I Gave Him My Heart

by Krystal Armstead

  I sighed. “Girl, hell nah. At least ten booths are empty. Some nigga named Knox called and said he’d be a few minutes late. That his got-damn limo was stuck in traffic. What kind of name is Knox any got-damn way?” I picked up the nametag I’d made for him and then flicked it back on the table. I looked up at Pretty, who was paying my ass no attention.

  I traced her line of vision to a group of guys who strolled through the arena, looking like a group of young rappers. I was tired of thugs, whereas Pretty was infatuated with them. These young niggas came strolling up to the table like they owned the place. The cutie at the front of the pack grinned at Pretty and I, looking us both over. I’d admit, me and my bish were looking fly as fuck, but he still didn’t have to stare.

  “So, you gonna sign in or what, youngin'?” I asked, looking him over a little. From his baseball cap to those expensive shoes. Whoever made those shoes, they were way above my pay grade to even know the designer’s name.

  “Sign in? Everyone here knows me.” He grinned, perfect teeth and all.

  I scoffed, rolling my eyes. “Well, I don't know who you are, muthafucka.”

  Pretty nudged me, eyes widening. “Do you ever have any chill?”

  I rolled my eyes from her back over to him. “Who are you supposed to be, little nigga?”

  “Timothy Knoxberry.” He shook his head at me, taking the sign in sheet from Pretty's hands.

  My eyes widened a little. Yeah, I knew him. Who the fuck didn’t know his work? I'd never seen a picture of him, but his artwork was everywhere. Shit, he’d designed the building that we were sitting in. I was told he wasn’t white, but in my head, when I thought about Timothy Knoxberry, I pictured some nerdy, twenty-something-year-old white man, dressed in Old Navy. But the man before me was definitely not white or nerdy. He had an almond brown complexion. His head was covered with a titled baseball cap, but I could still see the smooth wave pattern of his low haircut. He had a perfect goatee. He had the cutest smile and the most perfect set of lips. He was dressed in a black and white plaid short-sleeved shirt, white t-shirt, and baggy black jeans. Fresh sneakers covered his feet. And a plaid baseball cap covered his head. Tattoos laced his muscular arms. That nigga was fine, and he knew it.

  “How was I supposed to know it was you, Timothy Knoxberry, especially when your name is not on the got-damn list?” I wasn’t falling back just because he was worth octillions. “And we’re gonna have to do something about that name.” I shook off my long gaze and looked up into his face. “I don’t like Tim’s. Every nigga I know named Timothy is a got-damn asshole.”

  I hated niggas named Tim. From this nigga I used to fuck with back in high school, who only got with me to make his ex-girlfriend mad, to Aunt Toni’s perverted husband, whose ass should’ve been under the jail after what he did to me.

  “Well, my people call me Knox.” Knox picked up the nametag from the table that read “Knox.” He grinned at me before looking back at his entourage behind him. Then, he looked back at me. “And you, your name is Kourtney, right?”

  I looked at Pretty, who was grinning her ass off. I rolled my eyes. Every nigga made her smile it seemed. I looked at Knox. “It's ‘next in line’, homie. Now keep it movin’.”

  Knox and his niggas laughed at my arrogance.

  Knox smiled. “Okay, Miss Kourtney, I got you. I’ll see you around, wit’cha sexy, mean ass.”

  I rolled my eyes at the nigga as he strolled over to the huge booth that was set up for him and his crew. “Young niggas kill me.”

  “Kourtney!” Pretty slapped my shoulder. “Girl, that nigga is every got-damn thing! Do you know who he is? That nigga is the youngest male in the Knoxberry family! Has paintings and murals in museums all over the country! He designed this building!”

  I brushed her off. “Yeah, yeah, I know who he is. And?”

  Pretty rolled her eyes. “The fuck you mean ‘and’? Just that nigga’s signature is worth about fifty million dollars! His sister dances for Jamie Green and Anastasia Jones! That nigga’s family is the richest family in the United States and probably the fifth richest family in the world! You betta recognize, ‘Miss Kourtney’!”

  I scoffed, glancing over at Knox’s table. “Ask me how many fucks I give, Pretty.” I held up a zero with my fingers. “Zero, zero, zero, zero!” I sang, in my Chris Brown voice.

  Pretty looked at me like I was crazy. “Girl, you’re trippin’. I’d fuck the tattoos off that nigga!”

