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He chuckles. “I heard that, ma. Well, check it. Enough of this back ’n forth shit, Kat, for real-for real. I’ma scoop you up tomorrow night and we goin’ out. You been bullshittin’ long enough.”

I laugh. “Yeah, yeah, yeah; whaaaaateva.”

“Nah, I’m dead-ass, yo.”

“Oh, so just like that; you gonna hop on a plane and whisk a bitch off into da sunset?”

“Yup, just like that. I told you, I’m checkin’ for you—hard, ma; real talk. So stop frontin’ on a muhfucka. Besides, I need to get home to check on my crib and handle some other shit.”

“Oh, so wifey’s gonna let you out?”

“Ain’t no wifey here, ma. I’m savin’ that spot for you.”

“Mmmph,” I grunt, walkin’ outta the slidin’ glass doors. I peep Chanel’s whip and make my way over to it. “That’s what ya mouth says, muhfucka.”

“And that’s what it is. I’ma hit you up tomorrow to finalize our plans.”

I laugh. “Nigga, I ain’t say I was goin’ nowhere wit’ you.”

“Aye, yo, you heard what I said. Tomorrow night, you mine. So get ya mind right ’cause big daddy’s comin’ through to scoop you up.”

I suck my teeth and roll my eyes, tryna hold back my laugh. This nigga is funny as hell. “Muhfucka, big daddy on this…” I disconnect his ass, shakin’ my head. I open the back door of Chanel’s whip and toss my bag on the seat. “What’s good, bitch?” I say, hoppin’ in the front seat.

“You trick,” she says, laughin’. “Glad to see ya ugly ass made it safe and sound. I missed ya stankan-ass.” We air kiss. “Smooches, boo.”

“What eva, ho.” I fasten my seatbelt, then recline my seat back, pullin’ my Gucci’s down over my eyes. I shoot Chanel a look, peerin’ at ’er over the rim of my shades. “Umm, bitch, why da fuck you ain’t got me a blunt fired up? What da fuck good are you? You know a bitch been travelin’ all damn mornin’. The least you could do is have a fatty rolled ’n ready. Damn.”

She cracks up, pressin’ ’er middle finga up in my face. “Fuck you, boo. You stooopid as hell. Open up da damn glove compartment. I got ya fiend-ass some’a

that chocolate goodie-goodie in there.”

“Awww, shit, ho, now that’s what I’m talkin’ ’bout,” I say, pullin’ out a black python Tumi cosmetic pouch. I unzip it, smilin’ the minute the aroma hits my nose. My mouth waters. I wait ’til she pulls off, then spark up. I crack the window and take three pulls, holdin’ the shit in my lungs. I blow out a thick cloud of smoke. “Now, this is how you welcome a bitch home.”

FOUR HOURS LATER, CHANEL AND I ARE BACK FROM HITTIN’ UP Paramus Mall, sittin’ at the table in the kitchen stuffin’ our faces wit’ jumbo shrimp, blazin’, tossin’ back a bottle of Ciroc red berry and poppin’ mad shit back ’n forth. “Skank-a-dank, why is you sittin’ over there hoggin’ the damn blunt?” she asks, dippin’ a piece’a shrimp in some cocktail sauce, then stuffin’ it in her dick sucka. “Ya greedy, fiend-ass is always doin’ that shit.”

I laugh, chokin’ on weed smoke. “Ho, shut ya cum-guzzlin’-ass up. You always whinin’.” I take another pull, then hand it to her. “Here, bitch. And pass me that bottle.”

She snatches the blunt outta my hand. I take the bottle of Ciroc to the head, guzzlin’ it down. “Oooh, this shit is da truth. It tastes like Kool-Aid.”

“It suuuuure does,” Chanel says, tokin’ the blunt. She blows smoke up at the ceilin’. “Now pass me da damn bottle, wit’ ya thirsty-ass.”

Usher’s “OMG” starts playin’ in the background.

“Bitch, kiss my ass,” I say, laughin’. I take another swig, then slide it back to her. “Ya throat’s longer than mine.”

She laughs. “Fuck you wit’ ya hatin’ ass.”

“I can’t stand this damn song,” I say, reachin’ for the remote. “It gives me a fuckin’ headache.”

“Oh-oh-ohmyGod, oh-oh-ohmyGod,” she laughs. “I think it’s a cute club banga.”

I grunt. “Mmmph. Yeah, and I bet ya ho-ass is wishin’ he was gut-bangin’ ya back out, too.” She passes off the blunt, then fires up another. I take two pulls, then put it out.

“Please, Usher can’t do shit for me. He lost a buncha cool points when he married and knocked up that man.”

I bust out laughin’. “Girl, you wrong for that. That ho ain’t no damn man.”

She bucks her eyes. “Says who? You ever really look at ’er.”

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