AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“’Cause that’s how I do mine. You already know.”
“Do you, ma. Just make sure you handle ya business on time. I don’t want none of that bullshit you pulled in San Diego. Matter of fact, I shoulda docked ya ass for holdin’ shit up.”
Against my better judgment, I decided to fuck with the nigga. “Cash, if you ever fuck with my money, you’ll never get any of this pussy, feel me? But if ya keep my paper flowin’ like ya ’posed to, then one day I might invite ya to slide ya tongue up in it. So if you ever wanna taste of this sweet pussy, don’t fuck with my paper.”
“Yeah, aiight,” he said, lowerin’ his voice. “Keep fuckin’ with me, Kat, and I’ma end up takin’ it, ya heard?”
“And ya’ll end up with a bullet in ya skull, muhfucka.”
“Damn, baby, you get my dick hard e’erytime you talk like that. Word up.”
“Ugh. Send me the paperwork, along with my paper, Cash.”
“You’ll have e’erything you need tomorrow afternoon.”
“Good.”
“Be easy,” he said, hangin’ up. I swear he makes me fuckin’ sick sometimes. I glanced at the clock and
noticed Chanel’s ass was late as usual. It was 3:15. I figured the ho would be another hour or so, so I decided to take a quick shower.
By the time Chanel rang my doorbell two hours later, I was already on my third blunt, and a bitch was lifted lovely.
“Ho,” I snapped, swingin’ the door open, “I thought you said you was gonna be here in a half hour. You betta be glad I like ya yellow ass or you’d be standin’ outside.”
“Whatever, tramp.” She laughed, walkin’ in carryin’ a bangin’-ass, white pebbled leather Prada weekend bag. She was lookin’ all fly ’n whatnot in a slick-ass white linen jumper and a pair of strappy heels.
“I know you don’t think ya ugly ass is stayin’ the night. I ain’t runnin’ no damn ho house.”
“I can’t tell,” she said, closin’ the door behind her and followin’ me into the kitchen. “They have ya ass listed in the Yellow Pages under ‘Hoes for Rent.’” She dropped her bag by the door, then walked over to the refrigerator and opened it.
“Whatever, bitch,” I said, throwin’ my hand up in her face. I pressed the Bose remote and Me’Shell NdegéOcello’s “Dead Nigga Blvd., Pt. I” blared through the speakers.
“I’m hungry as hell. What you got to eat up in this piece?”
“Not a damn thing. You know ain’t shit domesticated ’bout me.”
She sucked her teeth. “And that’s why ya ass can’t get ya’self a man.”
“Whatever, ho,” I said, dismissin’ her with the flick of my hand. “I’m good. You worry ’bout keepin’ ya ass a man.”
“Speaking of which,” she said, closin’ the fridge door, then leanin’ on the aisle counter. I pulled out some menus from outta the counter drawer, then tossed them to her. I puffed the blunt, watchin’ her flip through each one. “Divine told me to tell ya ass ‘wassup.’ That nigga funny as hell. He started buggin’ when he saw me packin’ my overnight bag. He was like, ‘Where the fuck ya ass goin?’ Then as soon as I told him I was chillin’ with you tonight, he was like, ‘Oh, aiight.’” She started laughin’. “But let it be me tryna chill with T or Iris, and the nigga starts straight blackin’ for real. That nigga’s crazy. He really can’t stand them two.”
We each pulled out a stool and sat at the counter.
“Humph, I wonder why,” I said sarcastically. “What you wanna eat?”
“Let’s do Chinese. I want the garlic shrimp with brown rice. And two spring rolls. You treatin’, right?” I rolled my eyes, pickin’ up the cordless to call our order in. “Thanks, babe,” she said, smilin’. “And why the fuck you hoggin’ that damn blunt, bitch. Puff, puff, pass…I’m tryna get my smoke on too, greedy heifer.”
“Kiss my ass, trick,” I said, takin’ another pull, then handin’ it to her, laughin’. I started rollin’ two more.
When Me’Shell’s “Priorities 1-6” came on, Chanel closed her eyes and started swayin’. “I love this chick. She’s the fuckin’ truth.” She took another toke from the blunt, then handed it to me. I took two pulls and swayed with her.
“Yeah, she ain’t to be fucked with,” I agreed. “These weak-ass chicks in the game don’t really want it with her.”
We sliced open six more cigars, removed the tobacco, then packed ’em with weed. I watched Chanel as she expertly slid her tongue across the cigar paper like she was lickin’ the edges of a dick to moisten it, before fillin’ it with trees. She rolled the last blunt between her thumbs and index fingas, then placed it on the table with the rest of ’em.
“On some real shit, I think she’s too deep for a lotta these bitches out here. Her musical style is so damn fly to me.”
