by Love Belvin
“Only once,” he cracked a smile anyway. “But that wasn’t it. It was something more. When she pulled out on that girl back in high school, everybody woke the hell up then.”
“Pulled out?” I yanked my head back. “As in a gun?”
He nodded. “She got arrested and everything. They did a mental evaluation on her and turns out she got some form of depression.”
“What made her ‘pull out’ on a girl? Did she catch you with her?”
“I never even touched the girl…didn’t even know her. She came to our prom with another girl from our school. Kim said I was sneaking conversations with her that night. I barely remembered her. She waited over a month later when I left for football camp to fuck with her. She stalked the girl, found out where she and her friends lived, and went to her house one night that summer with a gun.”
“Oh, my god!”
“The gun wasn’t loaded, but she planned to use it. The girl pressed charges on Kim. Her parents fought crazy hard for jail time. But without the bullets, Kim’s lucky ass got off easy. She had to go to therapy and was on parole.”
“Why would your mother want you to keep in touch with her? You’re clearly a trigger for her.”
“A few years went by and I started school. Kim went to MCCC—community college—and had been laying low. My mom keeps up with her aunt and heard Kim’s therapist was saying she was doing better and needed to try to make good with the people she fucked up with.” He shrugged.
“Is that why you’re so adverse to therapy?”
At first, Rut didn’t answer. “She crazy as fuck. I ain’t. The one other person I ever heard going to see a head-fucker is you. And I know you ain’t…” He hesitated.
With full-on demure and a smiling heart, I asked, “Crazy?”
Rut rolled his eyes, not wanting to answer directly.
“I told you therapy isn’t just for the mentally insane. I think they require a little more. Therapy is just regular conversations with a mental housekeeper. Therapists, how I see it, are available to help you stay ahead of you. People like you and me can get ahead of ourselves with our actions, egos, and self-esteem even.”
“My self-esteem good,” he scoffed, eyes out of the window. “Real good.”
“Yeah. Too good for your britches at times.” I rolled my eyes. “My point is, it’s good the woman Kim received the diagnosis. She could have hurt someone without it.” I snorted, “Looks like she still may. And I find it awesome that you’re talking your thoughts out with a professional, too. It’s better than with your boys.”
“All I’m talking to her about is not fuckin’ you again,” Rut grated.
“What?”
“Yeah. I told you she the one who said to try to get to know you.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“But she keeps saying to do it without my dick.”
Fats, in the driver’s seat, shifted up there while clearing his throat. That caught Rut’s and my attention.
I laughed.
“What?” Rut asked.
“My therapist suggested the same thing when I called her a few days ago about you again.”
His forehead wrinkled. “Why you call her again? I thought you don’t see her no more.”
“I don’t as much as I used to, but she gave me an open invite to keep in touch, even if it’s through telephone or text.” I shrugged. “I’m just not clear about you.” My eyes went out to the highway we were now traveling.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t know. It’s like you said earlier: I met you exactly sixteen days ago. You’re the first guy I’ve slept with in years and it was a one-night stand!”
“And what’s wrong with that?”
I turned back to him. “I don’t do one-night stands, Rut! I’m almost thirty years old. I should be more settled than that.”
“I ‘on’t get it,” he mumbled, seemingly irritated by the conversation.
“And that’s sad. You’re what?” I jumped in my seat, my back no longer on the chair. “How old are you?”
Rut looked at me as though I’d lost my mind. “Twenty-four.”
“Oh, god!” I had lost my mind.
“What’s the deal?”
“I’ve been wanting to jump your bones all week and you’re only twenty-four? This is awful!”
“Aren’t you from Waterbury? You flippin’ out like a Milford girl.” He chuckled. “You got a degree in chemistry and ain’t do the math on my age?”
Without looking at him, I shook my head, feeling pathetic. How stupid of me not to think of how young he was. Most rookies drafted were younger than twenty-four. Then it dawned on me. “How are you twenty-four and just graduating college?”
