I smiled into his skin. “I’m not goin’ nowhere.”
His arms wrapped around me even tighter.
And even though his dick wasn’t workin’ right…his heart was.
Cloud 9 Dining
I hadn’t seen Pressure and Renza in about a week, so we decided to link up at Club 9 Dining, which was Pressure’s lil’ show-off spot. He loved sittin’ in a buildin’ with his name on the damn cups. The restaurant was upstairs from the lounge, real clean and all white with black marble floors and big glass windows overlookin’ the city. The sun was hittin’ so smooth that the whole place looked like a music video, and here we was posted up at a booth with mimosas poured heavy and the smell of lobster omelettes and cinnamon waffles floatin’ through the air like this shit was heaven with bottle service.
Pressure sat across from me in all black, rings on, watch gleamin’, with that calm-but-crazy look on his face like he was thinkin’ about five things at once and none of ‘em was righteous.Renza was on my left wearin’ sunglasses even though we was under umbrellas, talkin’ shit before he even picked up his fork.
We had just clinked glasses when I leaned back in my chair and sighed. “Bruh… I’m really ‘bout to get off this fuckin’ medicine.”
Pressure lifted an eyebrow slow like he already knew my ass was about to say somethin’ wild. “Why?”
I rubbed my hand down my face ‘cause this was embarrassin’. “Man, this shit fuckin’ up my stroke game. Bad.”
Renza choked on his mimosa and had to put his glass down. “Nigga… what?”
“I’m dead ass.” I tapped the table like I was callin’ a witness. “I tried to get in my wife the other night and my shit said no. Not maybe. Not hold on. It said hell nah.”
Pressure closed his eyes like the world irritated him. “So you blamin’ the meds.”
“YES, nigga. What else I’m supposed to blame? My dick don’t never quit on me. Never. I got Toni over there lookin’ like a whole dream, spread out, moanin’, legs wide open for me… and my shit decided it wanna fold like laundry.”
Renza was dyin’. “Nah, you lyin’. Yo’ dick tapped out on you?”
“Tapped out?” I pointed at him. “Nigga, it clocked out, grabbed a lunchbox, and went home.”
Pressure smirked into his drink. “That’s tragic.”
“Tragic?” I leaned forward. “Nigga, Toni looked so damn disappointed I almost cried. And then she tryna be sweet about it which made me feel even worse ‘cause she ain’t clown me not once.”
Renza wiped his face. “Aww hell nah, Toni the type to clown yo’ ass. If she ain’t clown you? She felt bad.”
“Exactly!” I threw both hands up. “She rubbed my chest, tryna make me feel better. Talkin’ ‘bout ‘it’s okay baby, we gon’figure it out.’ And I’m sittin’ there mad as hell tryna poke it like ‘wake yo’ ass up.’”
Pressure finally cracked a real laugh, low and deep. “Nigga… shut up.”
“No, for real.” I shook my head. “I can’t do this. I need my stroke back. That’s my superpower.”
“It ain’t no superpower if it don’t work,” Renza said, grinnin’.
“Fuck you,” I muttered, grabbin’ my fork. “Y’all don’t understand how helpless that shit feel.”
Pressure lifted his mimosa and took a slow sip. “I understand disappointment, trust me nigga. Pluto been on strike.”
I paused mid-chew. “Strike? What the hell that mean.”
“Exactly what it sound like,” he said, dead serious. “She ain’t gave me shit in weeks.”
Renza sat up quick. “For what?”
Pressure looked at nothin’ for a second like he was replayin’ trauma. “‘Cause I slipped up and nutted in her a few weeks ago.”
I blinked. “Nigga… that ain’t no slip up. That’s a decision.”
“It ain’t feel like a decision,” he muttered. “It felt like God pushed me.”
