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Kareema laughed, running her hand up the nape of her neck, through her weave. Synthetic. Mmph. Cheap bitch couldn’t even spring for human hair.
“Girl, stop,” she said as she sat across from Heaven. “You know your ass can wear the shit out of a trash bag if you had to.” Kareema continued to assess Heaven’s attire. “Even in those knock-off Nikes, you look cute. Ooh, I hate you.”
Is this bitch throwing shade?
“Of course you do,” Heaven replied nonchalantly. “What else is new? Everyone is guilty of being jealous of me at some point. It’s inevitable. Cute weave, though.”
“Ooh. You tried it,” Kareema said. “Jealous, of who? You?” She snorted. “Honey, please. I’d never be jealous of you, especially now. Girl, your ass is locked up.”
Truth was, she did, in fact, secretly hate on her. Was it that obvious? Oh well. Fuck her. She was glad the bitch was locked up. Served her stuck-up ass right. Shooting her man in the back like that. She could have paralyzed him, or worse—killed him. So what if she’d caught him fucking some other bitch. She should have jumped on that bitch instead. Heaven was a stupid ho, Kareema thought.
So what if he fucked other bitches? It came with the territory. Fucking a baller came with rewards and consequences. And there were rules to being his woman. The stupid bitch should have played her position, then she wouldn’t be locked the hell up, missing out on all that good dick.
Yes, Lord. The man had amazing dick.
She’d fucked her man twice. And he’d made her come, hard, each time. Now she sucked out his tasty nut every chance she got.
And this bitch sitting here in prison garb was none the wiser.
Kareema smirked as Heaven eyed her, taking in her flawless makeup, perfectly threaded brows, and lush mink lashes. Kareema was an attractive, shapely female. However, Heaven wished she’d do something with that wide gap between her teeth and her obnoxious overbite. Her gaze dipped to the white-gold necklace, which hung around Kareema’s slender neck.
“Ooh, I’m loving the necklace,” Heaven cooed, feigning envy. “What type of stones are they?” she asked, baiting her. The oval cluster of white sapphires shimmered beneath the bright lights, giving off the illusion of being diamonds to the untrained eye. But Heaven knew better.
She knew diamonds. And she knew frauds. And this flat-ass bitch was a fake; from her scalp to her acrylic nails to the blue contact lenses in her eyes. If she was going for exotic, she’d failed terribly.
Kareema’s hand went to her neck, and her fingertips gently caressed her glittery necklet. “Diamonds, hon.” She puckered her lips, then tilted her head. “You do know they’re a girl’s best friend.”
Uh-huh. Something you’d never be.
Still, she smiled, her gaze quickly sliding over the rest of Kareema’s attire. Cinched above her waist was a red Gucci belt over a black True Religion short-sleeved V-neck paired with a denim ankle-length skirt. She wore a cute pair of red Gucci pumps on her feet.
Kareema flipped her weave. “But, anywhooo. I didn’t come to compare hair tips, or talk about my jewels. You ready to catch this tea, girl?” She tilted her head, and waited for Heaven’s response.
“No. Not particularly,” Heaven said dryly as their gazes locked. “But how about you tell me what’s good with you, instead. Pour some hot tea on that.”
“Ooh, girl. Shade.”
Heaven tossed her hair again. “Well?”
Kareema waved her on. “Girl, I’m doing me. Just got back from South Beach with bae. And got wined and dined, then fucked down real right.”
Heaven’s eyelids fluttered. Bae? Since when did she start calling some man her bae? She gave Kareema a questioning look.
“Yassss, hunty,” she continued. “And my young boy puts it down.” She fanned herself. “All he fucks with is older women.”
“So, your old-ass is out there robbing cradles now,” Heaven said sarcastically. “How romantic. So where’d y’all meet? The playground?”
“No, bitch. Down at The Crack House,” Kareema said.
Heaven frowned. Of course she’d find her true love down at some ratchet hood club where all the local thugs and wannabe ballers hung. Typical Kareema.
Heaven slowly nodded. “Oh, okay. So you’ve retired from the block now?”
Kareema frowned. “The block? Ho, you tried it. I ain’t never been on no damn block.”
“Mm-hmm, okay. So how old is this new boo of yours?”
Kareema tossed her weave. “Twenty-four, but he’ll be twenty-five in a few months.”
