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I nodded, takin’ a pull from the blunt while Chanel lit another one. I closed my eyes when “Andromeda & the Milky Way” came on. We sat in silence, smoked, and grooved to Me’Shell. The funky soul beats were so fuckin’ tight that I wanted to light candles, lay my head back, and drift into a zone.
“Would you let her eat your pussy?” Chanel asked outta the blue, fuckin’ up the mood. I almost choked.
“What?” I asked, shocked.
She repeated the question. “Would you let her go down on you?”
“That’s it, bitch,” I said, reachin’ for the blunt, “no more smoke for ya ass. You talkin’ real sideways now.”
She started laughin’ ’n shit. “I’m just sayin’.”
I raised my eyebrow, placin’ my hand on my hip. “Bitch, is there somethin’ you tryna tell me?”
“No, I’m just sayin’. I mean, she really does her thing, musically. And some of her joints got a freaky-sexy groove that be makin’ me wanna get it in.”
“Well, ho, you make sure you ain’t tryna get it in here. I don’t wanna split ya shit up for tryna get at my pussy.”
“Bitch, please,” she said, laughin’. “I ain’t on it like that. I was just askin’. Besides, you ain’t my type.”
“Mmm-hmm. Yeah, aiight. Try that freaky shit if you want.”
“Whatever…aaah, shit,” she said, jumpin’ up when the song “I’m Diggin’ You” came on. “Bitch, you need to burn this shit for me. Who made this mix for you? The shit is tight.”
“I did,” I said, watchin’ her shake her big, round ass and swing her hips. On some real shit though, if I was into chicks, I’d probably strap on a dildo and rock her ass. But I wouldn’t tongue-fuck her. That was out. This ho done had too many dicks up in her. I frowned at the thought of havin’ my face between her legs. Ugh!
My phone rang. I picked it up off the counter and glanced at the number. It was my aunt Rosa again. I sat the phone back down. Two minutes later, my cell rang, then my home line again. I turned my cell off.
Chanel looked at me, then the phones. She took a pull from the half-blunt, then exhaled the smoke up into the air. “Don’t you think you should at least check ya messages? It could be ’bout ya moms.”
I shrugged. “I ain’t beat.”
She opened her mouth to say somethin’, but I raised my brow and gave her a warnin’ look to keep her muthafuckin’ mouth shut. And she did.
Thirty minutes later we were sittin’ at the table eatin’ our food, drinkin’ and smokin’ mad trees. My phone kept ringin’ off the hook, and I kept iggin’ the shit.
Chanel set her fork down and eyed me. “Kat, you—”
“Don’t,” I warned, liftin’ my index finga to stop her.
She raised her hands up. “Okay, you got that.” She picked up her fork and started eatin’ again. In between her forkfuls of shrimp, she asked, changin’ the subject, “What’s good with you and that fine nigga Grant?”
I eyed this bitch, but kept it cute. “We been talkin’,” I offered, slowly slidin’ a forkful of vegetable lo mein into my mouth. I chewed, then swallowed. “We actually went out a few times.”
“When?” she asked, surprised. “And why am I just now hearin’ ’bout it?”
“A few weeks now,” I told her, tryna front like it was no biggie. “I didn’t say shit ’cause there ain’t shit to say. We kicked it a few times, and we’ll see what happens.”
“Please tell me you gave the nigga some pussy.”
“And why would I do that?”
She popped her eyes open, and bobbed her neck back ’n forth, makin’ suckin’ sounds with her lips. “Uh, duh, ’cause ya ass ain’t tasted dick since dick tasted you.”
I laughed. “You’re a fuckin’ nut.”
“Uh-huh,” she said, laughin’. “Somethin’ ya ass needs.” She looked at me, tiltin’ her head, then raisin’ her eyebrow. “So you went out a few times with dude, and you didn’t even grind up on the nigga.”
“Nope,” I lied. “Not yet.”
