I moaned.
"I love you, Kirbie," Archie said between sweat-drenched thrusts.
Then I thought of La'Renz Taylor, even though I'd had enough of him over the past few weeks. His dick was monstrous in my mind now, and I was replaying him stepping out of the shower naked over and over again, his meat swinging in constant repeat, back and forth as languid as a pendulum clock, until the loop ended with him climbing on top of me—and me letting him.
I wrapped my arms around Archie's neck.
But La'Renz made me cum.
Monifa Chavis: Having a dinner date with “CB” at Olive Garden in Lee's Summit. All of you haters who loved seeing me single and miserable like you, this Bud's for you! Lol!
Chapter 17
Ashleigh Hedgman
Olathe, Kansas
I was so excited after I hung up the phone with promoter Jason Carell, I fell back on my bed as if it were eight inches of snow underneath me, spreading my arms out like a kid making a snow angel. I'd finally booked Coras a gig in Kansas City! It wasn't the Sprint Center but it was the next best thing—a popular nightclub on the southside of town that he'd sold out in the past.
I thought of waiting and surprising him over dinner at Fogo de Choa on the Plaza, but I knew I wouldn't be able to wait that long. I sat up in bed and dialed his number.
He didn't answer. I called back. No answer again.
I realized I didn't have a clue where he was. He had asked to take my Porsche a few hours ago but he should have been back by now. Was he at the studio? Not likely. The only time he stayed gone in my car this early in the evening was when he used to sell weed. But he'd stopped hustling when he fell out with Milo.
Hadn't he?
I suddenly started to wonder. The past couple days Coras hadn't asked me for money at all, not cash, not my credit or debit card that was linked to the account with his show profits, not a dime. I thought I made sure he didn't have access to money unless he asked me first. Did he find a new weed connect and didn't tell me? Or did he go back to Milo?
Before I let my mind get infested with negatives, I texted Coras: Call me asap. I have good news! After another twenty minutes waiting for a response I texted Gee Beats: Tell Coras to call me please. Thank you. I got an immediate reply from Gee that read: He's not with me.
"Hmm ..." I mumbled, dumbfounded.
Where is my man?
The only other way I knew to get a hold of him was through The Site. So I left him a message in his inbox, then scrolled through my newsfeed idly as I waited for his reply. I came across a recent post from Monifa Chavis broadcasting to the world that she was out to eat with her man—someone with the initials CB—at Olive Garden in Lee's Summit. Being curious, especially since Coras's rapper initials were CB, I clicked to her page and read her second most recent status where she claimed she'd reunited with a former love. It was posted a few days ago—which was around the same time Coras stopped asking me for money.
My womanly instincts started to pulse. Something inside of me was telling me to investigate further.
I walked downstairs and peeked out the living room curtains. Yep, my Porsche was still gone. So I went with my first idea and called OnStar and asked them to geo-track my vehicle.
"Is it stolen?" the female operator asked me.
"I don't know yet," I said.
It didn't take her long to locate it. She said, "Your Porsche is in Lee's Summit right now. Where are you? Do you want me to sound its alarm so you can find it?"
My heart started to race. Monifa posted that she was in Lee’s Summit. My worst nightmare was coming true!
"I'm in Olathe right now," I answered quickly. "Sounding the alarm won't do a damn thing for me."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I thought you might have forgot where you parked. We get a lot of those."
"Can you pinpoint exactly in Lee's Summit where it's parked?"
"Yes, ma'am. I have it up on my screen already. It's parked in the parking lot of an Olive Garden."
I dropped my cell phone.
***
I stayed calm, or as calm as I could considering my crisis. I had cried for almost two hours, but when Coras called and said he was on his way here, my tears went away and I began to think with a level head. Everything could be explained rationally. One of my college professors taught me this, and I lived by it.
Why would Coras go back to Monifa?
Simple. He missed his independence, having his own money, and Monifa was the link to Milo—that is, his independence.
