“Shawty right there is a ten. A ten!” she sung, rolling her hips. The moves were simple, but with a body like hers…it felt like I was watching live porn. “If she’s fine, if shawty a dime. You should tip her.” She dropped low, and threw her ass in a circle.
I swallowed hard, realizing why Meeka had the girl wearing clothes three sizes too big. Niggas would be beating the door down if they were able to witness what was before my very eyes.
With her back to me, she stood up, and stepped to the sink, where she proceeded to rub a bunch of clothes together, trying to scrub them clean. Still, she moved to the music.
“So, this is what you do when nobody’s around?” I asked, startling her.
“Huh?” she jumped, holding her chest. “Damn! Don’t be creeping up on me like that.”
I smiled. It was like she had two personalities. Whenever Meeka was around Mya was meek, but when she’d leave Mya was a feisty shit talker.
“Calm down, Celie,” I jested. “The fuck you doing washing clothes in the sink? You do realize they make washers now, right?”
Sassily, she tossed her hands on her hips. “Evidentially, I aint got no fucking money to go washing. Anything else?”
I shook my head, thinking how trifling Meeka could be at times, adding to the reasons I’d never really wife her. Digging into my pockets, I gripped my knot. Whipping my money out, I peeled back a twenty. “Here.” I slapped the bill on the counter top. “Go wash your clothes, man.”
Her eyes fell down to the money. Tucking her lips into her mouth, she grabbed it. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She lifted her eyes, gazing up at me. “But I still gotta scrub these clothes. The washateria is closed over here.”
I slid my tongue across my teeth, as I thought about it. “Well, shit, I got a few hours, before I gotta pick your mama up from work. I can run you up the street to the washateria on Fondren. I know they’re still open.”
She hesitated, seemingly thinking it over. “Okay. Let me go get the rest of my stuff.”
“Cool.” I nodded, before she scurried off to her room.
While I waited, I checked my text messages, realizing that several people had hit me up, including a few broads I was dealing with. They were all considerably attractive, but I wasn’t trying to get serious. All those bad bitches came with too many demands, wanting to keep close tabs on a nigga, while Meeka just wanted me to call her home my home. Shit was simple with her, and I could have whoever I wanted on the side. And no amount of good pussy was enough for me to change those circumstances.
“Man,” Mya huffed as she re-entered the kitchen with a basket full of dirty clothes in tow. “Everything I got is dirty or wet. I don’t even have anything to change into.” She bent over, placing the basket on the floor, and my dick jumped. It should’ve been a fucking crime for one person to have that much ass. When she stood up straight the booty wobbled a bit, almost begging to get smacked. “You think this will be alright to wear in public?” she questioned, snapping me out of my lust-filled fog.
Instantly, I felt like a damn perv. I mean, I was no angel, but I was fucking the girl’s mama, and even I’d never screwed a mother and daughter before. That type of shit was vile, and usually not my style, so I attempted to push my lustful thoughts to the back of my mind. “Uh, I guess it’s cool. I mean, if you really aint got nothing else to wear, because those shorts…” I swallowed hard. “Are shorter than a muthafucka.”
She bit her bottom lip. “I really aint got nothing to wear. My mama would kill me, if she saw me leave outside like this. You aint gonna tell her, are you?”
I shook my head. “You know that I don’t get involved in yall’s business.”
She nodded. “So, you ready?”
“Yeah,” I knelt down, picking up her basket. “Grab that shit in the sink, throw it in a bag, and come on. I’ma be in the car.”
“Okay,” she agreed, as she drained the water out of the sink.
When I stepped out of the front door Quisha was sitting outside, as usual. “What?” she dragged out. “I know you aint going washing. I thought Meeka didn’t want you lifting a finger around her house?”
“Quisha, how about I lift your big ass out that fucking chair?” I shot back.
“This wet shit is heavy,” I heard Mya’s voice, as she’d clearly stepped outside.
“Mya, what the hell you doing with that wig on? That shit is too dramatic for you. We know you keeps it simple, and what the hell do you have on? When did you get this fine? Shit, is this Mya standing here?” Quisha rambled off question after question.
