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“Tryna fuck you.” He stares me down when he says this. “Deep in that fat ass of yours.” The niggah doesn’t blink.
“And who the fuck is you?”
“Legend,” he says in his deep voice. He licks his lips, glancin’ down at my thigh while runnin’ his big hand down my back as Cassidy’s “Aim for Your Head” starts playin’. I bite down on my bottom lip. This niggah smells like trouble, looks like trouble. And I hope I don’t gotta take a bottle to his goddamn head tonight. “But niggahs out in the streets call me L.”
“Well, I don’t care what they call you out in the streets, niggah-boo, you don’t know me like that. So get ya goddamn hands off my back.” I tell him this, but I ain’t crankin’ up the noise. I keep it real calm ’n steady ’cause I done told y’all I’m tryna keep it classy tonight. But, I can already tell I’ma have to help get this niggah’s mind right in a minute.
He removes his hands. “Yeah . . . ” He pauses when Big Mike sits another drink in front of me. “Hey, Playboy, put whatever this fine, sexy thang’s drinkin’ on my tab. She drinks on me tonight, all night.” He tosses a crisp hundred-dollar bill up on the bar.
Big Mike gives him a head nod, then eyes me and winks. Dark Chocolate waits until he walks off to continue tryna crank it up. “Now back to you, sexy thang. You real feisty; just how I like ’em. I’ve been watchin’ you on the dance floor all night bouncin’ that phat, juicy ass and them melon titties, teasin’ niggahs. You got some real live moves, baby. And it looks like you know how’ta handle a dick, too.”
I lift my drink off the bar, take a sip, then eye him. “Niggah, I do. But you ain’t gonna know about it. So all that ‘she drinks on me tonight’ shit ain’t gonna earn you no pussy.”
He laughs. “I can tell you got some good-ass pussy.”
“Yeah, niggah, I do. But you won’t know about that either.”
“Oh, yeah? Is that so? And what if I told you I take what I want.”
I twist in my seat. For some reason, I believe this niggah means what he says. I can see it in his eyes. He kinda reminds me of Knutz with that glazed, empty “I’ma-walkin’-cuckoo-clock” look in his eyes. Oh, yeah. This niggah is good ’n goddamn crazy, for real! And I don’t see a goddamn thing funny about the shit he’s talkin’.
“I wanna take you outside and fuck you in the backseat of my whip and pour Hennessy down ya back and let that shit roll down into the crack of ya ass, then slurp it up. You got my dick rocked the fuck up and I wanna feel your tongue on it, then that juicy ass sittin’ down on it. My dick needs you, baby. Let me take you outside and fuck the shit outta ya freak ass.”
I blink, then gas it up on his ass straight to ghetto. “Niggah-bitch! I don’t know who the fuck you think I am, but I ain’t some hoodrat, hooker-bitch you can talk shit to! Who the fuck is you, threatenin’ to take my pussy? Niggah-bitch, puhleeze. Do you know who the fuck I am, bitch?! Obviously not. I will have you stomped up in this bitch tonight, pussy-ass coon!”
He grins, lickin’ his lips again. And that only pisses me off.
I toss my drink in his face and the next thing I know, Big Mike and three security goons pop outta nowhere and surround us. “Yo, e’erything aiight over here, Cass?” Big Mike asks, eyein’ this nutty-ass niggah. “Yo, my man, is there a problem here?”
“Nah, we good,” he says, reachin’ over the bar and grabbin’ some napkins to wipe his face and the front of his designer shirt. “Just a lil’ misunderstandin’ between me and this sexy thang.”
“Niggah, puhleeze. Misunderstandin’ my ass. You came outta ya face all wrong, bitch. Tryna play me for some low-budget hood ho. Niggah, you can’t even lick my goddamn drawers without showin’ me that cream, niggah. Tryna do me. Niggah, puhleeze. You ain’t even let me get my throat wet real good before you start comin’ at me.”
I look over and see Scooter and his boys up and on ready to set it off. Scooter makes his way over to me. “Yo, Miss Simms . . . ” He eyes Crazy Ass. “ . . . we good over here?”
“No, we ain’t good. I want this coon-bitch outta my goddamn face.” Big Mike and his goon squad tell him to bounce, or get his shit and hit the door. He puts his hands up. Tells them he wants no problems. That he only wants to have a good time. He apologizes to me. Then the crazy niggah pulls in his bottom lip and winks at me as he steps back.
As he walks off, I yell out, “And bitch, I’ma still drink on ya fuckin’ tab, all goddamn night!” I follow him with my eyes ’til he gets lost in the crowd, then tell Big Mike to fix me two more Wet Drawz. “And make it heavy on the Drawz and less wet”—meanin’ more Absolut and less goddamn Schnap
ps—“ ’cause that niggah done worked my nerves.”
Oooh, but his chocolate ass done got my drawers real juicy!
Thirty
Yo, was you poppin’ shit the other night, ma, or are you really ’bout handlin’ a dick?”
I’m half asleep when I answer my cell so my brain isn’t on alert, yet. I don’t know whose number this is, or what niggah this voice belongs to. “I glance at the clock, frownin’. It’s two in the goddamn mornin’. “Who the fuck is this?”
“It’s AJ, yo.”
I blink. “AJ? Niggah, how you get my number?”
He laughs. “You whispered that shit all sexy in my ear down at the club. Had my dick all hard’n shit da whole night.”
Oh, yeah I did give this niggah my number last week. Shit. I ain’t think he was gonna remember it. But I’m glad he did. And not because I wanna ride down on his dingaling. I want info outta this niggah. So instead of cussin’ his ass out for bein’ dead wrong for callin’ me this time of night, I bite my tongue and kick up the charm.
“Took you long enough to call, niggah. But why the fuck is you callin’ me this time of night? You must be tryna get some pussy.”