Whose fault was it that Coras went back to her?
It was my own fault, and I was willing to admit this to Coras as soon as he got home. I had been too controlling. He was a man, and men were leaders, and I was willing to back off and let him lead.
I was willing to do whatever it took to keep Monifa at bay.
My stomach pressed against the bathroom sink as I leaned close to the mirror, combing my straight dark hair. I didn't like the redness in my eyes so I used my eye drops, then I traced on more Chanel eyeliner—thin, precise swipes of the brush along my lashes so Coras would never know I was crying.
Rational men needed strong women.
Then I walked downstairs with grace and sat on my couch, crossing my legs. I intertwined my fingers and set them on my knee. And waited.
A moment or two passed and I heard loud hiphop music outside my house. I stayed put and listened. I almost got upset that Coras was blasting a song sang by Kirbie in my Porsche, in front of my house, but I quickly contained the enmity rising up inside my chest by taking several deep breaths. All it ever took was proper breathing and a fundamental shift in thinking to do away with bad feelings, my professor once said.
When I heard the music and the engine cut off, I got a little nervous. But I remained somewhat calm. Refrain from yelling at him, I said to myself. Don't be ghetto. He expects that behavior from Monifa's type. Be the intelligent, sophisticated woman you were raised to be.
Ten minutes went by and Coras still hadn't knocked on my front door. I waited another moment then went to the window blinds and peeked out, saw my Porsche sitting in my driveway safely—but no Coras.
Worried, I grabbed my cell phone and called him. He answered right away.
"Coras, where are you?" I said with concern, no spite in my tone whatsoever.
"I'm in traffic," he said.
"Huh? But my Porsche is out front."
"I dropped it off. The keys are in your mailbox. No need for you to call the police."
"Police? Coras, what are you talking about?"
"Look, Ashleigh. I know you saw what Monifa posted. When I called you and told you I was on my way home, I could tell you had been crying. I'm sure you figured out who CB was. You're a smart chick. I didn't want you to find out like that. Monifa was wrong for posting that shit and I told her she was wrong."
"Coras, find out what? Please, just come back home and talk to me. I'm not mad at you."
"Nah, I'm not coming home. I already know you got some bullshit waiting on me and that's what I'm trying to avoid."
"Hang up on her," I heard Monifa say in the background.
Her voice caused every muscle in my upper body to hatefully contract at once, my hand squeezing the phone as if it was her throat. She had no right to give my man directions!
"I gotta go," Coras said to me, and I sat forward on the couch, mouth agape in shock that he would actually listen to her. He'd told me not even a month ago that he wished he would have never fooled around with Monifa, that cutting her off was the best decision he ever made in his life. What was going on here? This can't be happening to me!
"No, Coras, I'm calm! I swear I am! Let's talk about this. I've been there for you since forever. I deserve a face-to-face if you're breaking up with me for Monifa. But you don't need her, I promise! I'll make whatever changes you want me to make. You can have my credit cards. I'll put my house in your name so you'll never have to worry about me threatening to kick you out ever again."
He didn't respond right away, and I got hopeful that he was reconsidering his idiotic decision to choose Monifa over me. I mean, c'mon, really? Monifa? Uneducated versus educated and independent—who wouldn't choose me?
"Coras, just come home. This is where you need to be and you know it," I said. "Coras, I’m sorry if I’ve been a bad manager. Coras? Hello?"
We had gotten disconnected somehow. I called him back but he didn't answer. I kept calling, until the tenth try when I got the realization that it wasn't a dropped call, he wasn't in a dead zone—he had hung up in my face.
I sat on the couch looking at my phone as tears flowed down my cheeks. I closed my eyes and tried to use the power of thought—a technique my professor taught me—to "see" Coras calling me back and confessing his mistake.
But the longer I meditated, the more I felt my sanity slipping away ...
