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“What’s good, pretty lady?”
“Who’s this?” I asked, smilin’. I knew it was the nigga from Studio 9. I’d written my number in the palm of his hand on our way outta the club. He and his mans ’n them had wanted to take us out to breakfast, but I asked for a rain check since I knew I had shit to do the followin’ mornin’. Chanel had the nerve to try ’n be swoll ’bout it, but I didn’t give a fuck. She’d get over it. He walked me to my car then I heard the chirp to that bangin’-ass Bentley parked beside my Ben
z. It was his. My pussy immediately got moist as thoughts of fuckin’ him in the backseat of his whip and suckin’ his dick while he was pushin’ it down the turnpike came to mind. I kept my cool, but could see that my girls were gaggin’. Yeah, this nigga was paid, and I was gonna see what was really good with his fine ass as soon as I got back from handlin’ my business.
“Grant,” he said.
“Grant, who?” I asked, fuckin’ with him.
“Oh, it’s like that,” he said, laughin’. “Let me find out you got a stable of niggas on your team.”
I laughed. “Maybe, maybe not.”
“Oh, word? Well, how can a nigga like me get on your squad?” he asked, dippin’ his voice real low. I felt myself gettin’ wet.
“That depends,” I said, matchin’ his low, sexy tone.
“On?”
“On how big ya dick is, and if ya know how to eat a pussy.”
He laughed. “Well, shit, you ain’t askin’ for much. I got that covered.”
“Is that so?”
“No doubt. You’se a sexy thing, and I’m tryna come through and spend some time with you. Show you how a real nigga treats a woman.” Although the nigga had a street edge, he had this polished, sophisticated edge to him. That shit turned me on.
“And how’s that?”
“Let me come scoop you up, and show you.”
“I wish I could,” I said, grinnin’. “But I’m outta town for few days. I’ll be home Sunday afternoon.”
“Oh word. Then hit me up when you touch.”
“I will.”
“Don’t do nothing I wouldn’t do,” he said playfully.
“Well, that may be hard since I don’t know what a nigga like you’d do.”
He chuckled. “I feel ya, baby. Be safe.”
“Thanks,” I said, disconnectin’ the call. I grabbed my purse and keys and headed for the door. I had someplace to be, someone to see, and a bullet to serve.
By the time I got to the Bucktown section of Chicago—an old warehouse district that had been rehabbed and turned into dance clubs and fly-ass lofts—it was almost ten forty-five. I pulled up in the parkin’ area of this trendy spot Aqua, where my unsuspectin’ victim would be. Not only was he a compulsive gambler, word had it he had a thing for pretty young girls, particularly black and Latin chicks. And since he couldn’t keep his pecker in his pants, his wife probably wanted his ass ghost so she could collect on a million-dollar insurance policy he had. The bitch felt she deserved that and then some due to his years of cheatin’ on her ass. Whateva! I wanted this shit to be over, and the sooner the better.
I stepped out of my rental rockin’ a fly-ass hot pants jumpsuit and a pair of knee-high Gucci boots with stiletto heels. My hair was braided and tucked under a long black wig with short bangs. I made sure to rock something that flowed almost past my ass to give the illusion that I was one of them exotic bitches, which wasn’t really hard to do since I already had the look.
When I walked into the club, I was surprised to see that this spot had a mixed crowd. I knew a bitch was gonna be all up in a lily-white shit hole with a bunch of snuff-chewin’ hillbillies. Even the music was cute. I circled the club, scannin’ the area in search of my mark. There were three bars and two dance floors, and the place was packed. Shit, I thought, I could be here all fuckin’ night lookin for this brown-toothed, limp dick nigga. All eyes were on me as I made my way to the bar where I positioned myself so I had full view of the floor.
An hour goes by and I’m gettin’ real sick of this postin’ up at the bar and havin’ all these duck-ass niggas tryna spit weak-ass game. The cat I’m lookin’ for is nowhere to be found, and I was startin’ to get vexed. But a bitch like me knows how to keep it cute. So I shook my ass a tease to get into the groove of shit. I almost wanted to hit the dance floor to pop my hips and toss a few drinks instead of sippin’ on my flat-assed Coke. But I was there on business and drinkin’ on the job was a no-no. I was so fuckin’ ready to blow dust on the spot.
Well, as I’m ’bout to go into plan B, I turn to my left and there in all of his pasty-faced glory is my mark, dressed in all black, wearin’ a slick-ass pair of Dolce & Gabbana shades with his stringy-ass hair pulled back in a shiny ponytail, makin’ his way toward the bar and me. I turned around real slow and sexy-like, then leaned over the bar enough to allow my ass cheeks to peek from underneath the edges of my eighteen-hundred-dollar jumper. I shook my ass to the music, then gave the horny-ass niggas somethin’ to go home and beat their dicks to. I could feel his eyes zoomin’ in on my juicy ass. Here kitty, kitty…that’s right…come to momma, muhfucka…
“What is a pretty young lady like you drinking tonight?”
I turned around, scanned this crab nigga real easy, then parted a phony-ass smile. “If I tell you, I might hafta kill you,” I said, lettin’ a sly grin spread across my face. He blinked, blinked again, then had the muthafuckin’ audacity to show me his shit-stained teeth, cheesin’ ear-to-ear. Ugh! I’ma blast this nigga’s grill out, I thought.
