Even When It's Wrong

by Nicole Jackson

  I gulped, as I watched him swagger off in his new clothes. Then I thought about how he really gave no fucks, as he headed to pick Meeka up in different clothes than the ones she’d last seen him in. Any woman with half a brain would immediately know what her man was out there doing. But hey, that was their problem.

  ******

  “So, how did you get a phone, Mya? Cause I know yo mama aint buy it,” Nisha assumed. I’d decided to give her a call, giving her my number. Shit, there wasn’t nothing else to do, while Omari had me stuck at a damn motel.

  “Bitch, mind ya business. Do I ask you about the shit you do with those niggas you fuck with?”

  “So, it was a nigga?” she guessed. “Is it the same one who bought you all those clothes? Nah,” she answered her own question. “I still say that you went on a stealing spree. Aint no nigga bought you all that shit. Hell, even I aint got it like that.”

  I sucked my teeth. “So, cause you aint got it like that means that I can’t, either?”

  “Mya,” she paused. “Don’t go there. Me and you are both known, but for different reasons. Everybody knows that you the big girl, who’s nice with them hands. And I’m the girl that keep a nigga on her. But I don’t care who the niggas are. They aint giving up that much money. Not unless they’re out there hitting licks, and I know that you don’t fuck with nobody like that.”

  “Well, big girl or not, I got the shit I got, and I aint stole from nah place to get it. And that’s all you need to know.”

  “Whatever, hoe,” she sighed. “You been acting real brand new. Let me find out it’s because you been real chummy with that hoe Nerie. You know she was one of the main people talking about you not too long ago.”

  “And you sat, listening to her talk about me?”

  The phone grew silent. Then, “I was just getting the tea, peeping her fake ass out.”

  “Uh huh,” I murmured, before I heard the door beep, and then pushed open.

  “Man, who told you to get dressed?” Omari frowned. Despite him urging me to stay naked, I’d decided to take a shower, before putting on a fitted burgundy dress from Tory Burch, along with a pair of sandals and the bag to match. My hair had become frizzy, so I’d combed it up into a bun at the crown of my head, while my baby hairs softly lined my forehead.

  “Bitch, who is that?” Nisha enquired nosily.

  “Let me call you back,” I completely ignored her, ending the call.

  “Who was that?” he frowned.

  I rolled my eyes. “Nisha. With her worrisome ass.”

  “Her lame ass?” he scrunched his face. “The fuck you call her for? You know what, don’t even worry about it.” He waved off. “Who told you to put them clothes on, man?”

  “I did. It felt nasty down there, so I took a shower.”

  “Nasty?” he chuckled, grabbing my hands, pulling me to my feet. “I got your nasty.” He groped my ass. “You lucky shit took longer than I expected. Otherwise, you’d be taking this shit right back off, and bending it over for me.”

  “Well, unlucky you,” I kidded, as I stepped out of his embrace.

  “Damn, girl, you wearing this dress, huh?” he studied me. “But it’s shorter than a muthafucka. You probably need to change.”

  “Nope,” I popped my lips, quickly gathering my bags. “We don’t have time. Let’s go.”

  “Oh, we got time, alright,” he claimed, as I hurried to the door.

  “Nu uh,” I tittered, stepping outside.

  With him hot on my heels, I traveled to the Jeep. Just as I reached the passenger’s door, he grabbed my forearm, twirling me around. “Where you going?” he growled, giving me a sloppy kiss.

  My clit throbbed, as chills shot up and down my spine. “You gotta stop this.”

  “I can’t,” he held, before opening the door for me.

  Feeling all bubbly on the inside, I slid into the truck, handing him my bags. With no hesitation, he closed my door, before placing my stuff at the tail of the Jeep. He then stepped around, climbing into the driver’s seat. I gazed at him, realizing that he was my breathing fantasy. Then as if he could read my mind, he gave me wink that caused butterflies to brew in my stomach. Oh, what a fucking feeling?

  ******

  “So, you aint gonna tell me what’s up here?” I asked, as we walked through an office building, equipped with various suites.

  “You’ll see, man. Chill out,” Omari grumbled for the umpteenth time.