Ashleigh Hedgman > Coras Bane: I'm only using this form of communication because you won't answer my calls. You know I never use The Site to contact you and I never have made our business public until now. I'm desperate, @CorasBane. And I don't care who knows it. I need you, baby! Don't give in to that old life. Resist! Monifa is the devil! Don't sell your soul to her! COME HOME! PLEASE!
Chapter 18
Kirbie Amor
Kansas City, Missouri
"Where's Coras?" I asked Gee, as I slung my backpack off my shoulder onto the floor. I sat down next to him at his workstation.
"He's not coming," Gee said, then took a sip of his Jack Daniels.
"Dammit. Why?"
He shrugged, then touched a knob on his mixer and a preset clap emerged, adding a thickness to his work-in-progress. He seemed as bummed out as me that Coras wasn't showing up.
Coras didn't know I was in town. I wanted to surprise him. Gee was supposed to call him and tell him to come to the studio, and when he got here I was going to hide under the workstation and scare him by grabbing his leg when he sat down. Gee was going to record it on his smartphone, and if we got a funny enough reaction we were going to upload it to The Site and see how many Likes we could get.
"Did he say why he couldn't come?" I asked.
"Nope."
"That sucks. He ruined the surprise."
I got my phone out and dialed the first two digits of his number (my smartphone automatically did the rest for me). Clearing my throat in preparation to disguise my voice, I wondered if he'd instantly know it was me. I probably shouldn't have been so excited to see him again but I was. I'd be fooling myself if I thought he wouldn't try something sexual again—I was actually looking forward to what he'd come up with this time. I'd stop him, of course, before he tried to go too far—I was still engaged to be married, you know—but a part of me sort of wanted things to get out of hand.
Oddly, my call was sent to Coras's voicemail. I hadn't listened to his voicemail in so long I had forgotten that he had our mixtape collab playing as his message prompt. I listened merrily until the beep came, then left him a voicemail and hung up and tried him again. No answer. Our song replayed. I hung up this time before it finished.
The next best thing was The Site. I logged in and typed in his name with my thumb and clicked the link that took me to his profile page. I was going to leave him a private message in his inbox, but I was stopped by a vehement comment posted to his page by Ashleigh. I couldn't believe what I was reading. If this was real, then Coras had left Ashleigh for Monifa.
What the fuck?
I clicked on the sub comments of Ashleigh’s crazy post. It was back-and-forth drama between Ashleigh and Monifa.
Monifa Chavis: See, I knew something had been going on between you two. I knew you were more than his manager. I'm watching out for Kirbie when I should've been watching out for you! But you can delete this post because Coras is done with you.
Ashleigh Hedgman: The only reason he's with you is for your brother's drugs. How long do you think that's gonna last? When all you fuckers go to jail I'm gonna bond Coras out and he's gonna come back home where he's supposed to be!
Monifa Chavis: Stop talking reckless on The Site, you retard! My brother doesn't sell drugs.
Ashleigh Hedgman: Everybody in KC knows what your brother does. And don't comment under my posts if you don’t want to hear the truth, bitch! This post was for my man. Stay your fucking ghetto ass out of it.
Monifa Chavis: He's not your man anymore Lol! And don't mention my name in a post and maybe I will stay out of it. And by the way, nice Porsche. The leather seats were comfy lol!
Ashleigh Hedgman: I'm gonna snatch you by your hair and punch your face in, bitch! We're gonna see how many lols you got after that! Wait till I see you, bitch!
Monifa Chavis: So who's the ghetto one now? I would respond to your threat but I have class. Lol!
I was so disappointed in Coras. How could he go back to Monifa and get tied back in with Milo after what Milo's goon did to Gee? That was betrayal.
I showed Gee my phone. "Have you seen this bullshit?" I asked him.
Gee looked at my display screen while sipping his drink. He nodded.
"You knew Coras was back with Monifa?" I said incredulously.
"Yeah. He told me."
"And you approved?"
