ask ’im how long he’s gonna be out here. He tells me for as long as he needs to be. I stare at ’im. “What’s up wit’ you and ya girl in LA? Ya’ll still fuckin’?”
“She ain’t my girl. And, no, we ain’t fuckin’. I deaded that shit the night I invited you to my spot. I already knew what it was.”
I glance ova at Zaire. He’s knocked out. “Be clear. I’
m not sharin’ no nigga wit’ anyone, period.”
“And I ain’t lookin’ to let you.” I ask ’im how many chicks he’s fuckin’. “I ain’t had no pussy since you.”
I raise my brows. “Nigga, stop lyin’.”
“Nah, true story. I’ve been straight beatin’ this dick, fleshlightin’ it, and beatin’ up my blow-up doll. Who you been fuckin’?” I tell ’im ’bout Tone. “You need’a shut that shit down, today.”
I frown. “Nigga, you ain’t my man. And you ain’t runnin’ shit.”
“Whatever, yo. Shut that shit down, Kat. And let’s make this shit pop wit’ us. I’m tryna play for keeps, baby.”
I tilt my head. “What are you sayin’?”
He walks outta the den. Tells me he’ll be back. That he wants me to open the box he brought me. He walks back in, carryin’ it under his arm, handin’ it to me. “Open it.” I sit down on the sofa, then untie the ribbon, liftin’ the lid. The flowers are beautiful. Two dozen orchards and birds-of-paradise.