“Quisha, miss me with the jokes, before I fire your egg-shaped ass up. And you wish I was wearing a wig. I don’t look nothing like ya mama,” Mya ranked, causing me to chuckle.
“Bitch please,” Quisha hopped out of her seat.
“Got damn, I aint never seen you move so fast,” I teased.
“Whatever.” She waved me off, as she stepped to Mya, running her fingers through her hair. “Bitch, this is really all your hair,” she gasped.
“No shit, Sherlock,” Mya pursed her lips.
“So, why the fuck you don’t wear it down? And why you be wearing them big ass clothes? Bitch, you’s a big fine muthafucka.”
Mya giggled lightly, as she stepped around me. “Bye, Quisha.”
“You laughing, but I’m serious. Them clothes had you looking eighty pounds heavier,” Quisha insisted. “With that big ass booty. You need to give me some,” she carried on, sounding like she was into girls.
I shook my head, as I followed Mya down the sidewalk. Her ass was jiggling with every step she took, and every man outside was taking notice. By the time, we’d reached the Jeep I’d changed my mind. The shit she was wearing was completely inappropriate. “Say, Mya, I think you need to go change. All these niggas looking at your ass.”
She frowned. “Man, please. Fuck these niggas out here.” She climbed into the SUV, nixing me off.
I paused for a second, crossed on what I should say…or even feel. I definitely didn’t feel this fatherly protective instinct with her, but I also knew that niggas could be vultures. Yeah, that’s what it was. I was just looking out for her best interest. “For real, Mya.” I hopped into the whip, after placing her basket in the backseat. “Put some of those dirty pants on, or something. Shit, I mean, it aint like you haven’t done it before.”
She cut her eyes at me. “Don’t play with me.”
I chuckled, knowing she’d react like that. “I’m just saying.”
“Whatever.” She rolled her eyes. “If my mama wasn’t dealing with a nigga, playing his mama, then maybe I’d have clean clothes to go out in public in.”
“Who’s playing who mama?” I lifted my brows.
“Nigga, don’t play stupid,” she spat, as I pulled out of the parking lot.
“Nah, enlighten me,” I persisted.
“Enlighten what?” her eyes wandered around the truck. “You’re riding around in my mama’s Jeep, but I can barely get a ride. She makes sure that your laundry is done, and the rest of your stuff is put into the cleaners. But I was just washing my shit in the kitchen’s sink. She cooks food for two, and I eat noodles. Shit, you’re like a son to her…a son that she’s fucking, but still. She takes care of you. In ways that she should be taking care of her child. The shit is just weird and perverse to me.”
I smirked, hearing the intelligence she possessed, unlike her mama. Meeka hated when a nigga used big words, and I would always tell her simple ass to read a book. But yeah, I couldn’t dispute what she’d said. The type of mother Meeka was to Mya exposed the major character flaw she had, which was one of the biggest reasons I refused to go all in with her. “Ay, don’t hate the player. Hate the game,” I kidded, trying to lighten the mood. I didn’t want to talk about her and Meeka’s issues. I’d promised myself a while ago to stay out of their drama.
“Your ass aint got nothing to say, because it’s the truth. But I see your hustle
slowly elevating, and its gonna come a time where the convenience she provides aint gonna be enough for you to stay.”
I sucked my teeth, realizing that I’d underestimated her. She could clearly see through a nigga, but fortunately for me, her relationship with her mama was so strained that Meeka would never listen when it came to matters of me. “In life, we all gotta do what we gotta do. In the end, I’ll always do what’s best for me, because aint nobody gonna put you first but you. So, I’m out for self, Mya. I aint gonna lie about it. Maybe you should try it. You’ll be happier, and live longer. Trust me.” I winked.
“Shit, that must be how my mama thinks too. Cause she’s all about what makes her happy. And that’s fucking with you, and keeping her foot on my neck.”
I shrugged, knowing she was once again telling the truth. “So, if it’s fuck you, then its…”
“Fuck her,” she finished my statement.
I smirked. “You said it, not me.”
She rubbed her chin. “That’s food for thought.”
“Hell, yeah,” I agreed.