  I laughed out loud. “Girl, you say that about every nigga who’s got tattoos!”

  Pretty rolled her big, pretty eyes. “And? Shit.”

  I looked at her, laughter subsiding. “Wait a minute. How did you know who this nigga was and what he looked like? There are no pictures of this nigga anywhere.”

  “Me and the crew went to the strip club last night. Ya nigga was there, painting this mural on the wall of the strippers. Oh, it was awesome. The nigga wasn’t even thinkin about them bitches.” Pretty looked Knox’s way. “Shit, the mural he painted looked a lot better than them tired hoes.”

  I looked over in Knox’s direction, watching people already begin to crowd around his table.

  It wasn’t too long before my crew from Baltimore showed up to our table, which was right alongside the registration table that I sat at with Pretty. Fallon had the goodies, and my team had the gift bags for the people who came to look at our table. While I was setting up my booth, I couldn’t help but miss Nina. Expos were once her thing. It was my first expo without her. She was home, taking care of her baby, while I was out, making a name for myself and my new businesses. I missed her so much.

  “You look like you’re deep in thought.” I heard that young nigga’s smooth yet rugged voice again.

  I looked up from my beef supreme Chalupa, with no lettuce or tomato, into Knox’s face. I wanted to roll my eyes, but he was looking too cute. And that got-damn smile of his. “What do you want, youngin’?” I huffed.

  “Just a chance to chill wit’cha. Everybody is taking a lunch break but you. I thought you might be lonely, so I came over to chill with’cha, that is, if you don’t mind.” Knox came over and sat in the chair next to mine.

  I laughed a little. “Actually I do mind. I’m not lonely; I like eating alone.”

  Knox shook his head. “Nah, I don’t think you like eating alone. I just think eating is your personal time, and you don’t like getting personal with anyone. Anyone that isn’t Nina Nicolas.”

  I stopped mid-bite to look into that nigga’s face. This boy was one of the busiest niggas that I’d heard of, yet he had the time to stalk my life. “You stalkin’ me, little nigga?”

  Knox scoffed. “Stalkin’ you? Who’s stalkin’ you? The Nicolas’ are always in the spotlight. I’ve seen your face all over social media, not to mention TMZ, BET, MTV, and Reelz TV. I don’t even have much time to watch television, but best believe, I see your face just about every time I turn it on. And every time I see a show featuring you, you were with Nina. Rumor has it, you’re doing that reality show, The Life of a Nicolas. They say you’re shooting the pilot for the show on New Year’s, when you open up your club in the Dominican Republic.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. Yup, he was a stalker. “Stalkin’ ass.” I laughed, eating the rest of my Chalupa.

  Knox grinned, shaking his head to himself. “Yeah, I guess I do sound like a stalker, huh?”

  I nodded. “Yes; yes, you do.”

  “But I made you smile though.” Knox smiled at me, bright brown eyes searching my face.

  I looked into his face. I can't believe this young ass dude has the nerve to step to me, trying to kick some game, I thought to myself. Looking like he just hit puberty. Is he even potty trained? The muthafucka can't be older than twenty-five... But he is sexy though.

  “I’ve seen hundreds of thousands of your paintings from the time I was in middle school until now. My cousin, Nina, was obsessed with you. I swore up and down that you were white until Nina told me that she saw you wh
en you were a kid, painting a mural of your sister on a museum wall in San Diego. Your family is so rich, snobbish, worldly, and you’re so…” I hesitated.

  “Hood?” Knox finished my sentence for me.

  “Not like them were the words that I was looking for.” I shook my head. “I haven’t seen one photo of you anywhere, in any magazine or on any television show. Why? Why aren’t you associated with them?”

  Knox just looked at me a few seconds before taking the Chalupa from my hands to take a bite. I watched him lick the sour cream from his lips before handing me back my food. “You wouldn’t understand my pain, Ma.” Knox said after a long moment of silence.

  I disagreed. “Nah, hun, I know pain, trust me.”

  Knox shook his head. “Not my kind of pain.”

  I looked his face over before taking a bite out of my food.