  “God,” I groaned, dragging my feet. “You have to make everything so damn difficult.”

  “I know, I know,” he quipped, before abruptly stopping at a door.

  I stood next to him, as he pressed the bottom on the intercom.

  “Yoooo,” a loud voice boomed from the speaker.

  “Say, open up,” Omari commanded, and I had to wonder if he’d ever asked for anything nicely.

  “Who this is?” the dude questioned rather ghetto-esc.

  “Gwuap, nigga,” he answered, causing me to look at him sideways.

  “Gwuap? Who the hell is that?” I asked.

  He shook his head, as the door clicked open. “Just come on.”

  Following him, we ventured down a long hallway, before entering an open space, where several people were hanging. I was surprised to smell the unmistakable scent of weed in the air, while criminal looking dudes talked loudly, scantily clad girls twerked to music, and muthafuckin Melo was in the glass booth!

  Clearly, we were standing in the middle of a studio, and my favorite Houston based rapper was just a few feet away, recording music.

  “I see my nigga Gwuap done finally made it,” Melo acknowledged in his raspy voice.

  Omari remained his usual too cool for school self. “I told you I was coming, patnah. What’s poppin’?”

  “Shit, waiting for you to hop on this track with me,” Melo voiced, stepping away from the microphone. Casually, he pushed the door open, joining us outside of the booth. “It’s good to see ya, boi.” They clasped hands, before he focused on me. “How you doing?” he questioned, causing my heart to skip a beat.

  “F…fine,” I stuttered, feeling lame as fuck. All eyes were on us, and a few bitches had snickered as my nervousness shined through.

  My favorite rapper looked me up and down, lustfully. “Damn, what’s your name, lil mama?”

  “Mya,” I replied.

  “Yeah?” Melo grinned, revealing a mouth full of gold. I couldn’t believe that he was standing right there in front of me, and he looked exactly like his photos and videos. He was dressed simply in True Religion jeans, a white tee, and white Gucci sneakers. His chocolate skin was smooth, his tapered fade was waved up, he was well over six feet, and had a strong built body. Even with tattoos in his face, he possessed a gentle smile that lit up the room. Goodness!

  “Black, chill out, my nigga. Aint nothing poppin’,” Omari brazenly spoke up, referring to Melo by one of his known aliases.

  Melo licked his lips. “You know I’m just fucking around, homie. I know you aint bring her big fine ass here for me. You aint never been that generous.”

  “Glad you know,” Omari scoffed.

  “Really, Carmelo? Don’t play,” some chick spoke up, causing me to glance her way. It was some mocha complexioned girl, with flowing weave down her back, talking shit. She appeared well put together, as she sat with her legs crossed with a Louis Vuitton bag in her lap. There was a high yellow girl with pretty green eyes sitting next to her, and I caught her rolling her eyes at me.

  “What, man?” Melo opened his arms, playing confused.

  “You know exactly what,” the girl sassed.

  Not moved by the girl’s attitude, Melo playfully blew her a kiss.

  “Fuck you,” the girl fumed, rolling her eyes.

  “Mya, sit down,” Omari instructed, pointing to a chair near the two girls giving me evil eyes.

  I sighed heavily. “Alright.” I grabbed the chair, pulling it a few feet away, before sitting down.

  Quietly, I
watched Omari in his element. It was clear that he had a personal relationship with Melo, and that alone left me astonished. It wasn’t the fact that he knew a local celebrity. It had more to do with the fact that I’d naively expressed my admiration for Melo, and not once did Omari use that as an opportunity to gloat about his personal connection to him. He behaved as if his boy was your everyday run of the mill nigga. Which meant no dick riding, and really had me wondering exactly who Omari was. Obviously, there was still plenty I didn’t know about him.

  It wasn’t long before I realized that most of the chicks in the room were eyeing Omari, as he comfortably mingled with Melo, and a few other dudes. The light skinned girl sitting next to who I assumed was Melo’s girl was openly gawking at him, looking like she was ready to pounce on him, and jump directly on his dick.

