Dion was a handsome guy. He was on the heavy-set side, but the weight looked really good on him. He rocked long, thick dreads that reached way below the middle of his back. He was a chocolate fella with gold teeth that sat on the top and bottom row of his mouth. Although he was hood and came off as being rough around the edges, there was no doubt in my mind that he loved Kassidy, and the man was a damn good father to their son.
As if Dion’s words meant nothing to Kassidy, she waved him off, and the four of us walked inside the club together. I thought that I was dying in my own damn car from the three of them smoking weed on the way over there, but the weed smell that was going on inside this club topped the smell from my car. There were so many people in there, but the throwback Trina that they were playing on the loudspeakers had me in a groove, and I was able to relax and forget about the fact that people were bumping into me every few seconds as we walked to the section that Brooklyn had purchased for her birthday.
As if we were celebrities or something, the security that was standing near Brooklyn’s section quickly raised the velvet rope for the four of us to walk up the steps. There were food platters that had everything from hot wings to fruit and cheese. Not to mention, there were buckets filled with ice, and a few bottles of Hennessy, Patron, and whatever else was Brooklyn’s favorite chilling on the ice. I didn’t want to be boring tonight, so when Kassidy opened the bottle of Hennessey, I took a cup from the circular table let her know that she could fill mine up too.
“Whatttt? There is a God.” Brooklyn laughed once she saw that I had my cup out.
I quickly gave her the middle finger, and as a group, we all took the shot. I damn near died. I couldn’t do the Hennessy. While they drank, I stood up, rocking my hips and rapping along with just about every song that was being played.
One would think that we were at one of those kinky clubs that allowed you to have sex from the way that Brooklyn and Breshay were in there carrying on. They were grinding on each other and damn near slobbing each other down, and it caused so many patrons to pass by and stare our way because of the performance that they were putting on. I’d had just enough of watching the two of them sex each other down on the couch, and because I wanted to drink something that I actually liked, I headed in the direction of the bar.
“What can I get you pretty lady?” the bartender asked me.
“Ummm, a long island,” I let him know.
“How much she owes you for that, boss man?” I heard a voice behind me say.
I knew that voice from anywhere. Hell, I fell asleep talking to that voice, so how the hell could I forget it? Then, it was a smell about him. It was a mixture of weed and a strong, manly fragrance that I couldn’t quite put my fingers on, but I knew that it made me wet. It made me wet as hell, actually. I was almost afraid to turn around and look at him because it was like he looked better every time I saw him. He was close as hell to me. So close that I could feel the heat that radiated from his body, and because he wanted the bartender to hear him when he talked, I could feel the warmth of his breath on my neck. Standing there, I literally had to talk to myself and tell myself that he was just a regular man, so I should turn around and talk to him without it being that big of a deal.
“I appreciate your generosity, but I can buy my own drink,” I said, looking up at him. Now, why the hell would I do that?
Just like I thought, he was even more handsome than the last time I saw him, which was strange as well because I didn’t think that it could get any better than that. Now that my back was against the counter at the bar, he was able to put both of his strong, tatted up arms on either side of the counter, as if he was locking me in. I was pretty sure that the way he was looking at me matched the way that I was looking at him. The thing is, he wasn’t draped in a whole bunch of jewelry or thousand dollar name brands like the majority of the niggas in there. He was plain, yet he stood out.
I wasn’t sure if he had a haircut or not, but he wore a black Raiders hat along with a black v-neck that showed pieces of the tattoos that were on his upper chest, and he wore black jeans. They sagged just a little bit to the point where I could see the brown Louis Vuitton belt that he was wearing and the waistband of his Polo drawers. On his feet were a pair of all black Jordan 11’s and if I was a caramel bar, I was pretty sure that he would have eaten me alive already from the intense glare that he was giving me.
He was high. I could smell it on him, and I could tell by how low his eyes were. I tried to go into the small to take out the bill and pay the bartender, but he placed his hand on top of mine, bringing it down and stopping me from pulling the cash out.
“Chill out. I said I got it,” he firmly let me know.
The bartender let him know that the drink was ten dollars, and he reached inside his pockets and pulled out a knot of cash that was stuck together with a rubber band. I watched as he thumbed through the money, trying to find the smallest bill, and then he finally came across a twenty, which he handed to the bartender and told him to keep the change.
“You don’t strike me as the type of woman to be at a strip club,” was the first thing he said after the bartender disappeared to make the drink.
“What type of woman did you take me as?” I asked, tilting my head to the side, waiting to hear his award-winning answer. For whatever reason, I valued his opinion about me. I know the type of woman I was, but I was curious to know what type of woman he thought I was.
“It’s different types of women in this world. Look at those women for instance,” he said, using his hands to point to a few women who were sitting at the end of the bar, dancing all off beat to the music. “They look like they will be in this bitch every night if the opportunity presented itself. That’s what you call professional bar seat holders. They sit there, thinking that a nigga supposed to walk over and buy them a drink because they look good. Then, you have the women who come in here, and the club is like their second home. We have the women who come after a long week of work to just wind down, have a couple of drinks, sing a couple of songs with their homegirls, and they’ll soon be on their way. You probably fit in the last category of women. Although, when I see you, I just don’t think you like the whole club vibe, period,” he let me know, and I nodded.