“Hold up,” she halted me, turning up the volume on the radio.
“When my man leaves the house, I know he’s coming right back. I got that good-good…”
“Aye, this my shit!” she shouted, sounding just like her mama. “Cause when I say I got that pop, lock, and drop it, believe me. If I’m with you, its gon kill you on the days you don’t see me,” she sang. I won’t front. She sounded good, although the song didn’t require much vocal abilities. “See, I don’t know what them other girls be doing. They be crying about they man, because they always losing.” She snaked her upper body sexily.
The song faded out, and another came on. The deejay had gone way back to some old Monica, and I don’t know why he did that. She lost her fucking mind.
“Now, this is my shit!” she claimed, as she began to croon. “You mean the world, and everything that I want for. Since I’ve been your girl, oh my whole life has been much better than ever before…” she sang her heart out, making a nigga wish she was his girl singing that song to him. I mean, her voice was cold, as she hit every note with perfection. Becoming completely lost within the lyrics, she wrapped her arms around herself, and squeezed her eyes tightly.
“Say, I’m bringing your ass down to the studio with me,” I announced, as I lowered the volume on the music. “Feature you on a track or something.”
She laughed uncontrollably. “Nooo. Not you too.”
“Not me too, what?”
“You one of them niggas with those unrealistic rap dreams.”
I rubbed my chin, as I wore a smirk. “Okay, she say I got unrealistic dreams. But my verbiages are so poetic they’ll have her internally beam. But it’ll be from mere words uttered. Have her in a haze with her brain cluttered. Spitting analogies that fuck her mind, if I say end it, she committing a crime. Sending her to the asylum swiftly. Or in rehab, have her mumbling, ‘only his words can uplift me’. Have ya flighting on a spiritual journey. Boosting so high that you never returning.”
“So, you’re a poet?” she arched a brow.
“I’m a jack of all trades.” I pulled up to the washateria.
“You a’ight,” she smiled.
“So, let me ask you this.”
“Go ahead.”
“Who’s your favorite rapper?”
“Umm,” she hummed. “I have a few. I fuck with Jeezy, I love Drake, and locally it would have to be Melo for me.”
“Melo, huh?” I smiled. “What you know about him?”
“Plenty. More than you, I bet,” she sassed, before easing out of the Jeep.
“Well, I guess you just know it all,” I followed suit, grabbing her basket out of the backseat, before tracking into the establishment. Placing the clothes near a washer, I went and copped a seat on a folding table. I watched Mya move around, getting her clothes sorted out, and into the machines. Her wild hair kept falling into her face, which was obstructing the view of her face.
I was absently studying her, until my cell vibrated in my pocket. Whipping it out, I answered. “What’s up, nigga?”
“Say, I need twenty Skittles, main,” Kells got straight to the point, talking in code. Skittles meant ecstasy.
I shook my head. “You must need to flip a little something, real quick.”
“Basically. So, where you at, cause I’m about to pull up.”
“I’m at the washateria on Fondren, right near West Belfort.”
“The washateria? The fuck you doing there? Let me find out, boi.”
“Find out what, nigga?”
“That Meeka got you on ya wifey duties.”
I sucked my teeth. “Never that.”
“Let you tell it. But yeah, I pulled up. I’m outside, bitch ass nigga.” He hung up.
Never bothering to make a move, I decided to let his hoe ass find me. In exactly two minutes, he was approaching me, just as Mya hopped onto the folding table, sitting next to me. He cracked a gigantic smile, as he laid eyes on her.
“Oh, that’s what you up here doing. You caking with lil’ mama, right here,” he assumed.
Mya frowned.
“Nah,” I shook my head. “You tripping, main. This Meeka’s daughter.”
“What?” Kells scowled. “Nigga, hell nah.” He carefully studied Mya. “Meeka daughter aint got all them hips, and she definitely aint got a waist that small. Why you playing games, nigga?”
“Well, damn, I’m glad that you know the contours of my body so well,” Mya spoke up.
Kells’ jaw dropped. “Aint this about a bitch? You really is Meeka’s daughter. When did you get so fine? You got a boyfriend? A sponsor? Somebody to do your homework? Shit, let me know. I’m available.”
