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There was a group of thug niggas dipped in jewels playin’ PlayStation 2, and I peeped
’bout seven or eight model-type chicks among a group of pigeons sittin’ on the oversized leather bed, cacklin’ and cawin’ like real birds. A few of ’em got up and started finger-poppin’ and shakin’ they hips—clearly for attention—when Rihanna’s “Umbrella” came through the speakers.
I spotted Cash at the pool table with a bunch of his niggas; they were talkin’ shit back ’n forth. I could tell they had a team game goin’ on. I glanced at Chanel and smiled.
“You thinkin’ what I’m thinkin’?” I asked her outta the side of my mouth.
“And you know it,” she said, followin’ behind me. We heard a few “damns” and “oh, shits” as we walked over to them, disruptin’ their flow. Even a few bitches kept they eyes on us. It was all good. All eyes on me, bitches. Chanel and I kept it cute, and posed for the audience.
“I see you made it,” Cash said to me, but he was eyein’ Chanel. “And you brought Miss Whatever with you.” He smiled. Chanel gave him one of them phony smiles. He introduced us to the niggas, then leaned into my ear. “Yo, hook a nigga up with ya girl.”
“You silly as hell, nigga,” I said, laughin’. “She’s off limits.”
He didn’t get the hint. “I ain’t tryna marry her gold-diggin’ ass; I just wanna get in them drawers.”
I rolled my eyes. “Drop dead, nigga,” I said, catchin’ Chanel givin’ me the eye. She ice-grilled Cash.
“Yo, that’s fucked up. But it’s all good.”
“Whatever,” I said, lookin’ over at the niggas ’round the table. “Me and my girl got next.” Chanel looked at me, then smirked. She knew what it was. We was ’bout to run ’em.
“Bitch,” Chanel snapped, puttin’ her hand on her hip, “what the hell you doin’? You know I can’t play no fuckin’ pool.”
“So what,” I said, “I ain’t that good either, but we can still get it in.”
I peeped all the niggas ’round the pool table had stopped talkin’ and the niggas who were shootin’ pool were now standin’ with they sticks in they hands, lookin’ all bug-eyed ’n shit at me.
I laughed. “What, ya’ll niggas scared to play with two dime bitches?”
“Dig, beautiful,” this cross-eyed nigga rockin’ a navy-blue Yankee fitted cocked to the side said, “I don’t mean no harm, but maybe you and ya girl might wanna come back when ya got ya game up.”
A few niggas laughed.
“No harm taken,” I said, eyein’ him with my hand on my hip. “Like I said, me and my girl got next.”
Cash and a few other niggas laughed.
“Rack ’em up, then, baby,” this short, cock-diesel-type nigga with shoulder-length dreads said. “I’m ’bout to house ya fine ass.”
I eyed him real easy-like. He was a brown-skinned cutie with a thick neck; definitely fuckable, but my clit didn’t jump so I knew his paper wasn’t long enough to handle a bitch like me. “Oh, is that right, little man?”
“Little man? Yeah, okay. But I got a big stick,” he drawled.
“With little-ass balls,” I said back. “And a big-ass mouth. And you’se ’bout to get the snot whipped outta ya.”
His boys laughed.
“Oh, looks like we got a shit-talker in the room.”
“And I can back it up,” I said, shiftin’ my bag from one arm to the other.
Cash jumped in. “Yo, I love you, my nigga, but I’ma haveta ride with Kat and her peoples on this one.”
“Yo, fuck you, nigga,” one of his boys said, laughin’. “Ya black ass just tryna get some ass.”
“Yeah, that, too,” Cash replied, laughin’ and eyein’ Chanel at the same time. “But, I’m tellin’ you niggas, don’t sleep. I bet these beauties are real beasts.”
I rolled my eyes. I was gettin’ restless and was ready to bring it to them niggas. “Listen, muhfuckas, are we gonna play or are ya’ll niggas gonna stand here bullshittin’?”