“It’s alright. I could do without these thirsty niggas pulling on my arm every minute, but other than that, I’m cool,” I told him.
“Who you came here with? I know you didn’t come by yourself,” he called out.
It’s almost like he knew me. I mean, knew me to the point that he was so familiar with the choices and moves I made, and it made him so confident that he could just call it out. Knowing him, he was so cocky that there was probably no doubt in his mind that he was right, too.
“No, I’m here with my homegirls. One of them is celebrating their birthday,” I let him know.
At the same time, the bartender finally came over and passed me the drink. Unlike the Hennessy, I was able to drink this one without a problem. I was drinking something that I actually liked.
“You want another one or you straight?” he asked once he saw that I’d quickly guzzled the drink down.
Of course, I wanted another one, but since I was the designated driver, I felt like it was better that I just had this one. Plus, the more I drank, the more I was going to want, and I wasn’t trying to get sloppy drunk. I’ve been told by my friends a few times in the past that when liquor was in my system, I was overly emotional and giddy as hell. I didn’t want him to see me that way for some reason. I don’t know why I cared so much, but I only wanted him to have positive things to say about me.
“I’m straight. Are you here by yourself?” I asked him.
I felt like I had to ask him something because I didn’t want him to buy my drink and then leave. I wanted him to stay. I wanted us to talk like we did that night in his bedroom. I think about that night just about every day. I think about the fact that I was in his bedroom with him with nothing on except one of his shirts, and not on
e time did he try to make a move on me. He knew the state I was in; therefore, he knew how vulnerable I was, yet he didn’t try to take advantage of that.
I felt like if it had been any other nigga, they would have tried to kissing me or caressing me to get my mind off my husband, but he didn’t do any of that. The only caressing he did was with his mouth from the conversation that he and I were having that just flowed. I mean, we talked everything from politics down to our kids and how sometimes we just needed a break from them. He was no longer the asshole from the movies or from the park. Instead, he was someone that I yearned to have a conversation with. Someone I questioned myself on what if I were to have met him first before I had met Jerrod.
I wondered if he and I would have been a thing. Would he have treated me better than what Jerrod was doing? So many questions, but I just didn’t know if I would ever find out the answer to them.
“Nah, I’m here with a few niggas,” he let me know.
I nodded, and at the same time, the DJ went on the speaker and said he was getting ready to slow it down. Out of all the songs that he could have played, he decided to play one of my favorite songs from Silk, which was “If You.” When the song came on, I smiled, and Za’Kai noticed.
“Fuck you know about this song?” he asked, followed by a laugh. When he did, his dimples showed, and I damn near melted.
“Please! You’re what, thirty-three like me? If anything, I’m probably older than you. I have a teenage daughter,” I reminded him.
“That doesn’t mean shit. I’m actually older than you, though. I’m thirty-five. This your song or some shit? Why you started smiling when it came on?” he asked me.
“Yeah, I guess you can say I like this song,” I let him know.
While nodding, he pulled on the bottom of his goatee and looked down at me. It was as if he was contemplating something in his head, but he didn’t want to come right out and say it. He definitely had a way with his words, so it was no telling what he was concocting in that head of his.
Instead of replying, like I thought he would, he just simply pulled me by my hand. I was going to question him on what the hell he was doing, but my question was quickly answered when he brought me on the dance floor. Now, this dance floor had been full all night, but it was as if the moment he and I were on it, everyone disappeared. For some reason, I felt like he and I were alone in a bedroom, and he was sitting on the bed, and I was standing before him naked. His eyes weren’t on anyone or anything else in this club but me, and for whatever reason, was shy.
I’m never shy, but his intense glare took me there. He didn’t have to call me beautiful because his gaze said it all.
“Don’t tell me you can’t dance,” he finally said.
My palms were sweating so badly because I was nervous as hell. Women were on the dance floor, dancing with their partners like they were dry humping, and I envied them because I felt like I was too shy to do any of that. The thing about it, Za’Kai had these demanding and convincing eyes that made it hard to turn down his offer. Silk was still crooning through the loudspeakers, singing about all the ifs that a woman might be willing to do.
“What? You think Ima talk shit about you? I don’t know if you remember, but when I had you in my room a few months ago, I asked you about things that you liked and your talents. You told me that you could dance, so I’m just trying to see if you were lying to a nigga or not. Let me see if you can dance, Shrimp,” he said, calling me by my nickname for the first time.
I needed to get to the nearest restroom instantly because my drawers were soaked. He made it so easy to want to follow his lead, so I walked closer to him. Finally, our bodies were so close to each other that we were touching. I was so tiny compared to him, so the top of my forehead reached the middle of his chest. I gazed up at him, and he looked down at me, giving me a look like, so what you going to do? I was up for the challenge. It had to have been a mixture of the liquor and him because I was feeling bold.
