AllFreeNovel
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“But am I lyin’? Keep shit real, nigga.”
“Oh, no doubt, ma. I’ma real-type nigga. Hell yeah, you got that bomb-ass pussy. I ain’t even gonna front on it.”
“Nigga, you can’t front on it even if you wanted to,” I say, laughin’. My cell beeps lettin’ me know there’s another call. It’s Chanel. “But, look, my girl is on the other line. Let me hit you up lata.”
“Oh, aiight. No doubt. I’ll holla.”
I click ova. “I’m like five minutes away.”
“Shit, well, hurry da fuck up. Divine’s horny-ass tryna get some pussy and a bitch ain’t tryna sweat out ’er hair.”
I laugh. “Then suck da nigga off.”
“I already did. Now he tryna fuck.”
“Poor thing. I’m turnin’ down ya street now.”
“I’m on my way out now. No need to stop, just swing da door open and I’ll jump in, then speed da fuck off.”
I crack the fuck up. “Bitch, you stoopid.”
BY THE TIME WE HIT CLUB EDEN, CHANEL AND I ARE SMOKED out ’n feelin’ right. The line is mad thick and there’s a ton of hoes and niggas fussin’ ’n stressin’ ’bout standin’ on line for over forty-five minutes. The bouncers are poppin’ mad shit to some’a the females, manhandlin’ them ’n shit. But I ain’t pressed. This bitch ain’t the one.
I cut my eye over at Chanel. “Bitch, I know you not expectin’ me to stand up in this shit. And you know I ain’t beat for no muhfucka feelin’ all up on me like how that nigga’s doin’ her.”
“Girl, don’t sweat that shit. You already know,” She says, flippin’ open her cell. “I got it covered.” She lets whoever she’s talkin’ to know we’re outside. Five minutes later, this tall, brown-skinned muhfucka waves us over to him. Chanel gives him a hug. Dude eyes me over her shoulder, givin’ me a nod. I turn my head. Act like the nigga don’t exist. Two minutes later, we are breezin’ right up to the front of the line.
“Mmmph,” I whisper, smirkin’. “Let me find out ya ho-ish ass done broke that nigga off wit’ a dose of throat action.”
She laughs. “Fuck you, ho. He’s one’a Divine’s cousins.”
“Ain’t that special. Now let’s see if them juicy dick suckas of yours get us free drinks for the night.”
She continues laughin’. “Bitch, let me find out ya high-post ass finally wit’ the program lettin’ muhfuckas buy you drinks.”
I suck my teeth, usherin’ her toward the stairs. “Ho, walk.”
As we make our way up the steps, Juelz Santana’s joint “Back to the Crib” is knockin’ through the speakers. The idea of grindin’ up on a nigga’s cock on the dance floor makes my pussy twitch. I swear I hope they got some fine, sexy muhfuckas up in this biiiotch!
Chanel and I keep it real sexy in bangin’-ass brown Gucci slip dresses that wrap ’round our dangerous curves like a windin’ road. She rocks her wears wit’ a pair of chocolate brown Chanel pumps and a beaded clutch. While I kill it in a pair of orange Jimmy Choo strappy stilettos and Judith Lieber clutch. Niggas peep our swag and do double-takes as we make our way through the crowd. I peep a few hoes tossin’ haterade in the air, which makes me pop ’n shake my hips real extra. Just enough to let ’em know what a bitch is workin’ wit under these wears.
I scan the club and peep a few muhfuckas over by the bar who look like they might be worthy of a dance, or two, posted up bullshittin’ wit’ they boys. The club is mad packed and the beats are sick.
“I need a drink,” Chanel yells ova the music. I agree, followin’ ’er to the bar. Niggas step back, eye-fuckin’ us—lettin’ us get through, but we pays ’em dust. I hand ’er a fifty. Tell ’er the first two rounds are on me. Of course this lush bitch orders a double shot of Rèmy and a Corona to chase it. I frown at the combo. But let ’er do ’er.
“Bitch, ya ass get drunk, you crawlin’ home.” I order the same thing, but I ain’t chasin’ shit. I’m takin’ the shit straight.
She laughs, givin’ me the finga. “Crawl on this.” We take our drinks, clink our shot glasses, then toss ’em back. She guzzles down the Corona. Muhfuckas got they eyes on us, grinnin’ as Chanel orders ’nother ’round. We take it to the head, again.
“Damn, ya’ll pretty ladies know how to get it in,” this golden brown nigga wit’ light brown eyes says, smilin’. For some reason the nigga looks familiar, like I seen ’im somewhere before, but I don’t put no energy into tryna figure the shit out.
“That’s how we doin’ it,” Chanel says, lookin’ the muhfucka ova.
He laughs, starin’ at me. He puts his finga up. “Yo, I know ya’ll.”
Chanel and I frown. “Nigga, you don’t know us. You buggin’.”
He smiles. “Nah, ma, I never forget a face. The Forty-Forty club. Ya’ll the two beauties who housed me ’n my man on the pool table.”
