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“They’re only as crazy as you make ’em. And it looks like you done drove a few of ’em over the edge.”
“Man, they were already there. All I did was stop givin’ ’em their dose of dick.”
“Shit,” he says, laughin’. “And now they got you ducking ’em. There was a time I couldn’t get rid of you; now I hardly see you.”
I laugh. “Hey. You threw me out, remember?”
“Yeah, fool, but I didn’t tell ya ass to stop coming by.”
“You right, man.” He tells me ’bout Akina comin’ to the house twice lookin’ for me and how she apologized to him. “Yeah, she told me that.”
“That gal seems to really care about you.”
I huff, flippin’ my patties over. “Well, she had a fine way of showin’ it.”
“Look, son, you know I try to stay outta ya business. And you know I’m not gonna take sides, but she told me what happened. And she was hurt by what you did. I’m not sayin’ she was right for what she did, but you gotta take some of that blame, too. Ya’ll both were wrong.”
I bite my bottom lip. Think before I speak to keep from snappin’. “Yo, that shit’s over wit’, man. It is what it is. I ain’t beat for her. I told her to stop comin’ by there. Speakin’ of which, that nut Sherria hasn’t been by there, has she?”
“No. But that other gal has.”
“Who?”
“The one who claims you knocked her up.”
I suck my teeth, sighin’. “What’d you tell that nut?”
“I told her I’d let you know she was looking for you when I spoke to you, and for her to stop coming over here.”
I shake my head, thinkin’ I’m haveta take out a restrainin’ order on her ass, too. “Yo, that chick is real extra wit’ hers. Let me get off this phone. I’ma try to come through to check you out before I leave for Phoenix in a few days, aiight?”
“Phoenix? What’s out there?”
“All-Star Weekend,” I tell him, puttin’ my patties on a plate, then sittin’ at the counter. I dig in.
“Oh, that’s right. How long you gonna be out there?”
“’Bout a week.”
“Oh, aiight. Well, you be safe out there.”
“Always,” I tell him before endin’ the call. I scroll through my address book, then hit Ramona’s ass up. Her shit’s disconnected. I’m not ’bout to let these crazy bitches stress a muhfucka out, I think, sparkin’ another blunt. I hit up Maleeka. “Yo, what’s good, baby?” I ask the minute she answers.
“Shit. Chillin’. What’s up with you?”
“Tryna fuck, baby. You feel like wettin’ this dick?”
“When?”
“Now,” I tell her, puffin’.
“You smokin’, nigga?”
“You already know.”
“I shoulda known, with ya fiend ass.”
“Yeah, aiight. I gotta fiend for that ass, aiight.”
