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“Then bring it on, nigga.”
“See you in an hour,” I say, laughin’. I finish up my blunt, then head upstairs to hit the shower. The minute I step under the showerhead, I hear Cherry’s voice. Are you addicted to sex? “Hell, no,” I say out loud. “Like I said, sex is addicted to me!”
39
The 2009 All-Star Weekend in Phoenix is aiiight this year; nuthin’ major, like how it was in Vegas. I haven’t gone to an All-Star yet that compares to that one. Anyway, it is what it is. The weather’s great. The W in Scottsdale is tight. My room overlooks Camelback Mountain, and I dig the floor-to-ceilin’ windows. Last night I had them shits slid open to let that fresh desert air in while I was butt-ass naked underneath the comforter. I slept good as hell. I swear I didn’t wanna get up. All I needed was some pussy to knock down into the featherbed, and I woulda been good to go. But most of the bitches I’ve been seein’ here so far are fuckin’ mediocre! So when these muhfuckas woke me up this mornin’, talkin’ ’bout goin’ to the Phoenix Suns forward Amare Stoudemire’s All-Star Brunch, I wasn’t really feelin’ it.
For one, we didn’t get in ’til almost three in the mornin’ from the comedy show down at the Orpheum Theatre last night. That muthafuckin’ Joe Torry is funny as shit, word up. The rest of them comedian cats were aiight. Then we headed to the after-party down at club PHX. And that shit was whack! Yeah, I popped shit to a few broads up in there, and did a two-step here ’n there wit’ a few of ’em, but that was it. There wasn’t one bitch in that spot that made my dick jump, or that I would consider lettin’ gargle my balls. Hell, lickin’ my ass, for that matter. Maybe if they were comin’ up offa some paper, but to straight fuck, nah…none of them hoes were worthy of this cock ’n cum—for free!
Second, this brunch shit was from nine to eleven, which meant I had to get up early as hell. I’m like, what the fuck?! Yeah, it’s all gravy that Amare and his crew are hostin’ the shit to benefit the Ronald McDonald House and some kinda Each 1, Teach 1 Foundation. But for a buck-twenty-five…man, listen, I ain’t feelin’ it. But I’m up ’n dressed and downstairs in the hotel lobby wit’ Mike, waitin’ on Gee and Glenn to get down here. Mike looks like shit. His eyes are red and puffy. The nigga is definitely hung the fuck over.
“Man, you look like shit,” I say, glancin’ at my watch. It’s eight-thirty. “Looks like you been up all night.”
“I have,” he says, stretchin’ out his six-four frame. “And I feel like shit, too.”
“Yeah, and you smell like it, too,” I joke.
He laughs. “Muhfucka, go ’head wit’ that.”
“What ya’ll niggas get into after I dipped?”
“I’m not sure what Gee’s drunk ass did. But Glenn and I ended up hittin’ the casino. Man, them slots weren’t doin’ shit. They were rapin’ muhfuckas.”
“Oh, word…what they get you for?”
“Like eight hunnid; somethin’ light. You know a muhfucka like me knows when to get the fuck up. But Glenn’s dumb ass let ’em drag his whole wallet, then the muhfucka gonna ask me to spot his ass.”
I shake my head. “Did you?”
“Yeah, I hit that nigga wit’ a couple of hunnid.”
I laugh. “What a loser.”
“I told that muhfucka I want my shit back, too.”
“Good luck. You know that nigga don’t like payin’ up.”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I ain’t tryna hear that shit, man. That
’s my boy and all, but let ’im fuck around and don’t pay me my money. I’ma end up goin’ in his mouth, real talk.”
I shake my head, checkin’ out these two honeys standin’ at the concierge desk ’cross the lobby. I squint as they turn ’round and make their way toward us. “Gotdaaaaaaaaaaaaaaamn, them bitches are bad,” I say, practically droolin’. They the hottest and baddest hoes I’ve seen this whole trip.
Mike agrees. “Word up, but I bet they some stuck-up ho-types.”
They both look mixed. One of ’em is light-skinned wit’ long, thick wavy hair pulled back into a ponytail; the other is the color of cinnamon wit’ bone-straight, shoulder-length hair, lookin’ like an Egyptian goddess. They fine as fuck, and I’d dick ’em both. But the one who stands out the most is the one wit’ the chinky eyes. She looks exotic. And she has the kinda swagger that lets a muhfucka know she’s ’bout her business. She catches me starin’ at her. And I swear I think I see her lick her lips at me. Her hips sway, hard. And I’m convinced she’s throwin’ me the twat. That bitch got some good-ass pussy, I bet. My mouth waters.
“Yo, what’s good?” I ask the minute they walk past.
No response.
No, these bitches didn’t disregard me like I’m some crab-ass nigga. Mike looks at me, smirkin’. I frown. “Aye, pretty ladies,” I say, gettin’ up and followin’ behind ’em.
The Egyptian goddess tosses her hand up in the air, not botherin’ to look back at me. “Beat it,” she says.
I hear Mike laughin’. “I told you, man,” he says. But I ain’t the one to be dismissed or easily deterred when I see sumthin’ I wanna get at. I get up behind them in the revolvin’ door. “Oh, word. It’s like that? A muhfucka speaks to two beauties and he can’t even get a simple hello?”
“What, nigga, you want some pussy?” the light-skinned broad snaps, cuttin’ her eyes at me.