  We sat there in awkward silence for a minute. A few people passed by, pointing at Knox along the way. It was sort of surreal to be around a billionaire who didn’t really acknowledge how much he was worth. He was young, and I hated young niggas because they were so thirsty. But, Knox was different. He was Saint’s friend, so I already knew the nigga was arrogant and cocky as a muthafucka. Every nigga Saint knew was conceited and overly confident. A façade to cover up the fact that he was hopelessly insecure.

  “So, how old are you anyway?” I broke the silence.

  “Old enough,” Knox huffed.

  I rolled my eyes. “You forgot that my sista grew up admiring you. You had to be like five or six when she first saw you. We were twelve then, so you can’t be over twenty-five.” I looked him over a little.

  “I’m twenty-six.” Knox corrected me, grinning a little. “Age ain’t nothing but a got-damn number. Don’t be so quick to judge me, Kourtney. I know a lot about you to judge you if I wanted to, but I’m not. You’re older than me and have done plenty of irresponsible, childish shit, but who am I to judge?”

  I smacked my lips at him. “Nigga, go ‘head with all that bullshit.” I crumbled up the wrapper that my Chalupa came out of. “You need to go ‘head on, wit’cha young ass. You don’t know shit about me, Knox. And the only thing I know about you is that you can paint. I didn’t come all the way up here from Punta Cana, Dominican Republic to have small talk with a nigga who doesn’t even know his worth.”

  Knox scoffed. “My worth?”

  “Yes, nigga, your worth. I heard that just your signature is worth a couple of millions, yet you’re over here talkin’ to a chick who is making it perfectly obvious that, no matter how much got-damn money you make, she’s not interested in young niggas. All these women in here and you chose the one who doesn’t want anything to do with you; that says a lot about you.” I shook my head at him. “You must like rejection.”

  “Nah, I just like a challenge.” Knox slid me a flyer.

  I looked down at the flyer, reading the invitation. As soon as I saw the words, ‘New Year’s Eve Party’, I slid the shit back to him. “Where is this party, Knox? Chuck E. Cheese?”

  Knox laughed out loud, “The fuck? Chuck E. Cheese? Man, you are really something else! Just chop a nigga all the way down. Damn. It’s at the Baltimore Arena. My nigga, Joe Kendrix, is throwing a party. You’re guaranteed to have a good time, Kourtney. I’ll get’cha back to your hotel safe. Or better yet, I’ll bring you back to my place.”

  I watched this young muthafucka lick his lips. It took everything in me not to grab his face and kiss him. I remained calm and full of attitude. “Boy, bye. Dude, my bar opens in Punta Cana on New Year’s Eve. And even if it didn’t, ain’t nobody tryin’ to kick it with a bunch of preschoolers.” I watched Knox exhale deeply before getting up from my table.

  “Who you kickin’ it with tonight, Ma?” Knox tried again.

  “Not with you.” I rolled my neck and my eyes.

  Knox grinned. “Whatcha doing tonight, Ma? Why you playin’? Let me buy you a drank or take you out.”

  I smacked my lips. “Boy, bye. I’ve lived in North Carolina for twelve years. I know my way around this muthafucka, dude. I don’t have time for you. And I don’t date, fuck, or suck niggas in their twenties. I’m sorry that I’m not sorry, dude.”

  “Yo.” Knox laughed out loud. “Your ass is crazy…” His eyes searched my face.

  “And I like that shit.”

  My heart sped up in my chest a little.

  “You’re not even gonna get to know me before you swear me off altogether? I promise you; I’m not like any other man you’ve ever met, twenty-something or not. I could teach you a thang or two if you give me the chance.” Knox stood before me, so cute and seemed so sincere.

  But I had to shut him down. “I’ve learned enough from niggas to know that y’all are all the same. The next nigga who gets any of Kourtney is gonna have to do more than look good. The next nigga is gonna have to work for this. And the next nigga is gonna have to be older than got-damn twenty-six. You’re barely legal, dude. Billionaire or not, you’re not my type. Now beat it.”

  Knox laughed a little to himself. “Yeah, we’re gonna have to do something about that attitude. You fuckin’ with the right one.” Knox lowered his baseball cap a little before walking away from me.

