Arm Candy

by T. C. Littles

  Arm Candy

  T.C. Littles

  www.urbanbooks.net

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One - Samira

  Chapter Two - Samira

  Chapter Three - Rayna

  Chapter Four - King

  Chapter Five - Samira

  Chapter Six - Samira

  Chapter Seven - Samira

  Chapter Eight - King

  Chapter Nine - King

  Chapter Ten - Samira

  Chapter Eleven - King

  Chapter Twelve - Jamila

  Chapter Thirteen - King

  Chapter Fourteen - Rayna

  Chapter Fifteen - Rayna

  Chapter Sixteen - Samira

  Chapter Seventeen - Jamila

  Chapter Eighteen - King

  Chapter Nineteen - Rayna

  Chapter Twenty - Samira

  Chapter Twenty-one - Rayna

  Chapter Twenty-two - Samira

  Chapter Twenty-three - Jamila

  Chapter Twenty-four - Rayna

  Chapter Twenty-five - King

  Chapter Twenty-six - Rayna

  Chapter Twenty-seven - King

  Chapter Twenty-eight - King

  Chapter Twenty-nine - Samira

  Chapter Thirty - Tiana

  Chapter Thirty-one - Rayna

  Chapter Thirty-two - King

  Chapter Thirty-three - Samira

  Chapter Thirty-four - King

  Urban Books, LLC

  300 Farmingdale Road, N.Y.-Route 109

  Farmingdale, NY 11735

  Arm Candy Copyright © 2018 T.C. Littles

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without prior consent of the Publisher, except brief quotes used in reviews.

  eISBN 13: 978-1-945855-64-1

  eISBN 10: 1-945855-64-9

  ISBN: 978-1-9458-5563-4

  This is a work of fiction. Any references or similarities to actual events, real people, living or dead, or to real locales are intended to give the novel a sense of reality. Any similarity in other names, characters, places, and incidents is entirely coincidental.

  Distributed by Kensington Publishing Corp.

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  Chapter One

  Samira

  “Word on the street is that this party is gonna be slapping tonight!” Jamila puckered her lips in the vanity mirror. She coated them in pink lipstick. “The whole city is coming out for K.P.’s light work album release party. It’s been getting major play all over social media.”

  “They better act like they know all of the time! My baby out here doing the damn thang, so I can’t wait to see him shining bright tonight.” I stepped in front of the mirror and admired my curves. I’d gone all out for my bae’s big night and gotten a fire-engine red dress custom made. There was no way in hell I was about to be caught half-stepping. “I can’t wait to bust these bitches’ heads tonight. I’m killing ’em!”

  “Yeah, I’ve gotta give you that. No hate or shade this way, Samira. You’re rocking the hell out of that dress! I don’t think any chick in the place is gonna be walking close to stepping on your level.” She pumped my ego up more. “K.P. better know what he’s got!”

  Continuing to get ready for the night, Jamila made sure my makeup was flawless and that nothing about my appearance looked like I was overdoing it. She was a beast at her craft and could beat a face beautiful. Jamila wasn’t half-stepping with her swag, either. She was dressed in a white crop top, high-waist pants, and six-inch stilettos that made her booty stand out more. If she weren’t my ace, I might’ve been jealous.

  Neither of us had brought it up per se, but the elephant was definitely in the room. King’s mistress was supposed to be in the building tonight, and we all knew when the other bitch was involved, shit could get messy. Not knowing why K.P. couldn’t keep his dick in his pants but more importantly out of her, I had to keep my front game up tonight, making sure my man stayed focused on me. I wasn’t trying to be embarrassed having him check for side meat in my face.

  Finally ready, I slipped on the newest pair of Daffodile spiked platform red sole pumps I treated myself to the last time King pulled a week hiatus from home. Then I grabbed my purse and keys to hit the door.

  “Damn, girl! King is looking hella good tonight I see.” Jamila scrolled through her social media pages from my passenger seat. “You’re damn right to be focused on trying to get him down the aisle. You better get wifed before the next bitch does.”

