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I hand Chanel back her phone. “Girl, don’t pay her crazy ass no mind,” she says to Iris. “You know the bitch is touched.” She laughs.
“Bitch, whateva. Both of you slut-boxes can eat shit.”
Chanel sucks her teeth, givin’ me the finga. “I know, right. But, don’t stress that shit. We’ll be up there to see you, soon. I know. We got you, ain’t that right, Kat?”
Yeah, I got that ho-ass bitch, aiight. “Yup, wit’ muthafuckin’ bells on.”
I sit back in my seat, grinnin’. Oh, yeah, I’ma serve that ho up a nice dish of whoop ass. The idea of breakin’ Iris’s jaw makes my clit twitch. I spark another blunt, takin’ it straight to the dome. Chanel finishes up bullshittin’ wit’ Iris’s trick-ass, then lays her phone back on the table.
“Bitch, you was dead wrong for that,” she says, tossin’ her hair to the side. “Why you do her like that?”
“Fuck that bitch,” I say, turnin’ the volume up on the stereo when Raheem Devaughn’s “Love Drug” plays. “She was fuckin’ Naheem, or did you forget that?”
“Bitch,” she snaps, takin’ the Ciroc to the head. “That ho fucked that nigga years ago. We all were mad young…”
“Yeah, and that bitch was mad nasty; and she still is.”
“You need to let that shit go. You ain’t fuckin’ wit’ the nigga, so who gives a fuck if she had his dick in her throat? That’s old news.”
“Ho, I ain’t lettin’ shit go. That trick-ass, cum-guzzlin’ bitch was grinnin’ all up in my muthafuckin’ face and suckin’ da snot outta my man’s dick at the same time. I don’t think so. Say what da fuck you want, but that shit ain’t sweet.”
“Bitch,” she huffs, “hand me the fuckin’ blunt.” I take another pull, then pass it off. She snatches it. “Listen to how da fuck you sound, Kat. That shit popped off, what, almost ten years ago? The bitch is locked da fuck up. And you soundin’ extra crazy, for real. Give the ho a pass, damn.”
I smirk. “You know what, Trick? You right. I’ma let da ho live. We been through too much to let some dick come between us. Let’s make plans to go see her ass, soon.”
She grins. “Now that’s more like it, Boo. I knew you’d come to ya senses and see shit my way.”
Please, you can sit here and think what you want. But I’ma beat the cum outta that bitch, trust!
CHAPTER NINE
Chocolate muhfucka likin’ what he sees…hopin’ ta get a fly, sexy bitch down on ’er knees…gotta keep brushin’ da nigga off…but da nigga stay tryna press…yeah da muhfucka’s fine…but a bitch ain’t beat for da stress…this kind’a nigga cums wit’ a buncha bullshit-ass mess…
“Yo, it’s Alley Cat.”
“Come again,” I ask, fuckin’ wit’ ’im. “You got da wrong number. I don’t know no nigga named Alley Cat.”
He laughs. “Well, in another six hours or so, you will. So you might as well
start gettin’ ya sexy ass ready.”
“Get ready for what?” I ask, sittin’ up in bed. “I ain’t fuckin’ wit’ you.”
Yeah, aiight, ma. Front if you want. You already know.”
“I don’t know nuthin’, muhfucka. So what you sayin’?”
He sucks his teeth, sighin’. “Yo, here you go. We already went through this shit. I told you yesterday I was comin’ through to scoop you. Ain’t shit changed, ma. So don’t play.”
“Who said I was playin’?”
“Gimme ya address, ma.”
I smirk. “Oh, so you really here in Jersey?”
“Yeah, I’m on my way to the crib as soon as I stop past my moms to see wassup wit’ her.” This is the first time I’ve ever heard him mention his moms. It dawns on me that all the times we’ve talked on the phone, I never asked the nigga where at in Jersey he rests; never asked ’im if he had any brothas or sistas. Come to think of it, we never really talked on some real shit. I decide to ask, but the muhfucka shuts it down. “Listen, all that social work shit you tryna get into ain’t important, right now; gettin’ ya address and snatchin’ you up is.”
“Nigga, I ain’t goin’ off wit’ a mufucka I don’t know shit about.”