  Taking in the appearances of the girls in the room, I felt out of place. I was by far the biggest, and they all seemed to have this flare that I always felt I was missing. Their hair, nails, and feet were done, and they all donned designer handbags. Up until recently, I didn’t even have a damn purse, less along an expensive one. So, I was low-key expecting someone to jump up at any minute, and expose my ass for being a fraud. I didn’t belong in the same room with Melo, and his people. And I feared that someone would realize it.

  “Mya, you thirsty?” Omari questioned, waving a bottle of water. He and Melo were standing near a table that held refreshments.

  “Uh, yeah,” I nodded, standing up to retrieve the bottle.

  “Say, let me tell you something,” Melo spoke up. “If I had it my way, all women would be created equally. And built just like her. I aint seen nothing this fine in a minute.”

  Omari shook his head, as he handed me the water. “You tripping, nigga. Go’on sit down,” he told me, sounding like my daddy. The irony of it all, right?

  “Yeah, she thick, alright,” the light skinned girl sitting with Melo’s girl sprung to her feet, tugging at her jeans. I guess she called herself drawing attention to her round ass, which stood out on her petite frame. “But somebody her size gotta be careful. A couple of cheeseburgers, and she’ll be fat as fuck.”

  Her wisecrack garnered a few snickers from the hating ass bitches in the room, while the men shook their heads.

  “You talking about me?” I pointed at my chest, searching for clarity.

  She casually shrugged. “I’m just saying, girl. It’s all love,” she gave me a fake smile.

  “Look, Ion know you like that, so I think you better tread lightly. Cause I’d hate to tear this studio up, as I mop the floor was your anorexic ass,” I seethed.

  “Damn, why so violent?” she frowned. “I was just jugging at you. That’s what we do around here. Tell her she gotta have tough skin, huh, Melo.”

  Melo furrowed his brows, as he stroked his waves. “Say…leave me outta that.”

  “Whatever.” She waved him off, and I sat back in my seat, realizing exactly where the bitch stood. She wasn’t ‘bout that action.

  I figured most of those girls in the room were groupies, and probably became territorial whenever fresh faces came around. But I guess they were used to being catty, and that shit flies amongst them. But that wasn’t how I rolled. I wasn’t going to sit and laugh with someone who’s openly insulting me. Nah. If anything, I would stomp a bitch into the floor for talking reckless. Plenty of bitches back at Westbury High had to learn that about me the hard way.

  “Omari, why ya lil’ friend so hostile?” she asked.

  “Man,” he drawled, refusing to answer her.

  Melo’s presumed girlfriend tittered. “Bitch, you messy. But he should’ve known better than to bring another broad around.”

  The light skinned messy bitch looked back at her friend. “You know I’m Queen Petty. They should know better by now.”

  Melo shook his head. “Skyy, chill out. We aint here for all that. Tressa, get ya girl.”

  Tressa, the darker girl, sassily shook her head. “I aint her mama. She’s a grown ass woman.”

  “Besides, Melo,” Skyy interjected. “You know that I was just kidding around. It aint that deep.” She glanced over at me. “Trust.”

  I arched a brow, as I took a sip of water. I thought about cussing her out again, but decided that I’d play it cool. Clearly, the bitch wanted a rise out of me.

  “I see what goes on in here when I aint here, though,” Tressa scoffed.

  “What’s that?” Melo wanted to know, as he folded his arms.

  “You and ya boys be bringing all these stray bitches through here. Gotta be fucking scouting at V-Live, and shit. I know a fucking stripper when I see one.”

  Omari stood with a confused look on his face. “What she talking about?” he asked Melo.

  Melo shrugged. “Shit, the hell if I know. Tressa, the fuck are you talking about?”

  She pursed her lips. “So, Omari, you mean to tell me that she don’t work at a club?”

  “Huh?” I sat up in my seat.

  “Man, you tripping, Tressa,” Omari chided. “What made you say some shit like that?”

  She paused for a second, looking from me to him. “So, you don’t dance?”

  “No,” I frowned, feeling offended. What the hell was there about me that read stripper?

  Melo laughed heartily. “Tressa, you wild. You say lil’ mama too fine not to get paid for it, huh? Aint no way somebody with a body like hers aint capitalizing on it.”