A lazy smirk lifted from his face. “I got left back in second grade.”
“How does a kid get left back in second grade?”
“When their mother doesn’t send him to school every day.”
“So that put you behind?”
“That and getting redshirted in college.”
I sucked in a breath. “Why were you redshirted?”
“I was a wild boy going in. I had some maturing to do. My ass almost got kicked out my freshmen year.” He wouldn’t look at me as he admitted that.
“Because of the threesome tape?” I recalled reading about that after we met. The story rang familiar. Like I’d heard it before.
Rut nodded. “They wanted to clip me. The only reason they didn’t was because it wasn’t me who recorded it or shared it. I was actually the victim. One of the girls’ boyfriends sent it out. He got expelled. My…mentor got his lawyer on it right away to be sure the black kid didn’t get disposed of even though I had nothing to do with it being recorded.” He paused for a moment. “The decision was to sit me for the next year.”
I scooted closer and curled my body underneath him, resting my head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry, Rut.”
He chuckled. “For what? I was lucky. I had the resources to protect my ass. If I was any other poor boy from Trenton, I would’ve been expelled. Good shit…second-chance opportunities don’t happen to cats like me. Not no regular Trenton nigga.”
My eyes swept up his neck until I reached his eyes that were cast out the window.
“Not even B-Rocka?” I whispered.
Wordlessly, Rut reached for my hand, pulled it over his leg, and squeezed.
~Thirteen
My phone rang loud in my hand.
Shit…
I tapped to answer quickly while Parker wriggled on my lap.
“Yeah?” I tried whispering.
“Yo, Rut Rut!” Mickey screamed into the phone. There was loud music and people shouting in the background. “Where yo pussy ass at, boy?” He laughed.
“On my way back to Connecticut. What’s up?”
“Ohhhhhh!” I cringed from the shrieking of his voice. “My bad! I forgot you had a funeral. God bless the dead, homie.”
“Whatcu want?” That annoyed me coming from Mickey’s vanilla, greasy hair ass.
“We rounding up to head over to Townhouse Hall. Young Lord’s performing there. I was trying to see if you wanted to hang out.”
I hesitated for a minute. Tomorrow was the start of minicamp. I didn’t think it was wise to be out all night, drinking and shit. But after the day I had, I could blow off some steam. More squirming underneath me snatched my attention.
Wright…
“I’mma have to pass on it, Mick. I’m not by myself.”
“Why? You said you’re on your way back. We got a few extra tickets if you have a few people from home coming back up with you.”
Parker set up. Mickey’s ass was so loud, he woke her up. Parker pulled out her phone and tapped a few times. Seconds later, it was clear she was FaceTiming someone.
“You there, Rut?” he shouted.
My head pushed back at how loud he was. “Yeah, man, I’m here. I ‘on’t know, man. Let me wake up. I’ll hit you back in a few.”
“Okay.
Peace!” he shouted before disconnecting.
Then the girl, Mandee’s, face lit up on Parker’s phone.
“Hey, Parker!”
“Hey!” Parker yawned. “How is he?”
“He’s good.” She rubbed her eyes.
“Did you remember to stretch his legs?” That question bothered me and I hated it.
“Yup. I let him beat me in a few sumo rounds, he’s had dinner, and is now sleeping. I’m here getting much quiet study time. Damn, I can’t get this done at my house with my niece and nephew being off from school. Everything’s okay?”
Parker laughed at the joke and maybe if I wasn’t sour about her checking in again today I would’ve let go of a chuckle or two myself.
“Yeah. I’m close to home, and Rut just got a call about some friends in Connecticut getting together.”
“Oh! Totally! Go. Hang out. It’s going to be an all-nighter for me.”
Parker bit her lip and my cock twitched with excitement at her wanting to chill some more.
Nooooo…
I had to tell my strongman to be easy. The head doctor said no sex, and I would keep with it.
“You sure?”
“Of course!” Mandee waved her off. “This is honestly helping me.”
I’d pay her. Shit. I would double the three hundred I paid her for the day.
