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“Yeah, but—”
“Then stop acting like a hoe. It doesn’t matter how they get out of that bitch as long as they come out of it. It’s time to expand. Fuck the bullshit.”
“True. True. I guess we could stop by if they ain’t hearing the latest offer.”
“Pull down on ’em and they won’t have shit but what we offer them at that moment. With a Glock in their face, they’ll give you a hell of a discount.”
“Makai, you pushing it, nigga.”
“Nah, I’m ready for you to stop bitching and handle your business.”
“Trying to do shit the legit way.”
“Where is that getting you, homie?”
“I’m with you when you’re right.”
As he put the blunt to his mouth again, a phone began to ring. Because it was right beside me, I assumed it was mine. However, the red hearts gathered on the screen deterred my plans to answer. Trent picked up the phone between us, instead. The smile that tugged at his lips caused my top lip to rise slightly.
“This nigga in love like a motherfucker,” I hissed. “Showing all ya fucking teeth. Put them big shits up.”
“You ain’t never been a hating ass nigga. What’s up with you?” he asked, answering the call.
Saving my comments, I lowered the volume on the stereo so that he could hear his lady.
“What’s good, baby?”
His entire demeanor switched up. I watched as his hardened exterior softened.
Pussy ass, I joked inwardly.
Accepting the blunt he offered, I kept busy as the short conversation continued. Within a minute, it was ending and the music was up again.
“Take me to my whip. I’m calling it a night. Got to stop by the store and get Ava a few of her favorites.”
Nodding, I pressed the gas, disagreeing with the red light that demanded I stay put. Burning the rubber of my tires, I made the illegal U-turn and pulled up to the gas station.
“This nigga here,” Trent sighed. “If I don’t make it home to my girl, she’s going to be pissed. Stop all that dumb-ass driving.”
Disregarding his offensive comments toward my driving, I hopped out of the car the second the wheels stopped rolling and it was parked. Deading the engine didn’t cross my mind because I dared a motherfucker to even step too close to my shit and I was airing their shit out.
Without haste, I strolled down every aisle, loading my arm with whatever snacks my current appetite found appealing. I puffed on the blunt that I’d brought inside with me, blowing the smoke into the air, imagining how I was about to smash everything in my hand.
“Sir, no sm—”
“Ahmad, don’t act like you ain’t see me come in this bitch.”
“Makai, my guy. What’s up?”
“I’m not ya guy, my nigga. I told you, get you some fucking drip with all this money you making in this bitch and then I’ll consider it. Get rid of them bifocals and get you some 20/20 vision. Stop wearing them boring ass khakis—matter of fact, forget it. Ain’t no hope for ya, dog.”
“Man, you know I got swag. Stop trying to play me.”
“Nah, in fact, you don’t. Niggas with it ain’t got to announce it. That’s rule number one. Rule number two, stop getting ya fucking shoes so big before you trip over ’em.”
“You know what they say about big fee–”
“Don’t ever say that shit to another man. Make that rule number three.” Scoffing with a shake of my head, I started for the door.