I turned around, so my ass was backed up against his Louis Vuitton belt. Never the one to give someone the opportunity to call me a liar, I started wining my waist on him so well that you would have thought that I was from the Caribbean. I knew I could dance, so when I finished, I didn’t need his stamp of approval. The song had quickly switched to H-Town’s “They Like it Slow,” and I only started wining my hips more for him. I even did this little thing where I dropped all the way to the ground and came back up.
Once I was up, one of his strong arms snaked around the front of my body, and he kept it on my flat stomach as I melted in his touch. He brought his face into the crook of my neck, and the hair that was on his chin tickled the hell out of me and made my body flutter. I could feel him slowly moving his body too along with the music. I don’t know if it was because he was high or if it had anything to do with me turning him on with my little dance, but he kissed my neck. I mean, those full lips that I had been drawn to since the first day he and I met actually touched my body, and because it felt exactly how I knew it would, this escaped my lips…
“Za’Kaiii,” I moaned, shocking the shit out of myself. Funny thing is, this wasn’t my first time moaning his name. I usually did it at night, when I was in the privacy of my bedroom, playing with one of my toys, wishing that it was him who was bringing me to ecstasy.
“Why you dancing on me like this, shorty?” He groaned in my ear, but I ignored him. I wanted to say, nigga because you told me to! “What’s so special about me, Shrimp? You tough. You proved that to me the first time I met you. I don’t get vibes from you that any nigga could walk up on you, buy you a drink, and have you dancing on him like this. So, I’m asking you again, what’s so special about me?” he asked, pulling me closer into him and stopping me from moving.
It felt like the words were stuck in my throat and like all of a sudden, I was a kid again and didn’t know how to speak. The only thing that I could do was shrug. I turned around in his hold, and I felt awkward as hell with my arms just swinging idly, so I raised them, putting them around his neck.
His hands were on my lower back, and I got vibes from him that he thought I was scary, so I leaned my head up and kissed his lips. Remember that spark that I was talking about earlier? The spark that I no longer received whenever me and Jerrod kissed? I felt the spark now. It was like my entire body lit up the moment our lips connected. Za’Kai was nasty. I could just feel it in the way his large hands roamed around my back when we kissed and the way he kept sliding me his tongue, trying to get me to suck on it.
The way he was kissing me right now and holding my body was the ultimate torture because I knew that there was nothing we could do after this. It was too soon to sleep with him, although my body craved him. I could feel myself getting hot, so I quickly pulled away from him.
“I gotta leave you the fuck alone, shorty. We both know that you belong to someone else,” he let me know, bringing me right back down to reality.
Oh yeah, I was married.
13
Raheem Wallace
“Could you please hush that crying ass baby the fuck up?” I barked at my baby mama, Pinky, who was sitting on the opposite couch with her phone glued to her hand, while our daughter, Raynell, sat next to her crying like someone had just beat her ass or some shit.
Truth is, I fuckin’ hated my baby mama with a passion. The bitch was sorry as hell, and you could give the hoe a damn book on how to parent, or even show it to her on the damn big screen, and she still wouldn’t know what the fuck to do. I couldn’t even put the full blame on Pinky because I knew what she was capable of when I was sliding up in her without a jimmy. The thing is, she had a pretty ass face, a nice ass body, some nice full lips, and since she was four years older than me, she was more experienced. She could suck a mean dick and out fuck me any time that I pulled my dick out to beat her back in. Other than that, the bitch was worthless.
I would have much rather a damn crackhead raise my daughter instead of her ass. I did more for Raynell than
her ass did, and that said a lot because I hardly did shit for her. This was my ole girl’s apartment that I was staying in, so it was normally her who was taking care of our child. I was young, and when Pinky told me that she was pregnant with my daughter, I told her to handle that shit, the same way I did Journey’s ass. But Pinky was the type of bitch who you had to pull a gun on in order to get her to listen. Journey was different. Maybe it was because she was younger, so she was more naïve compared to a lot of the women that I fucked with, so I was able to get through to her in a way that I wasn’t able to get through when it came to Pinky.
Speaking of Journey, I had to admit that I missed her. I hated speaking on the situation with Journey and I because I didn’t want to come off like a pedophile. In my defense, when I met Journey, she told me she was sixteen, so I was able to rock with that. It wasn’t until one day I had her at the crib with me when I was there by myself and I went through her school bag that I found out that her ass was actually thirteen! Imagine the fucked up position she put a nigga in.
The only reason I even started having my doubts about her age is because her parents pretty much had her on a leash, not letting her do shit. If she was sixteen, like she had claimed to be, then I thought that she would at least have a little bit more freedom. That was the only reason why her age wasn’t checking out with me. She was shaped liked most sixteen year olds, mature as hell for her age, plus she didn’t look no damn thirteen!
Love Me Page 17
