“No, you did. The second you thought you could run my fucking life because you built a tower with your name on it. I’m not a child anymore so I’ll be damn if I let you make those type of decisions for me.”
“You’re thirty, Nikolai,” he said. It’s time to step into responsibility for this family.
“I’ve been responsible since the day you stopped parenting. And since you clearly forgot, I don’t work for you. I got my own shit.” I turned to walk away, done with this conversation.
“You will regret this,” he warned.
“What I regret is coming up here thinking you actually had some shit worth saying. Find somebody else to marry her,” I spat over my shoulder before walking out and slamming the door behind me. So hard that it damn near came off the hinges but I didn’t give a damn. This nigga had the audacity to try and put me in some type of arranged marriage. I hopped back on the elevator and the second the doors opened, I walked straight out of the building and into the cold without looking back.
Once I made it to the parking garage, I hopped in my Escalade and slammed the door harder than I meant to. The engine roared as soon as I turned the key and I backed out fast enough to make the tires squeal. My mind was so discombobulated that I knew trying to get any work done was slim to none so I headed where I knew I could let off some steam.
Twenty minutes later, I pulled into the lot ofGrindhouse Athletics.My best friend Caleb retired from the NFL three years ago and opened this spot not long after. My nigga had long money, so even though the gym was still young, he was already planning renovations for a new look. This place had been my second home since he opened it. Whenever shit got heavy or work got stressful, I came here. Caleb never pressed me about it either. He let me hit the bag until the anger drained out of me, then talked shit afterward.
I stepped out of the truck and headed inside, still dragging the irritation of my father’s voice behind me. The second I walked through the doors, my body relaxed enough to breathe. The clank of metal plates and the deep bass from whatever playlist Caleb had going washed over me, pushing the noise in my head to the background.
Caleb spotted me before I even made it to the ring, towel slung over his shoulder, smirk already forming because he knew exactly why I was here.
“Damn,” he said. “I can tell by your walk… Pops got you fucked up again.”
I didn’t break my stride. “Nigga, you have no idea.”
He started laughing. “Nigga, every time you show up during regular business hours, I know that man done said something to piss you off. Gone get in them bags and then tell me about it, bro.”
“Bet.”
I spent the next hour and thirty minutes beating on that bag like it owed me money. Jeezy blared through my headphones, and with every hit, I felt the tension sliding out of my shoulders, my back, my chest. Sweat soaked through my shirt, but the release felt good as hell.
A few times I caught Caleb off to the side flirting with some chick who knew damn well she didn’t come here to work out.Her body was a piece of art, and if Caleb wasn’t already hitting that, I planned to pass her my number on the way out. I needed some new pussy in rotation for when stress hit, and she fit the criteria off looks alone.
I kept swinging, letting my mind drift to the place I usually avoid. I was a rich bachelor with options, and yet here I was thirty and single. Women threw themselves at me all day, and I’d had my fair share of the ones who made it past the threshold of my bedroom, but that was all it was. Pussy. Nothing serious, nothing to brag to momma about, nothing that made me slow down. Could I do a relationship? Hell yeah, I think I could. I wasn’t the type of nigga that liked to share attention. If I was fucking someone, she was the only one I was fucking. That’s why even with Candace being married, messy, and convenient, she was the only woman I’d been fuckin’ when I was in my “I need some pussy” phase. If it wasn’t her, it was me and that bottle of cocoa butter lotion on my bathroom sink. That alone showed how hard I used to fuck her married ass, but honestly, I hadn’t even touched her in almost a month.
My head had been too deep in the new recipes and perfecting dishes for my next location. Pussy was the last thing on my mind. Still, I wouldn’t mind having a woman who understood my grind and could handle my needs without falling apart. A career-driven woman would be dope as hell, someone who had her own shit going on, but I wasn’t picky about that part. Women my age loved the idea of a nigga taking care of them, but they’d complain in the same breath about not getting enough time, like having a successful man didn’t come with being busy. Success and free time don’t come in the same package.
Caleb walked over once he saw me pull the wraps off my hands, sweat dripping down my back and my chest still tight from the last round. He pushed the towel into my chest and leaned against the pillar, waiting.
“Aight,” he said. “Let it out. What he do now?”
I grabbed my water and swallowed half the bottle before I even spoke. “Nigga tried to set up a whole damn arranged marriage for me.”
Caleb’s head snapped back. “A what?”
“You heard me.”
“With who?”
“Victoria Hargrove.”
Caleb stared at me like I had told him the sky was green. Then he started laughing. “Man, get the fuck outta here. That stuck up ass Barbie bitch with the attitude? Man, hell nah.”
“Yup. Dead serious. Talking about merging empires and all that corporate fairy-tale shit.”
Caleb wiped his forehead, still shaking his head. “Your pops really losing his damn mind. He trying to sell you off like a business asset.”
“That’s exactly what he’s doing.”
“So, what you tell him?”
“That he can kiss my ass.”