Parker turned to me with a hesitant stare. I didn’t move. No matter how bad I wanted her to go for it just to feel she chose me over Wright for once, this was a call she’d have to make on her own. A sour taste covered my tongue. Was I nervous?
“Okay. Just for a few hours. Call or text the moment you’re ready to go. I’ll be home by one, the latest.”
It was almost nine thirty.
“Okay, girlie. Have fun. Too much fun.” She winked, causing Parker to giggle.
When they disconnected, I warned her. “We don’t have time to change.”
She put her phone back in her bag and sat back, circling her arm around my abs. “We’re going to have to go as we are. I can take this jacket off and look a little more casual. You’ll just have to look like a Milford geek, who wears tighty-whities.”
Where she at?
I kept looking toward the door for her instead of the stage where Young Lord was tearing down the building. Townhouse Hall was packed. It wasn’t the biggest venue, which is why I was surprised Young was performing here. Bodies were pinned against one another with little moving space on the main floor the venue lined chairs with. Kings’ nation managed to reserve the balcony where Fats escorted us up to. At least fifty heads were up here. A few veterans with their peoples and just a couple of rookies. There was even a private bar out in the hall.
Parker was finally coming back into the stands, holding two drinks up in the air as she threaded through people. And what a mean walk she had. With her arms in the air, her already tiny waist pronounced her hips more. I was still surprised at how just taking off the little jacket she wore with the dress and tucking its straps inside the top changed the whole look. She looked seductive, mature, and totally fuckable.
“They didn’t have Mauve, so I got you this.”
“What is it?” I spoke directly into her ear.
“A Gray Park special.” She smiled before taking a sip of her drink.
I was lost. “A wha—” Then it dawned on me. Her name. “Cute.”
Parker stood in front of me and swayed as Young went into another track. It was my shit. I bobbed to the bass, sipping the cocktail Parker had given me. It wasn’t bad at all. Maybe I’d have it again after tonight. It put me into a nice zone as I rocked out with him. I loved this track. It was actually a cut he recorded alone on the Korrupt Hearts album, a group Young came out with. “I’ll Never Love Another” was a song I could identify with. It told the truth about females and how they all were about the bullshit.
I did my shoulder dance as he made it to my favorite verse and sang the last few bars with him.
“Bitches be the set up…get wet up…
Let you nut up…then burn you the fuck up.
They seduce you with that shit…
Stroke ya dick…then have they hands all up in ya pocket.
Shit, I know we all got our hustle and I ain’t tryna knock it.
But to the crack bitch, groupie bitch—and corny bitches, y’all be the same…
Stay the fuck out my hustle because, man, all y’all be fuckin’ lame.”
Parker spun around with alarmed speed. She carried a playful smile, even though I had a feeling she wasn’t happy with my celebration of those particular lyrics.
Shit! Not you, though!
I busted out laughing, grabbing her at the shoulders then kissed her on the forehead. I may still have been struggling with my feelings about Parker, but one thing was for sure, she was my boo-boo. I kissed her again saying so. She wasn’t like them. Maybe it was the vibes of the drink settling in that fast because I hadn’t really eaten much all day, but on my unborn seed, I was good on Ms. Parker G. She was my hitta today.
Sipping on my drink with an arm draped around her chest, I swayed without singing along with Lord anymore for this track. We rocked out with Young through the next song. Mickey brought over a round of shots for us. He carried a big ass tray and walked it through the balcony.
Parker necked the shot and double cupped it with the cocktail she was still working on. I did the same and pulled her back into me.
She looked up, signaling wanting my attention so I leaned down into her.
“I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen a live performance,” she spoke loud so I could hear her over the blasting music.
“You too busy making soap and shit. Gotta get out more,” I teased.
Parker laughed as her attention went back to the stage.
“What the fuck up, Connecticut!” Young Lord shouted when the music dropped.
The crowd went wild.