“Watch out, nigga,” I playfully shoved him back. “You available, my ass. You forgot about that broad you got waiting on you at the crib? The crib you pushing hard to maintain,” I had to remind him.
The nigga had taken a dive off the deep end. He’d left Glenda’s old ass high and dry for this young, pretty, slim, chocolate beauty. He’d been creeping with the girl for a minute, and fucked around and fell in love. That changed everything, and all that talk about thinking with his head, and not his dick went right out of the window. He couldn’t help himself, and was now waist deep in bills, when months prior he was living rent free. The fool had abandoned that safety net in the name of love. Something I could never see myself doing. Silly him.
“Okay, alright. Omari, let me find out that you knocking ya step-daughter down.”
“Step-daughter?” Me and Mya both said in unison.
He fell out laughing. “Yall hung up on that word, but aint tripping on the fact that I said that yall fucking.”
“Well, it didn’t move me, because I know it aint happening. What the fuck I look like fucking after my mama?” Mya scoffed.
“Got damn, you got a smart-ass mouth.” Kells leaned back, as if he was appalled.
“Ya mama,” she chided.
He grinned. “All big fine muthafuckas are mean like you. Nasty attitudes must go hand in hand with big booties.”
“And all big mouths are attached to niggas with little dicks.”
He nodded, as he slid his tongue across his teeth. “You got it.” He focused on me. “Come on, nigga, give me my issue.” He handed me twenty dollars.
“Hoe ass nigga you could’ve threw five or ten dollars on it. Got damn. I aint seeing no profit from yo ass,” I complained, digging in my pocket.
“You know I got you next round,” he promised, as I clasped hands with him, slyly passing him a bagged-up bundle of pills.
“Yeah, alright. Fuck with me,” I gave him a nod, as he strolled off, throwing up the deuces.
Mya quietly snickered to herself.
“What?” I glanced at her.
She slid off the table. “You and your lame ass friends are funny.”
I found myself staring at her ass, as she switched over to the washer. I wondered if she’d be l
aughing if I bent her ass over and fucked the shit out of her, right then and there. Now, that would be something to laugh at. She just didn’t know, and I couldn’t help thinking about it, even though my thoughts were wrong as fuck.
Chapter 4
Omari
“Baby, you hear me?”
I lied with my eyes closed, hoping she’d take her ass back to sleep. All she wanted to do was fuck, and my dick was tired.
“Nigga, I know you hear me,” Meeka fumed.
Gradually, I opened my eyes, playing it off. “Huh?”
“Huh, my ass.” She bucked her eyes. “I want some dick, but he aint working for me,” she complained, gripping my limp dick.
“Because he’s tired, Meeka. Let a nigga get some rest. Got damn. I been out all night, trying to get it, and you won’t just let a nigga be.”
“Oh, God,” she rolled her eyes. “What the hell does your twenty-one-year-old ass know about being tired? And hustling? The fuck I care for? I have yet to see a dime of the money you out there making.”
I held back a grin. “I keep telling you that I’m stacking my bread, and when it’s time we gon show out. I got you.”
She pursed her lips. “Well, you just remember that I got a block on my phone, so I can’t accept collect calls. We aint doing no jail time this way, nigga.” She patted her weave.
“Yeah?” I frowned. “It’s like that? You’d leave a nigga hanging?”
“Boy, please. I was just bullshitting with you,” she laughed it off, but that shit sounded fake as fuck.
“Yeah, okay.”
“Whatever,” she smacked her lips. “Fuck all that. Give me some dick, before I go in there and prepare our food, before its time for me to go to work.”
I cut my eyes at her. “Why you so eager to fuck me? I just laid down the pipe, before I fell asleep a couple of hours ago.”
“Cause this is the perfect time,” she grumbled.
I narrowed my eyes. “Perfect time for what?”
She took a deep breath. “The perfect time to get pregnant.”
“What?!” I sat up in bed. “The fuck are you talking about? I thought you was on birth control, Meeka?”
She frowned. “I was at first…but then I wasn’t.”
Even When It's Wrong Page 4
