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“Yeah, aiiight. Play stupid, yo.”
I don’t know why I feel like fucking with him when I hate it when he does the shit to me. Oh, well. “How is asking you if you went to work playing stupid? Help me understand that. All I want to know is how my man’s day was.”
He sucks his teeth. “Whatever, yo. Yeah, I worked, smart-ass.”
“And did you have a good day?”
“Yo what the fuck, man?” he huffs, sounding agitated. “Yeah, I had a good day. Damn.”
“That’s good,” I say sarcastically, opening a new email. Still nothing worthy of a response. I delete it, then get up from the computer and lay across the bed.
No response.
“Why are you getting all quiet on me?”
“Yo, you always gotta try ’n be on some extra shit.”
“How you figure?”
“Nothing,” he snaps. Felecia is calling in. I tell him to hold on, then click over.
“Hey, girl, I gotta call you back. I’m on the phone with Jasper.”
“Oh, aiight. Tell him I said hey. You still up for drinks?”
“Yeah,” I tell her, deciding going out is probably the best thing for me to keep me from going out on the prowl tonight. “Let’s meet in an hour.” We hang up. I click back over. “Okay, I’m back.”
“Yo, who the fuck you clickin’ over for?” I tell him it was Felecia. Tell him she wants to go out for drinks. “On a Wednesday night? Where at?” I tell him where. He grunts. In my mind’s eye, I can see his jaws tightening. “What, ya’ll goin’ to meet up wit’ some niggas?”
I suck my teeth. “What kinda shit is that? Nigga, please. Meeting up with a nigga is the last thing on my mind.” Oh, okay, I’m lying. Well, partially. Shit, I’m not interested in meeting up with a nigga at a damn bar. Meeting his ass in a dark alley, an empty parking garage, or even a park, perhaps, might work. But not in a public social setting. “Besides,” I continue, “I got a man, and so does Felecia.”
“And? What’s that got ta do wit’ shit?”
“I guess nothing. If you don’t know, then neither do I.”
“Yeah, okay. Keep it up, aiight. You gonna have me go in ya mouth, word up.”
I laugh. “Yeah, right. The only thing you gonna have go in my mouth is that black dick, and that thick creamy nut, nigga.”
“Aye, yo,” he says, lowering his voice. I knew saying that shit would calm him down, for the moment at least. Anything that has to do with me fucking or sucking him does the trick all—well, most—of the time. “Go ’head wit’ that ’fore you have me sneakin’ outta this muhfucka to beat that back up.” I open my mouth to say something, but he tells me he has to go, then abruptly hangs up. I yawn, feeling my eyes getting heavy. I glance at the clock on the nightstand. 9:47 P.M. I’m gonna close my eyes for a quick minute, take me a disco nap, then hop in the shower and be ready to meet up with Felecia, I think, sinking into the plushness of my bed. All I need is a few, quick zees.
I hear the doorbell, but think I am dreaming. It isn’t until I hear heavy banging and my cell phone ringing at the same time that I realize it’s real; that I am not stuck in LaLa Land. I jolt up in bed, glancing at the clock. 11:18 P.M. I reach for my cell. Look at the screen and answer, getting off the bed to see who is banging on my door like they’ve lost their fucking mind. I can’t believe I fell asleep on top of the covers, with my clothes still on, like that. “Hurry up and come open the door,” Jasper says the minute I pick up.
“Open the door? That’s you downstairs banging like that?”
“Yeah, who else you think it’s gonna be?”
I frown. “Nigga, how the hell I know? Why you think I didn’t get up to answer it?”
“Yeah, aiight. Well, hurry up and get down here.” Just like that, he hangs up. What the hell is he doing here when I told him I was going out with Felecia? Shit, I forgot to call her. I check my cell. Notice she sent me a text. I reply back to her as I make my way to the door. I unlock and open it.
“What in the world are you doing here this time of night?” I ask, swinging the door open. I step back as he hurriedly walks in. “Who’s that outside?”
The minute I shut the door, he starts removing all of his clothes. “Yo, I only got thirty minutes, so we don’t have time for a buncha chit-chat.” He tells me he slid one of the night counselors a hundred-dollars to let him slip out. He tells me he has to be back in by twelve-thirty. That the nigga outside is one of his man’s.
“Are you crazy? Nigga, you trying to get your ass locked back up.” It’s a comment, more of a statement, than a question.
“No, I’m tryna get some pussy and you wasting time wit’ a buncha questions. Take them fuckin’ clothes off,” he says, pressing me up against the door. “You already know what it is.”
