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“Whaaat?” Miss Cutie Boo snaps. “What the fuck is you tryna say? I’m not thinkin’ ’bout her man. So don’t do me, bitch.”
I turn to her. “Umm, Sugah boo, I already said it. I know a thirsty ho when I see one. And I will do you, bitch. Now try it.” I turn back to Pasha, placin’ a hand up on my hip. “Pasha Boo, these bitches in here are shameless and downright scandalous, startin’ with the one in your chair. And you know I don’t do messy.”
Stax walks back out to where Miss FeFe is, clearly not interested in what’s poppin’ off back here. Jaheem stares at me, shakin’ his head as Pasha looks from me, to the Chanel bitch, then over at Jasper.
Miss Luscious leans up like she’s ready to get outta her seat. “Bitch, you don’t know who the fuck you messin’ wit’. I will take it to ya ugly-ass face, ho.”
I laugh. “And I’d like to see you try it.”
“Look, now,” Pasha says, jumpin’ in. She holds Cutie-Boo back. “Both of you stop. Chanel, girl, go on over and sit under dryer number four, please. I’ll be back to check on you in ten minutes.”
The bitch gets up, poppin’ shit about how a bitch don’t want it with her. How she’ll bring the heat up in this bitch and wreck shop, blah, blah, blah.
I clap my hands. “Bring the heat, sugah-boo.” I clap again. “Bring. It. Ya ass just mad ’cause I called you out on ya sneaky shit. Be real, bitch. You were eyein’ her man. And you licked ya goddamn lips at him. And I peeped it. But I ain’t gonna stand here and argue with some lyin’-ass bitch. I know what I saw.”
“Yeah, whatever,” she says, sittin’ beneath the dryer. She pulls out her phone and starts talkin’ real loud. “Oooh, bitch, I wish you were here right now . . . I’m over in Jersey gettin’ my hair done at the spot I took you to . . . uh-huh, where you beat . . . ”
I turn to Pasha. “Pasha, girl. You know I pay attention to every-damn-thing goin’ on. And trust me, boo. That bitch wanna fuck ya man, or run his pockets. And Jasper’s ass is with it. Now go ’head, niggah, and say I didn’t just see you wink at her ass on the low.”
Jasper’s jaw tightens. “Yo, Cass, get da fuck outta here wit’ that dumb shit, yo. Ya crazy ass is always somewhere tryna start shit.”
“Niggah, ya lyin’-ass ain’t slick. But, whatever. I know what I saw.” Anna waves me over. I turn back to Pasha. “Ooh, girl. Miss Anna’s ready for me.” I point over at Jasper, eyein’ Pasha. “Watch him, girl. That’s all I’m sayin’.”
The Chanel bitch eyes me. And I laugh in her face, walkin’ off, shakin’ my ass over toward Anna. I overhear her sayin’, “Ugly bitch. Tryna serve it to me. . . . uh-huh . . . Kat, girl, these Jersey bitches don’t even want it . . . Bitch, please . . . you know I’m tryna keep it cute . . . but I will yabba dabba do that ho . . . Bitch, when is you comin’ back to the east coast . . . ?”
Ooh, she’s lucky Miss Pasha’s my girl. I would tear this shop up today. I don’t give a shit where that bitch is from. I’ma Brick City bitch, okay? And we hit hard. Brooklyn or not, she’s in the wrong hood tryna eye-fuck anyone up in here.
Fourteen
“Aye, yo, real shit. Why da fuck you ain’t been answerin’ ya phone, or hittin’ my text back, yo?”
I shake my head. This crazy coon’s been blowin’ my shit up for a whole week and I’ve been iggin’ his ass. I got too many other things to handle than to be dealin’ with this niggah and his needy ass. Shit, he acts like he’s my only goddamn sponsor. And the only reason his black ass won’t show up at my doorstep is ’cause he ain’t tryna disrupt his lil’ happy home, like I give a hot fuck.
“Niggah, don’t call here tryna do me. I don’t answer to you.”
“Yeah, whatever. Ya ass real type funny-style for real for real, yo.”
“Yup, I sure am. So why the hell you still callin’, niggah?”
“Yo, you already know what it is. ’Cause ya freak-ass know how’ta handle a big-ass dick. And I like beatin’ that back up; what da fuck you think?”
“Mmmph. Yeah, I can handle a dick. But that shit don’t give ya ass the right to think you own me.”
“Yo, I ain’t tryna hear that dumb shit. Answer ya shit when I hit you up.”
I laugh at his crazy ass.
“Yeah, keep laughin’, Cass; real shit. I got sumthin’ funny for ya ass. Aye, yo. I meant to get at you ’bout that stunt you pulled down at the shop the other day. That was some real foul shit, yo. You stay showin’ ya ass; for real for real. Why you always gotta try ’n blow a muhfucka’s spot up.”
I frown. “Niggah, get a grip. I do what I do. Niggahs don’t wanna get called out, then they should know how to fuckin’ move. All that winkin’ shit at some other bitch ain’t it. Now what?”
“Yo, why da fuck you care?”
“Niggah, I don’t. But that shit’s nasty and disrespectful.”
He snorts. “Yeah, right. And da shit you doin’ ain’t. Save that shit for someone else. Ya ass just like bein’ messy ’n shit.”
“Whatever, niggah. I know if I saw the shit one of them nosey-ass hoes up in there saw it, too. And that shit ain’t cool.”