  Omari smirked, as he tilted his head sideways, while rubbing his hands together. “Yall tripping.”

  Skyy rolled her eyes, as she sat down.

  I sat, feeling indifferent. I’d basically been called fat, and a stripper. Then there were all these references to my body that were uncomfortable. I never liked to be the center of attention, and was asking myself why would Omari bring me there.

  “You ready?” he quizzed, seemingly reading my mind.

  “Yeah.” I stood up, preparing to walk out of the door.

  He turned to Melo. “You already got the music prepared for her?”

  I scrunched my face. “Music prepared for what?”

  “To sing these lyrics I wrote for you.”

  “What?” I responded faintly, thinking that I’d heard him wrong. It was one thing for me to meet Melo, but now I was going to sing in his studio, while he stood a few feet away?

  “Are you ready to lay them crazy ass vocals on a track?” he reiterated.

  Animatedly, I lifted my chin, while stroking my neck. “I think I am.”

  Melo chuckled. “That’s what I’m talking about. While yall broads in here hating, she done brought more than that big butt and a smile. Take fucking notes.”

  I smiled internally, as I switched into the booth, preparing to do some shit I’d only fantasized about. From where I was standing, I could see ole girl with her lips all turned up. I gave her a small smile, knowing that she’d be even madder by the time I was done.

  Chapter 9

  Omari

  “So, explain to me again why you had your girlfriend’s daughter with you.”

  I took a long drag off my blunt, staring out of the windshield. I swear I couldn’t stand a nagging ass broad. “I told you, main.”

  She shifted around in her seat. “Well, tell me again. In a way that I can understand.”

  I glanced at her. “Skyy, come on, man. Ion wanna keep going over this shit with you.”

  “Nigga, please,” she waved me off. “That brief ass explanation aint good enough. Why was that full-grown ass girl with you?” she pressed.

  I sucked my teeth. “What did you see her doing, Skyy?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Singing a hook.”

  “Alright, then. You answered ya own fucking question.”

  “But why was you acting like she’s yo bitch?”

  “What?” I scowled. “How the fuck am I supposed to answer that? Did I say that she was my bitch?”

  She hesitated. “No, but still. I can read between the lines.”


  “Umm,” was my only response to that.

  I didn’t understand for the life of me why she was so concerned about Mya. I mean, she was fully aware that I lived with Meeka, so that meant that I couldn’t be fully hers, regardless. But in her crazy ass mind, I somehow belonged to her, therefore she wasn’t accepting any other chick, beyond Meeka. Needless to say, this whole situation was ridiculous.

  Honestly, I never thought that of all chicks, she’d been sitting there with me holding that type of conversation. I could remember vividly when I used to wish that I could have a chance with her. Back when I’d kick it with my cousin, Carmelo aka Melo, on the north side I’d see her around. She was flat out beautiful to me, but she had a nigga. She was fucking with this cat named Keesy from Trinity Garden, and she would never give me the time of day. I think that it was primarily because she was a few years older…and of course, because of that nigga. But he’d eventually dropped her for this fine hustling bitch named Toya, and Skyy had been back on the market ever since.

  So, imagine my surprise when she’d come at me on her own. I was kicking it with my cousin, and she was with his gal, Tressa. Basically, she expressed the fact that she’d always thought that I was cute, and wanted to see what I was made of. Me being me, I fucked that night, and she’d been a fiend ever since. But now, it had been a couple of months, and she was becoming less understanding of our arrangements. That meant that I was doing more explaining than I cared for, which was driving me fucking crazy.

  It was clear that she wanted a commitment, but I’d been avoiding that with her. I could tell that she was gonna want a nigga to live with her, know where I’m at all the time, and for me to come in at a decent hour. That was way more than I was willing to give, so I’d been trying my best to slow her down. The problem was that she had good credit…unlike Meeka. With Meeka I could drive her truck, but that was about it. But Skyy…she now had a nigga in a rental that I didn’t have to share with anybody, which gave me the freedom to move around freely with no particular places to be by a certain time. That translated into me being able to make more money, and I spent even less time at Meeka’s. But that also meant that Skyy’s expectations were changing, as she became increasingly more demanding.