  “Don’t I know it!” Whipping my fully loaded platinum-white MKS through traffic, I wasn’t trying to show up even a minute late for the red carpet event. There was no doubt in my mind that Rayna would jump at taking pictures like she was the leading lady if I wasn’t there to defend my position. Trust, I’d been fighting for a ring for far too long to go down without one helluva fight. Me and King had been together for seven long years, and I’m not talking about on-again, off-again, “just kicking it” type shit. This rock I was getting ready to floss in Rayna’s face was more than enough proof that I wasn’t a blast from the past, but more like a guaranteed lifetime.

  “Here, bitch, you’re hella tense. You need to take one blow of this cookie goodness and get right.” She passed me the blunt she’d been puffing on. I hesitated because smoking wasn’t normally my thing. Don’t get me wrong, I’d join the rotation from time to time if I was around my crew, but to roll up and blow for the fuck of it on a solo dolo tip definitely wasn’t going to happen. But tonight I wasn’t turning her down.

  “Fuck it, why not? This is a celebration for us too, for finally getting our business off the ground.”

  “No doubt! Everybody in our clique is doing hella good right about now. 2014 is about to bring big things for me and you though, fa’sho!” Leaning back, sipping from the EverFresh lemonade bottle, she was really getting beyond faded because it was more than half spiked with Cîroc. Even though she was tilted, Jamila was right. Everyone we rolled with had major things about to pan out for the New Year. I couldn’t wait for me and Mila to drop our proposal on the table. Shit for us two was most definitely geared to be epic. Who said you shouldn’t mix business with family?

  I checked my phone. King hadn’t called to check for my whereabouts. He’d left a few hours earlier with his Versace fit and blood-bottom shoes, promising that when we met back up tonight, he’d be on his best behavior. Only seconds from my exit, I privately asked God to walk with me ’cause only He knew how hard I’d clown if K.P. tried anything slick to embarrass me.

  Pulling into the valet of Flood’s Bar and Grille, we saw it was already crowded with a line that wrapped around St. Antoine onto Lafayette Street. Even high-rolling gamblers from Greektown Casino wanted to know what was taking place across the median. Jamila made sure her reflection was on point while I busied myself checking for K.P.’s boy Johnie’s custom-painted whip. King made a big deal of having to ride with him. Seeing it a few spaces deep into the middle of the valet’s reserved parking lot made me know without a doubt that their asses had roamed the streets before coming here. This nigga is always trying to play me for dumb. He ain’t gonna be happy until I start doing the same trife-life shit behind his back. I threw my car into park, and the valet attendants rushed to open our doors. I was too busy texting King. “Fuck me walking in like some regular common broad. He better bring his ass out here to escort me in.”

  “Do you, girl. I’ll just fall back to follow your lead.”
Jamila waved the attendant away, letting him know we’d be a few minutes.

  Finally, King stepped out the door, walking straight toward my car and looking happier than ever to see me. I straightened up the mean mug expression on my face, not wanting to stir up trouble unnecessarily.

  “What up, boo, you good?” He held the door open for Jamila, and she grabbed his hand and stepped out, smiling.

  “What’s up, Mila? You good, my baby?” He gave her a friendly hug that seemed to last a second too long, but since Jamila was my ride-or-die best friend it went over my head.

  “Yeah, K.P., I’m all good. Ready to get spent! I’m proud of you, bro!”

  “Shit, you already know it’s bottles popped and flowing. It’s King the Producer’s night, my baby!”

  He walked around the front of the car, and my headlights put him on front. He looked into the car, smiling at me. I was buttered up already. Damn, I loved this man. Opening my car door, King held his hand out for me to grab. “Come on, my lady, let’s do this.”

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” I slid my manicured hands into his and stepped out into his arms. Hugging me tightly, he slid his hands down my curves to smack my delicious ass. He gripped it tightly, letting everyone watching know I was taken. I didn’t mind the public affection, because with all the cheating King did, these hoes needed to be reminded who really held his heart. “Can you cum all in that tonight?” Being nasty, I knew he loved a true freak, but my real intentions were to make sure he planned on coming home.