  I could finally breath when he walked away. I let out a long sigh. That young dude was everything, but my heart had been through enough turmoil. Once I let Niq’ back into my soul, I knew I needed some serious help. I was all confused. Had no direction. Every man I’d given my heart to had hurt me, from the man who I believed was my father to the man who belonged to a girl I’d grown up with. I’d taken a break from sex because that was all it was. It didn’t mean anything. I can actually count the amount of times that I’d orgasmed. Sex just gave me control. It made me feel important. It wasn’t until Brittanie revealed that Peanut had HIV that I realized how lucky I was. It wasn’t until Brittanie put Niq’s lifestyle on blast that I realized I was nothing but the easy girl, the one niggas went to when they needed a fix. I was tired of being that girl.

  Chapter Six

  Bébela

  “Kourtney, you met Timothy Knoxberry?” You should have seen the look on Nina’s face the following weekend, after me and my girls made it back to Punta Cana. Nina was too pressed.

  I rolled my eyes, sliding into my Adidas sandals. “Girl, yes.”

  “The nigga tried to get with her at the expo, and she totally dissed him.” Pretty was in her feelings about that shit. “That beautiful nigga, with all those tattoos, and those perfect teeth, and those got-damn dimples! Whoot! She crazy as a muthafucka!”

  “Y’all already know that I don’t fuck with young niggas. If I make that nigga cum, I already know he’s gonna be stressing the fuck outta me. You know how young niggas are.” I rolled my eyes, watching Chelsea brewing coffee in the corner of the shop. I looked back at Nina, who was grinning at me from ear to ear. “What?”

  “Did’ja give the nigga your number or what, Kourtney?” Nina ignored me because she already knew I was lying to myself about my attraction to Knox.

  “No,” Fallon, who had flown in to spend a few weeks in the DR for the holidays, smacked her lips. “But best believe that nigga is gonna show his face soon. I’ve only been here a few hours, but when I went to the corner market to get some soda for the ‘fridge, I bumped into this dude name Juan. His family owns the corner market. Juan was like, ‘hey, I remember you; you were at the expo in Raleigh.’ I was like, ‘yeah, cutie, I was.’” Fallon laughed to herself.

  Lailah rolled her eyes. “Girl, get to the got-damn point before customers start rollin’ in. Damn.”

  Fallon rolled her big brown eyes. “He said that he works at one of Timothy Knoxberry’s tattoo shops. Juan said that he was in town for a few weeks, for the holidays, and that Timothy Knoxberry might be here for Christmas or for New Years. He wasn’t sure which one, but he said the young muthafucka is coming!”

  I rolled my eyes, rubbing my head anxiously, irritated by how happy everyone was that Knox was coming to t
own to stalk my ass. “Lordt.”

  Nina nudged me. “Now, do you remember all those pep talks you gave me last year about getting to know Saint?”

  “Yes, Nina, I fuckin’ remember,” I snapped, knowing she was just waiting for the day that she could pay me back. “And look how that shit turned out! I told you to get with Saint, and you ended up marrying his brother! Apparently, my matchmaker skills are off, boo. I’m trying to get my bar that’s here together. Trying to get Young Chambers afloat. Shit, Insertion is opening a week after my bar here is. The executive producers at Reelz TV have stalked me for months. If they catch wind that Timothy Knoxberry is trying to holla at me, oh, they’re gonna have a field day, and y’all know it.”

  “You like this nigga, huh?” Nina ignored me again.

  I just looked at the grin on her face. I wasn’t even gonna lie; I couldn’t get his smile or the sound of his voice out of my head. I tried doing research on the dude, but there was nothing on that nigga. I tried Googling him and nothing. He was a mystery. A sexy mystery.

  “No, I don’t like him. Okay?” I rolled my eyes. “I don’t know anything about him. I tried Googling the little nigga, and there’s nothing on him. Nothing but his name, and the fact that he’s an architect, photographer, and tattoo artist. When I Googled his family name, there were pictures of his family all over the muthafucka. All I found with Knox’s name on it were his paintings and buildings that he helped construct or design.”

  “Well, his sista is a dancer. Roxanne Knoxberry. I know her.” Fallon spoke up. “We had a few classes together at Howard. She dances for Black Beauty. And she’s about to be in Jamie Green’s new video, Panties Off. That lucky bitch. Anyway, Knox owns like six tattoo shops in Maryland, DC, and Virginia.”

  We all looked at Fallon.

  Fallon shrugged. “What? I used to fuck with his friend, Joe Harris. He works with Knox at one of his shops in Baltimore. Knox doesn’t associate himself with his family, and apparently the muthafuckas don’t associate themselves with him or his sista.”