“Shit!” He whistled. “Y’all showing the kid crazy love up in this muthafucka!” He tented his hand to see out into the crowd. His head tilted up toward the balcony. That’s when people up here began hooting and whistling. “I heard the Kings up in this bitch!” Another spray of applause ripped through the air.
He smiled and gave a salute. “I ‘on’t do much football, but my lil’ king is a big fan. So, because of him, I got love for the throne.” The guys all around went nuts. Whites, blacks, Hispanics…everybody loved good hip hop. And Young’s wordplay couldn’t be missed. He used his hand as a tent against the blinding stage lights again. “I fucks with Jordan Johnson. I ‘on’t know if he in the building, but salute to my Jersey brethren, T. Bailey and the wild boy rookie, Amare!”
The crowd turned up again. I was shocked as hell. Lord knew me. That was a dumb realization. I’m fucking Rut the Receiver! Of course, he knows me. As I raised my drink in the air, Parker turned in my arm and a few guys slapped my shoulders in congratulations.
“Speaking of saluting kings from my home state,” Young announced in the mic. “Fuck with me on this…”
The beat dropped and a familiar bass and drum sounded. It didn’t take long to realize it was “Supreme Being,” another cut from Korrupt Hearts’ album. Young sang the hook and his verse. It was crazy how his group mates weren’t around to perform it with him. One was locked up and the other a vegetable with brain damage, but the song hit something deep down inside. They dedicated the track to their street mentor, their “General,” Supreme Being. Dude was locked up, serving FED time and ended up dying in there.
It was one of those cases of paying someone their respect while they were alive because you don’t know when their last day would be. I heard dude was mad young and died suddenly in there. That was secretly one of my fears for my pops. He was serving federal time, too. Had been since I was pup, barely able to piss without dripping out of the bowl. Every year, I thanked something, somebody…somewhere for sparring dude’s life. No matter how hard he went on me, I loved my pops. Hard.
So Yo
ung’s lyrics hit home. I sang those with him, too.
“And to Supreme…
You couldn’t live out ya dreams.
Father to a mass of soldiers…
We stand on ya shoulders.
Life don’t end ‘cause you down in the pen.
Every day I breathe a free man, I’m soaring on the wings of ya sins.”
Though it seemed weird as fuck, when Parker squeezed my arm draped across her chest, it felt like she understood.
Then she rubbed the side of her face on my shoulder.
This fucking girl…
She was doing shit to me. We stayed that way until the end of the cut. When Young introduced one of his artists who was about to perform, Parker lifted her head to get my attention.
I kneeled and she shouted, “I gotta pee.” Her tone no more than a child’s.
“Okay. C’mon.”
“No! I can go by myself.”
“Hell no!”
“Fats is right there!” she yelled even louder.
I looked up and saw Fats was staring our way. Parker saw him, too, and waved. He nodded, letting us know we had his attention.
“Three minutes or I’m coming in there.”
She nodded then handed me her double empty cups and took off. I watched until she made it to Fats. He dipped his chin to me before following her out. I didn’t miss the heads that turned, checking out her plump ass in that tight ass dress I didn’t realize was so fitted earlier.
I tried keeping up with the show, but it was hard with her out of my eyesight and not leaning against me. I swear, each time I felt those bitch ass feelings for her I hated myself for feeling so weak. Parker was only a woman. She shouldn’t have made me feel different from any other one.
Tim Bleaks, a tight end, came over and gave me some dap. We exchanged a few words about minicamp in the morning and kept it moving. I checked the time. She wasn’t back, but I told myself to chill; Fats had gone with her. Then I checked my text messages that had been ignored all damn day. Two were from Emily Erceg, saying something about hearing about the funeral from somebody. I wasn’t beat to even read the full messages.
Raised voices here, on the balcony, snatched my attention. A few more bodies came through the door. It took a few seconds to recognize Terrance Grant, the last motherfucker I wanted to see. I’d just started feeling numb from my loss. He swept the front walkway, giving dap to everybody. When he made it to me, I automatically fell in line.
