“Shit, these things are heavy,” Giselle complained as she and Maisie waddled across the parking lot and down the street to Old Man Jefferson’s house.
“The hell you doing?” Heavy’s husky voice stopped them in their tracks.
“That depends on whose side you’re on.” Maisie narrowed her eyes at him.
“The fuck you talking about, Mais?”
“The water wars, Heavy!”
“I ain’t fucking with you and Crew this year, man. Y’all got it.” He held his hands up in surrender.
“Punk,” Maisie mocked.
“See, that’s why you be getting fucked up.” He wagged his finger at her. “Always talking shit.”
“Whatever. If you ain’t on the team, then you in the way. Move.” She pitched her head to the side to emphasize her point.
“You wild.” Heavy’s eyes wandered to a quiet Giselle, still standing there holding the tote with both hands. “You participating in this, princess?”
“I am merely a helping hand,” she answered, simpering sexily.
“Long as you know what you getting into. These two get competitive as hell.”
“She knows. Now, can you please get out of our way, so we can prep?” Maisie gritted her teeth.
Heavy chuckled and stepped aside, but not before his eyes lingered over Giselle a little longer and vice versa. She was the equivalent to a magnet, and every time he looked up today, it was to lay eyes on her. Everything about her captivated him, even the little shit she did like brush her hand against the back of her head to make sure her hair was still in place, holding up her high ponytail. Another reason to smoke.
Heavy didn’t know what kind of spell this girl had put him under. For days, she’d been living rent free in his head, distracting him from his regular routine. His plan was to go to the car and smoke by himself for a minute. He didn’t like sharing a blunt with a bunch of motherfuckers because they were nasty, but he needed something to take the edge off the liquor he’d been drinking and the rampant thoughts of Giselle.
Huffing and puffing with Maisie, Giselle ducked off on the side of Mr. Jefferson’s house with Lou and a few of her friends.
Heavy shook his head before strolling off. The kids Maisie recruited came ready to go in their swimsuits with no shoes on.
“So, princess,” Maisie teased, playfully lifting her brows at Giselle as they set the tote on the ground.
“Shut up.”
“Oh, so he can call you that, but if anybody else does, it’s a problem. I get it,” Maisie jested.
“I told him don’t call me that either.”
“Hmm, doesn’t seem like he listened, and you don’t seem to mind,” Maisie pointed out.
“Whatever.” Giselle gave an eyeroll. “My job is done here. I’m going to grab something else to drink. Have fun.”
For at least an hour, Maisie, Crew, and their separate team of minions chased each other up and down the block, throwing water balloons and lighting each other up with their water guns. They were all taking it seriously, hiding and ducking, pulling sneak attacks. Laughter and screams from all the kids had the elders on the sidelines hysterically entertained and cheering them on while they got soaking wet. Maisie ended up surrendering to Crew, and he scooped her up onto his shoulder and carried her off, kicking and screaming.
Giselle tipped her cup to her lips from under a tent where Remi and some of her friends had gathered. There was still plenty of food, the music was live, and she didn’t spot one unhappy face in the crowd. It wasn’t a big, catered event by some fancy company. There wasn’t any hostility or bad vibes amongst any of them. It was just some good old-fashioned fun. Glancing at the time on her cell, she saw that it was almost six pm, and she hadn’t planned to stick around as long as she had.
“Somewhere else you need to be?” Prischa queried from beside her.
She wasn’t sure where she’d even come from, so Giselle glanced over her shoulder to see if she had rolled up on her purposely or if it was by chance.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Just seems like you don’t want to be here.” Prischa shrugged, picking up a paper plate and surveying the many desserts in front of her.
“And how did you detect that?” she replied.