Gee shrugged one shoulder. "He said Milo doesn't fuck with the dude who shot me no more. I understand what Coras is doing. He gotta eat. He was going through it with Ashleigh."
"I don't give a fuck what he was going through."
I tried to call Coras again. Surprisingly, he picked up this time.
"Kirbie?" he answered, his voice smiling. “Wussup wit it girl?"
"That's what I'm trying to figure out. What the hell is this shit I'm seeing on The Site?"
He explained in one word. "Drama," he said.
"You're back with Monifa?!"
"For the time being."
"That's fucking unacceptable, Coras! Milo is responsible for nearly having Gee killed. You're sleeping with the enemy!"
"I already talked to Gee about it. He knows what's going on. He's cool with it."
"Of course he's gonna be cool with it. That's how Gee is. He goes with the flow because he's your homeboy. But real niggas don't do their homeboys how you're doing Gee."
"So I'm not a real nigga now?"
"I didn't say that. But what you're doing isn't real shit. You're selling out for cash."
His voice rose. "Look, Kirbie. Some of us still have to get it how we live. Not everybody has the luxury to fly all around the country—New York, Atlanta—doing celebrity interviews and singing National Anthems and shit. Some of us still gotta get it out the mud. Don't hate me because I'm still grittin'. You don't have no idea what I'm going through because you're hundreds of miles away in music land."
I said, "Actually, I'm in Kansas City right now."
He got quiet for a moment, then said, "You're at Gee's studio?"
"Yes. Where are you?"
He paused again, and that let me know that he was either out hustling or cuddled up with Monifa.
"I'ma call you later," he said. "How long are you gon' be in town?"
"You better not fucking hang up on me!"
"I wasn't gon' hang up."
"The Coras I know wouldn't wait till later. He would drop everything and pull up right now. We used to be a solid team. Swope Records till death, remember?"
"C'mon, Kirbie, don't try and hit me with that shit. Just a little while ago you said fuck Swope Records and ran off with your fiancé to do the same thing I'm doing now. Hustling, grittin’. So who are you to judge me? Don't be a hypocrite."
I nearly hung up on Coras right then. But we never hung up on each other, no matter how mad we got.
"Bye, Coras," I said.
"Bye, Kirbie. I'll see you later."
"No, you won't."
"Yes, I will."
"Bye. I'm hanging up."
"A'ight, bye."
A half hour after me and Coras talked, I was standing in the booth alone, studio headphones tight
on my ears, waiting for the intro chords of Gee's new instrumental to fade and the downbeat to drop in. I had written a song vowing to never let a man (Coras) sexually touch me again, especially while that man (Coras) was using other women for financial gain.
Chapter 19
La'Renz "Buddy Rough" Taylor
Atlanta, Georgia
Sundi's uber-soft lips tugged on the foreskin of my hard dick with just the right amount of pull—the best head I had received since I'd been out of prison, by far. I was leaning against the dresser in the hotel as she kneeled before me sucking and bobbing away like she had a point to prove. I looked down at her and rubbed my fingers through her hair.
"I don't feel worthy of this, Sundi," I said. "This is too good for a lonely old man like me."
She made a noise out of her nostrils similar to a giggle, without even the slightest pause in head movement. Then she took a hold of my dick and balls and placed spongy kisses on the surface skin near my anus. She knew what I liked and disliked—she was playing with my boundaries.
"You're not old," she said, as she squeezed the base of my member, cutting of circulation while licking my tip. "And there's no such thing as too good."
Actually, there is, I thought.
Where another man might've been thankful for an enthralling dicksuck from such a beautiful young woman like Sundi, I was leaning more toward curiousness and cynicism. She wasn't this good when I went to prison. Seven years ago I had to teach her about sensitivity, about the "sweet spots" of my erection and how feather-light licking could be more stimulating than jerking and slobbering. She thought it was funny that a man named Buddy Rough had a preference for tender loving care.
God Don't Like Haters 3 Page 9
