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“Stripes,” I called out, smilin’. I heard a few niggas chucklin’ and talkin’ ’bout gettin’ lucky or some shit like that. But a bitch kept her eye on the table, tryna map out my next move. I was ready to get my drink and smoke on and was gettin’ bored with clownin’ these muhfuckas. I glanced over my shoulder at Chanel and grinned. She smiled. Then I straight-housed them niggas, leavin’ them gaggin’. “Eight ball, side pocket,” I said, watchin’ it sink. “Run me my money, niggas.” I high-fived Chanel. Niggas who had paper on us was cheerin’ and two-steppin’ ’round, talkin’ mad shit. The rest of the niggas was mad tight.
“Good game,” Leo and his boy, Bronze, said. We shook hands. “Yo, let me get ya number. I like how you move,” Leo stated.
“I bet you do. But we gonna keep it on the table. So run me my money, little man.”
“Yeah, aiight. I’ll show you little, alright.”
“No, lil’ daddy, the only thing you gonna show me is my paper. ’Cause you and ya nigga just got got. Bye-bye,” I said, wavin’ him on. Chanel started laughin’. The nigga was swoll.
Cash walked over to us, grinnin’. “Yo, why you game my mans ’n them?” he asked, handin’ me a stack of paper.
“’Cause I’ma hustler, nigga. That’s what we do. Thought you knew.” I tossed the money in my bag.
He laughed, eyein’ Chanel. She rolled her eyes, then twisted her face up. “Ugh! Why you all up in my damn face?”
“’Cause you fine, baby—”
“What you ladies drinkin’?” a nigga with a deep sexy voice asked us, cuttin’ Cash’s ass off. The muhfucka was the color of tar, but had beautiful smooth skin with shiny black brows, long eyelashes, beautiful big, dark eyes, and a head full of thick curly hair. He was rockin’ all white and the ice around his wrist and ears told me he was paid. Fine! Fine! Fine! That’s all a bitch can say. He was ’bout six feet two and I could tell the nigga got it in at the gym the way his white muscle shirt hugged his chest and stretched ’round his huge arms. Chanel peeped him, too, and her whole ’tude changed. She answered before I could open my mouth.
“Surprise us,” she said, eyein’ him all sexy-like and grinnin’. He smiled. And a bitch almost passed the fuck out when I saw those straight, white teeth and deep dimples. Cash peeped how we was checkin’ for his sexy ass.
“Oh, I see how ya’ll do. This pretty muhfucka come ’round and ya’ll ready to toss the pussy at him, but a nigga like me can barely get love. What, I ain’t black enough for ya asses?” he asked, throwin’ his arms open. Everyone laughed. He introduced the sexy dude as Coal. I smiled. The name fit him perfectly ’cause that’s exactly how black he was. But ugly he was not. This muhfucka Coal was a beautiful, black diamond. I could feel my pussy churnin’ as I imagined havin’ my legs up over his shoulders with him shovin’ his tar-black dick in and outta me. I would bet my 960-dollar heels that the nigga had some good dick. But if he didn’t, he still could get it. Hell, the muhfucka coulda had a little dick and one nut, and…um, well, maybe not. I snapped to my senses and almost hit the fuckin’ floor when Cash said that fine, black, sexy nigga was his nephew.
Chanel let out a disgusted grunt.
Coal eyed me, then Chanel, and grinned. “One surprise for two beautiful ladies coming right up,” he said, walkin’ off. We—uh, correction—I excused us from Cash since Chanel was in bitch mode. I igged it, but as soon as we found a seat on the wraparound sofa, I confronted her ass.
“Bitch, what’s up with the stankness?” She reached into her orange Hèrmes bag, pullin’ out a pack of Doublemint. She took a stick, then offered me a piece. I shook my head. “No, bitch,” I snapped. “I wanna know why you actin’ all shady ’n shit.” She looked at me like I was buggin’ or somethin’. “Don’t look at me like that. You know what I’m talkin’ ’bout. You did that shit at the park, too, but I didn’t say shit. Now you here servin’ it. So what’s good?”
She rolled the gum up in her mouth. “How you know that nigga?”
“Who?” I asked, playin’ stupid.
“That nigga Cash.”
“I met him a while back when we were playin’ the Brooklyn Café,” I said, hopin’ she wouldn’t ask nothin’ else. “Dude was tryna get at me at first, but once I made it clear he wasn’t my flava he fell back. I run into him e’ery now and then. Why?”
She looked over at him, shakin’ her head. “I don’t like him.”
“Girl, you don’t even know him,” I said, laughin’.
“I don’t have to know him to know a snake when I see one.” She looked me dead in the eyes. “And that nigga over there”—she nodded toward Cash—“is a Mojave rattlesnake.”
I had to laugh, rememberin’ Chanel’s crazy fascination with reptiles. She knew e’ery type of snake listed, and the Mojave rattlesnake was one of the deadliest snakes in the world. And Cash was definitely a dangerous-type nigga.
“So I guess the nigga can’t get no pussy from ya?” I asked, still laughin’.
“Bitch, is you serious? Not hardly. That nigga will never splash his venom up in me. Hell, I wouldn’t even fuck his grimy ass with Tamia’s pussy. And we both know how much mileage that has on it.” We cracked up laughin’. Nothin’ else needed to be said.
We sat takin’ in the sights, pointin’ out which niggas were hot and which were not; which chicks were bangin’ and which were busted.
We peeped a few niggas walkin’ ’round the room carryin’ six-hundred-dollar bottles of Dom P and eight-hundred-dollar bottles of Krug, drinkin’ outta them shits like it was water. Neither of us were really impressed. But the nigga who did impress us was Coal when he came back with a twenty-five hundred-dollar bottle of Rémy Martin Louis XIII. I think Chanel and I were both ready to drop down low and suck the nigga’s dick.
He walked over to us, smilin’ that Crest-white smile. “I figured top-of-the-line beauties deserved a top-of-the-line drink,” he said, handin’ us the bottle with two snifters. “Enjoy.”
“What, you not gonna drink with us?” Chanel asked, eyein’ him up and down. Now the bitch was all flirty ’n shit.
He made a slight gesture with his head to the left of us. Chanel and I peeped a brown-skinned chick draped in some ill shit over in the corner with two other high-post bitches. She stopped talkin’ and looked over in our direction for a hot second, then started talkin’ and laughin’ again. Without words, we already knew—the bitch was gettin’ the dick.
