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Grant winked at me. “I’m out.”
He walked over to his boys. They were like ten deep and posted up in the cut, waitin’ for him and watchin’ Chanel and me at the same time while tryna holla at some of the chicks that were flouncin’ and bouncin’ all ’round the niggas, lookin’ and actin’ real thirsty. As Grant made his way over to his niggas, I spotted Patrice with two of the several gold-diggin’ bitches she rolled with. I ain’t gonna front, the bitch kept it cute in a pair of blue Baby Phat pencil jeans that were cuffed up to her ankles, and a white wife beater with the word “bitch” stretched across her titties in gold and crystals. She had a gold coin belt draped around her waist and a bangin’-ass pair of stilettos on her feet.
I rolled my eyes.
“This bitch,” I said to Chanel, gesturin’ my head over in her direction. Chanel peeped her. “All these heads out here and I gotta see her fuckin’ face. Let’s bounce.”
Chanel shook her head, lookin’ over my shoulder. But since she didn’t say nothin’, I didn’t bother to turn around. I just figured she saw someone she knew. She twisted her face up.
“Who the fuck is this ugly nigga tryna creep up behind you, puttin’ his finga up to his big-ass lips tellin’ me to ‘ssh’?” I turned around, suckin’ my teeth. It was Cash.
“What’s good?” he asked, walkin’ up on me, grinnin’. The jewels around his neck and in his lobes lit up like mini lamps, all bright and whatnot. I can’t front, the nigga’s swagger was serious—ugly or not. But on some real shit, I was surprised he was even comin’ over to me. I can count on one hand the number of times he’s actually acknowledged me when we were out in public. And if he did, he’d either do it with a nod or a wink of the eye. Other than that, he usually kept his interaction strictly over the phone, with the exception of those rare times when he called a “family meetin’”—as he called ’em—to discuss “business.” And even then, the family meetin’ would only be him, me and one of his henchmen. The nigga typically met with his hit team on some one-on-one type shit. He never met with all of us together. He liked keepin’ who he had on his squad on the low, which was fine by me.
“I see you got these niggas out here buzzin’ all around ya sweet ass,” he said, leanin’ into my ear.
I rolled my eyes. “Whatever.” He stepped back and eyed me up and down, then looked over at Chanel, who turned her back on him. I bet if her ass knew how deep the nigga’s pockets were she woulda been all up on his dick tryna suck the skin off it. He licked his lips. “What’s good with ya peoples?”
“She’s off limits and she ain’t beat,” I stated, twistin’ my lips up.
“I can dig it. What about you, what’s good with you?”
I wasn’t sure if his question was on some gettin’-his-dick-wet type-shit or not, but I decided to check his ass just in case. “Nigga, I know you not tryna come at me on some extra shit. Don’t have me curse ya ass out in this bitch.”
“Yo, ma, chill with that shit. I ain’t on it like that. I’m talkin’ ’bout what the fuck you tryna get into tonight, that’s it. You always thinkin’ somebody tryna get in ya damn drawers or some shit. Geesh.”
“Yeah, whateva, nigga,” I said, smirkin’. “I know how you do.”
“Yeah, well, not tonight. I got my sights on somethin’ else.” I peeped him starin’ at Chanel’s big, juicy ass.
I rolled my eyes, suckin’ my teeth. “Anyway,” I continued, “I’m not sure what’ I’m doin’ tonight. Why?”
“Come through the Forty-Forty. Me and a few cats got somethin’ poppin’ off tonight.” He had one of those Forty-Forty purple memberships so he was always throwin’ parties ’n shit, but I had never officially been invited to any until tonight. Hmm…it made a bitch wonder why now all of a sudden. I’m sure it had somethin’ to do with his nasty ass tryna get up on Chanel’s clit. I can’t front, the bitch was flawless and her body was bangin’ in her wears. The nigga peeped her style, so he knew what time it was.
Of course Chanel’s ears perked up the minute she heard Forty-Forty club. The bitch loved to party. Anywhere there was gonna be drinks, dicks, and dollars her ass was gonna be ’bout it. She turned around, droolin’. I grinned at her. “You down to go to the Forty-Forty tonight?” I asked her.
She glanced over at Cash, then me. “What time?”
“Oh, you couldn’t speak to a nigga, but now you wanna know what time you can come shake ya pretty ass.”
She rolled her eyes. “Whatever.”
He eyed her. “Does ‘whatever’ got a name?”
“Cash,” I said, pointin’ to her, “this is my girl Chanel. Chanel, Cash.”
She rolled her eyes.
“That’s better,” he said, grinnin’. Then the nigga started lookin’ at her like he was ready to fuck her on the spot. “Have the cats at the door come get me.” He looked at me, then winked at Chanel. “And you, beautiful, I’ma get at you later.”
“Don’t hold ya breath,” she replied. “You can’t afford me.” Cash just laughed at her dumb ass, walkin’ off.
“What the fuck so funny?” she asked, vexed.
This ho is so busy chasin’ ballers ’n shit, but had no fuckin’ clue. Hell, I was glad she wasn’t feelin’ him. I didn’t want her tryna get at the nigga any damn way. That’s the last thing I needed.
I sucked my teeth. “Bitch, let’s go,” I snapped, brushin’ past her. “Fuckin’ with you, I need a damn blunt.”
By the time we finally got to the club it was a little after midnight and hot ’n poppin’. Dripped heavy in ice, with niggas clockin’ us in our wears, me and Chanel made our way up to the Rémy Lounge. I had on a canary-yellow chiffon Chanel pullover blouse that hung real low ’n sexy in the front and back, showin’ off my perky tits and smooth back, with a pair of white Gucci pencil jeans—and, yes, with no panties—that melted over e’ery delicious curve of my body, and a bangin’ pair of six-inch Balenciaga slingbacks. Chanel kept it cute in a sexy white Christian Louboutin wrap dress with a pair of white Christian Louboutin crystal “Vamp” stilettos.