  He licked my ear then whispered into it, and I was ready to climb back into the car for a quickie. “I’m talking about making a baby with you, girl. The King has arrived.” Giving me a kiss, I made a mental note to make sure he raw dogged me hard tonight. I’d do anything to birth his seed. Pulling me back, he nodded with utter approval. “Oh, yeah, ya man will most certainly be ramming, slamming, and cumming all in that tonight.”

  King led me to the entrance of where the red carpet was letting us get our shine on as a couple. In the mix with the hired photographers, there were paparazzi from small-time internet magazines, bloggers, and those just looking to get pictures. They were lined up, snapping away. I couldn’t wait until the photos started to make a buzz on people’s feeds. I made sure each look I gave was fierce, cute, and worth studying in the roll back. King was more nonchalant with the crowd but never let my hand go. Jamila modeled a few feet from us, loving the limelight. I was glad my girl was here.

  Walking into the scene, I was blown away. Jamila had been right. This place was slapping for sure. My man and his entourage had Flood’s filled to capacity, with only a few tables reserved for random parties. I’d expected King to be the Diddy of his city, but this party was major fa’sho! Dough boys and pretty girls had turned out in heavy numbers.

  “Damn, baby, you’re doing it big out here. I’m so proud of you, like your number one fan.” I leaned in and kissed him on the lips. He surprised me by slipping his tongue inside of my mouth.

  “I wouldn’t be shit without my woman holding me down. I love you, Samira, to the motherfucking moon and back.” I was in la-la land. King had me spinning on cloud nine with the public attention and devotion. Nothing else in the world mattered because I had my soul mate by my side.

  “I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Blushing, smiling from ear to ear, and more than ready to party hard, it wasn’t shit you could tell me. It was gonna be Samira and King the Producer forever.

  King led me to the back where the majority of his reserved booths were. Jamila had already made herself comfortable at the back booth, pouring herself a glass of gold-bottle Moët. She was more than ready to get tipsy, but I couldn’t lie, with King on his best behavior, I was ready to celebrate too. The hostess was a headlining dancer at King of Diamonds, Miami, so you already knew the venue was hype. Turquoise Barbie was the baddest redbone Guyanese Sicilian stripper to climb, twirl, and stunt on the pole. Me and King had the pleasure of cashing her out on our last vacation. I guessed his sneaky ass kept in touch.

  “It looks like Jamila’s got your glass on deck. Go ahead and turn up with ya girl. I’ve gotta go network with the crowd, but I’m gonna be watching your fine ass.” Giving me a quick peck on the cheek, he dipped out, joining a few of his partners before I could contest. Stuck for a moment watching him, I saw King throw handshakes up, taking pictures with a few guys he’d been producing. Johnie, the newest artist to King’s team, stood out to me with his yellow self. Not to hate, ’cause he had the face to make you wanna fuck, but I wasn’t into “light skin be like” dudes. With a neatly trimmed beard, goatee, and sideburns, maybe his pretty boy swag would be perfect for Jamila. When he looked my way, I tried playing it off like I wasn’t plotting on him.

  “So I see you’re enjoying yourself. Hand me my glass so I can get tilted too!” I joined Jamila in the back, and we both started bouncing to the mixes the DJ was spinning of King’s new album.

  “I would be too if I were you. K.P. been giving you hella star power. It brought a tear to my eye seeing y’all so in sync.”

  “I know, right? I wish his ass could be like that all the time.” Scanning to find him in the club, I saw he was still networking with other artists from the underground music world. I knew this was also his way of getting potential clients, more venues to entertain at, and more fans, so I decided to stop hawking him and start actually enjoying my baby’s success. He’d put in a lot of hard work, and I’d invested more than enough of my money and time to deserve this celebration too.

  “Girl, don’t trip until he trips. He’s doing good so far, so give him credit.”

  “I ain’t trying to stunt on K.P. I’ll give him his credit, but I already know this bubble I’m living in gonna be popped soon.” No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t help but be a realist. King got down on a level no one knew of, no matter how much I shared.

  “Bitch, bye with your negative ass. Don’t fuck up my vibe! You better turn that glass up, guzzle it down, then get with the program. Besides, you’ve gotta get out here and stay relevant to these hoes. Your man is definitely the man tonight, Samira!”

