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Chanel points ’n wags a finga at me. “Oh noooooo, Miss Bitch, who’s this nigga you all goo-goo, ga-ga ova?”
I laugh. “Bitch, ain’t nobody goo-goo, ga-ga-in’ nuthin’.”
“Mmmph, sounds like it to me,” Hungry Jack says, rollin’ another blunt to eat.
“Bitch, who asked yo’ ass?” I snap, shootin’ ’er a look.
She laughs. “Slut, you’se a real funny-style bitch, but I ain’t sweatin’ it.”
“Unh-uh, ho,” Chanel says to ’er, puttin’ her hand up, “not now. Save the dumb shit for later. Right now”—she turns ’er gaze on me—“back to yo’ ass, you sneaky ho. I wanna know who this nigga is you all grin ’n giggles wit’.”
I roll my eyes, flickin’ my hand at ’er. “What-da-fuck- eva. I ain’t grinnin’ shit.”
“Yeah, whatever, tramp; just tell me who da nigga is and why I ain’t heard ’bout his ass.” I tell ’er it’s the nigga from All-Star Weekend. “As funny style as ya ass is, I didn’t think you was even fuckin’ wit’ that nigga like that.” I tell ’er nosey ass ’bout the lil’ outin’ he took me on. “Get out! And you went out wit’ his ass? Oh, shit. Let me find out you diggin’ ’im.”
I shrug, takin’ another pull. “He’s aiight. It ain’t nuthin’ serious, trust.”
“Okay, skip all the silly shit. A bitch wanna know did you fuck ’im, yet?”
I frown, knowin’ damn well I wanna fuck the skin off that nigga’s dick. “Hell, no.”
She sucks her teeth. “Bitch, yo’ ass is always tryna play like you Miss Goodie Two Shoes. You act like you don’t like dick, boo.”
Hungry Jack grunts. I shoot ’er a look. The bitch blows smoke in my direction. But I ain’t mad at ’er ’cause it’s the same shit I’ve been doin’ to ’er. I decide to make ’er invisible.
“Annnnnyway…Bitch, puhleeeze. Just ’cause a bitch ain’t suckin’ ’n fuckin’ e’ery thing movin’ that don’t mean she ain’t lovin’ da dick. It means she ain’t beat for havin’ a beat up snatch, okay? So don’t get ya fronts knocked.”
Chanel flicks ’er hand at me. “Whateva; it sounds good. But that Virgin Mary shit you talkin’ is gettin’ real old, boo. It’s time for you to let ya freak flag fly.”
I give ’er the finga. “Fly on this, trick.”
Hungry Jack rolls her eyes up in her big snow globe head. “Bitch, get real,” she says, lookin’ at Chanel, then shootin’ a look at me. “I know this ho’s kind. Her ass is an undercover freak, okay. So she can spare us the okey-doke.”
“Bitch, why is you all up in mine?”
“Like I said, I know ya kind,” she repeats, splittin’ open another blunt, then packin’ it wit’ Kush. “Sneaky, freak-nasty hoes.”
“And I know ya kind, too, sweetie. You the kinda bitch who lets a nigga come through after the clubs close—all sweaty and drunk da fuck up—when he can’t get his dick wet nowhere else. Niggas call on yo’ ass ’cause they know you a sloppy-ass, maneatin’ dick gobbler who’ll let ’em fuck you in ya crater ass e’ery-which-way.”
Jabba Jaws licks the blunt, seals it. Then slides it in and outta her mouth, like it’s a damn toothpick. She sits it on the table. This bitch is outta control.
I frown.
Chanel bucks her eyes. “Bitch, what da fuck is you doin’?”
I get up from the table, shootin’ a look over at Chanel. “Bitch, I’m out. Call me when Orca goes back out to sea, then we can get it in like real bitches do.” Hungry Jack says sumthin’ slick back, but I laugh it off, throwin’ up the finga.
“Don’t forget the party is in two weeks,” she yells out. “So don’t go makin’ no plans wit’ that nigga who you say you ain’t fuckin, but got you all ga-ga-googly.”
“Whateva,” I yell back, walkin’ out the door. I click the alarm to my whip, slide in, then make my way back over to the hospital for what I hope will be my last visit.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Ready or not…da ho gotta go…bitch won’t eva rest in peace… Grim Reaper done came to take ’er…now it’s time for ’er to meet ’er maker…but da dead bitch has a baby inside ’er womb…wrapped ’round doom ’n gloom…what’s a bitch to do…do I take one life, or take two?
The minute I reach the nurse’s station I spot the nigga DeAndre. But, before I can speak, I peep the pasty-faced charge nurse from the other day, sittin’ on the other side of ’im behind a computer. She glances in my direction and looks shook. I grin and keep it cute, puttin’ ’er mind at ease. “Bitch, ain’t nobody thinkin’ ’bout you. I’m here to see my mother.” She quickly shifts her eyes back to what she was doin’. DeAndre bucks his eyes, surprised. “How you doin’, Nurse Lewis?” I ask, turnin’ my attention to ’im. I smile.
He smiles back. “Missus Rivera. Good morning. I’m good, thanks. I was on my way to your mother’s room so I will walk with you, if you don’t mind.”
