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He smiles back at me. “Where you been?”
“I’ve been ’round; just keepin’ it real low-key.”
“I feel you. You know some’a us do miss you, Kat.”
I glance ova at Elise, Patrice and my grandmotha, then back at ’im. “I wish I could say da same. This family neva cared ’bout me.”
“That’s not true, cuz,” Arturo says. “I care.”
“No doubt,” Javier adds.
“Well, that’s how I’ve always felt.”
Arturo takes me by the hand. “You need’a come through so we can chill. We fam, Kat. Wit’ my moms and ya moms gone. We all we got, feel me?”
I nod. “I hear you. I’ll think ’bout it.” We spend a few more minutes talkin’ and catchin’ up and exchangin’ phone numbers. I stay up ’til it’s almost time for the funeral to begin, then give ’im both hugs. I dip out, neva lookin’ back.
LATER IN THE AFTERNOON, I’M SPEEDIN’ DOWN THE GARDEN State, headin’ southbound to the shore. Outside of drivin’ to Atlantic City to put in gun work, this is the first time a bitch has driven down this way durin’ the day to chill. It’s my first time goin’ to Allstar’s spot. And on some real shit, I’m surprised the nigga actually wanted me to come. And I’m more surprised that a bitch is in ’er whip goin’.
It’s mad nice out. I got the windows down and the beats knockin’. Drake’s “Light Up” is playin’ as I fire up a blunt. By the time I pull up in Alex’s condo development, I’m lit the fuck up, feelin’ mad sexy ’n real ’xtra.
I park my whip, then flip down the visor to make sure shits on point. Hair ’n face still in place. You’a sexy bitch, I think, grinnin’ at my reflection. I step out of my car, peepin’ the area. The nigga’s spot is surrounded by all kinda restaurants, boutiques and clubs. I see the ocean ’cross the street and find myself walkin’ ova toward it to get a closer look. Beaches here have neva impressed, or interested me, so why I’m leanin’ on the rail starin’ at the water is beyond me. I take in a deep breath. Hold back my head and enjoy the ocean’s breeze. I have a lotta shit on my mind. A bitch needs change. But I don’t know if a baby is what’s gonna get it. And I don’t know if this nigga is the kinda change I need, or want, eitha. I can’t front. He’s been on my mind heavy. The last couple’a weeks we been kickin’ it almost e’ery damn day. And a lotta the time we ain’t even fuckin’. He be on some “let me hold you”-type shit. And I be wit’ it. I don’t know what’s really good wit’ this nigga, and I ain’t really tryna spend too much time tryna figure it out. I already know what it is for me. I’ma keep it real cute, and keep doin’ the nigga ’til he fucks up, then its bubble-wrap for his ass. Still, a bitch gotta wonder if I’m gettin’ in too deep wit’ his ass.
My cell rings, disruptin’ my moment. I pull it outta my bag. It’s NUT. It’s time to change up his nickname. I decide to start change it to Allstar. “Hey,” I say, turnin’ to head toward his place.
“Where you at, yo? I thought you woulda been here by now.”
“I’m outside,” I tell ’im crossin’ the street, “on my way up to ya buildin’.” I peep this salon-tanned white muhfucka gettin’ out’a black Maserati and anotha steppin’ outta a Bentley, headin’ to the Gold’s Gym on the corner. I see a slew of otha high-end whips in parkin’ spaces as well, grinnin’. These muhfuckas out here gotta be paid out da ass, pushin’ them big boyz.
“Cool-cool. You aiight?”
“Yeah, I’m good.” I tell ’im I’m impressed wit’ his neighborhood. That it reminds me of a quaint village filled wit’ a bunch’a rich muhfuckas.
He laughs. “That’s ’cause it is.”
When I get up to the eleventh floor, he’s already standin’ in the hallway waitin’ on me. He’s grinnin’ from ear to ear. And I can’t help but to smile back at ’im. He’s in a pair of dark-blue True Religions and a wife beater, showin’ off his chiseled arms and lookin’ sexy as fuck. I swear I don’t wanna catch feelin’s for this nigga, but e’erytime I’m ’round ’im it gets harder and harder to keep that from happenin’.
He pulls me into his arms the minute I walk up on ’im. He kisses me wit’ them sexy-ass lips and my pussy starts juicin’. “Damn, you lookin’ good,” he says, shuttin’ the door behind me. I step outta my heels. “Let me show you ’round.”
I glance ’round his spot, impressed. The nigga’s shit is piped in buttery-soft Italian leather. My feet sink into the plush carpet. I peep the fifty-two-inch Sony Bravia flat-screen up on the wall wit’ its surround sound. His spot is nicely decorated in all earth tone colors. I shake my head at all’a his man toys: the Xbox, PS3, and Wii games and tons of games for each. I follow ’im into the master bedroom. He has a huge mahogany king-size sleigh bed, and matchin’ nightstands. There’s an oil paintin’ of a naked woman’s profile wit’ a big juicy ass and titties hangin’ on the wall ova his bed.
“Nice. I’m really impressed,” I tell ’im, walkin’ back out into the livin’ room. He shows me the kitchen, which is piped out wit’ granite countertops and stainless steel appliances.
He laughs. “What, you thought I was livin’ foul or sumthin’?”
“Truthfully, I didn’t know what to think. So is this ya crib or some chick’s you done scammed?”
He frowns. “Nah, ma. I ain’t scam shit. E’erything up in this muhfucka is all me. Yeah, I been gifted up ’n shit, but don’t get it fucked up. I ain’t no bum-ass nigga, baby.”
I smirk. “That’s good to know.”
“That ain’t all you ’bout to know,’ he says, scoopin’ me up into his big arms.
“Oh yeah; what else am I gonna know?”
He licks his lips and eyes me all sexy-like, then slips his tongue in my mouth. His hands land on my ass, then squeeze it. He grinds himself into me. “Take them clothes off and let me show.”
TWO HOURS LATER, WE’RE IN THE LIVIN’ ROOM LOUNGIN’ ON THE sofa. Alex’s lyin’ ’cross my lap, sparkin’ a blunt. He’s in his boxer briefs, bare-chested. And I’m wearin’ one’a his button ups wit’ nuthin’ else underneath. The nigga slayed my pussy like no otha, but I ain’t gonna play myself short eitha—a bitch fucked the nigga down, lovely. Had ’im moanin’ like a bitch e’ery time I lifted up on his dick and rode the head, milkin’ that shit wit’ my pussy muscles.