  “Ain’t he though?” Turning my glass up, taking her advice, I used the liquor to build up my ego. I could stop the room’s movement with just my entry alone, so by the end of the night everyone would know who I was and my relevance to King.

  Me and Jamila made sure to work Flood’s Bar & Grille inside and out. From working up a sweat hustling on the dance floor, to doing shots at the bar with a few other ladies who dated King’s artists, everyone in attendance seemed to be having a great time. I’d finished almost a half bottle of Moët champagne with plans on taking the rest out shortly. Everyone in our section had personal bottles, living like bosses for the night. Turned all the way up, I hadn’t drunk this much in a long time. Feeling woozy, I sat down in the first available chair I saw, grabbing my head and trying to get myself together. My shit was spinning like a merry-go-round!

  “You straight?” Jamila yelled into my face, still dancing.

  “Yeah, I’m good. I ain’t trying to kill your vibe or nothing, but can you grab me a water real quick?” I wanted to do it myself, but I was feeling too lightheaded.

  “I got you. Be right back.” As Jamila hurried to the bar, I tried to play it off like I wasn’t drunk, but I was pretty much done for the night. Where the fuck is King’s ass? He know I can’t handle my liquor. Barely holding my head up, I grabbed the bottle from her hand and sipped it slowly because my stomach was starting to do cartwheels.

  “Damn, boo, you might’ve gone too hard in the paint,” Mila laughed, rubbing my back. “Are you feeling totally tapped out?”

  “Naw, I’m just gonna get this water into my system. Let’s go to the bathroom so I can pee out some of the liq.” I stood up. Making sure I could actually walk, Jamila locked hands with me, leading the way to the restroom. All things happen for a reason, so me spotting King’s low-down doggish ass nibbling on a bitch’s neck was n
ot by sheer coincidence but meant to motherfucking happen. “Oh hell naw, I’m on one hundred. You see that crap over there, Mila? K.P. ain’t never gonna be shit!” Sobering up quickly, I was ready to take him and ol’ girl’s head off.

  “Yeah, I was hoping you didn’t. Damn, bro.” Shaking her head, hanging it in defeat, Jamila knew I was right about King bursting my bubble sooner or later. I hadn’t seen that nigga since he’d gone to the other side of the club, and apparently, this was why. “I’ve got your back, sis, even if I’ve gotta usher your drunk ass over there.”

  “Oh, you good. I’ve got this.” Not thinking twice, I took two steps, grabbed a bottle out of a passerby’s hand, and quickly launched it across the room at King and who I assumed to be Rayna. Taking off my red bottoms, running quickly through the crowd, I followed the bottle, attacking King like a pit bull in a skirt. I hit him in the back a few times with the heel of my shoe. Scaring him was the least of my worries.

  “Ahh, what the fuck!” King yelled and swung around to see what was going on and most importantly who had hit him. I was ready to pop this buster’s eyes out no doubt. The commotion of me tossing the bottle had popped off behind me, but I was totally focused on the fight ahead of me.

  “You want me to handle this bitch, babes?” Rayna called herself stepping around King ready to confront me.

  “You ain’t handling shit this way, believe that.” Jamila ran up, grabbing ol’ girl by the arm and making sure she didn’t hit me.

  I was stuck in shock, couldn’t move, and could only see red. Jamila knew it, and that’s why she ran to cover me from any blows Rayna could serve my way. King pinned my arms to my side and marched me toward the back, trying to keep me calm, but I was already on ten.

  “Is that bitch carrying your baby, K.P.? ’Cause if so, it’s about to be off with her motherfucking head!”

  “Calm down, Samira, this ain’t the time.” He didn’t deny that he’d gotten the side piece pregnant. People finally realized it was King who had a catastrophe going on, and they focused all their attention on us. Drinks were still getting poured because everyone knew this would be a video clip most worthy for WorldStarHipHop. “Mila, back up off ol’ girl, ’cause she was just leaving.” Throwing commands, K.P. still felt like he had enough weight right now to do so.