“Dreu you signed a contract. They expect energy. Personality. They expect Big D’s persona. So tomorrow, please don’t?—”
“Remind the world I can’t rap?” I finished for her biting my bottom lip.
“At least he honest.” Ghost snorted from the window.
“Jesus! Can you stop saying that, Dreu! You are talented in many ways!” Rina stressed.
“I know I am, Rina. Stop stressing yourself. I say that shit to troll but to be honest, when I started this rapping shit, it was simply to entertain and get views and easy money. I enjoy this shit, the feel of being in the studio saying whatever comes to mind. Iceman makes incredible beats and manages me well. At least I ain’t got a ghost writer like that nigga B-Mack that swear he out selling a nigga. Muthafucka’s troll me all day with he can’t even rap…yet they keep putting racks on top of racks in a nigga’s pockets.” I looked her in the eyes dead serious.
The retwist lady leaned forward again, and her titties fully slid across my back. I flinched and inhaled the air around me and instantly frowned.Fuck this shit!
“Ma’am,” I said louder this time, “Can you please step back a little? Your situation is very close.” I stated in an irritated tone.
“My what?” She smacked her lips then popped her gum loudly in my ear.
I turned in the stool to face her. I had to shake my head because to me, she was pretty as hell. She had a short, thick, curvy frame. I loved women with big ass titties, and it was a shame that her rack had the audacity to stank. She had smooth chocolate skin; her hair was pressed bone straight.
“Your titties,” I clarified shamelessly, I was tired of beating around the bush with her ass. If I could smell it, I knew for a fact that she could. “Them muthafuckas hot and humid.” I griped.
She gasped, silence fell over the room followed by laughter. Rina threw her hands up.
“Oh my goodness, Dreu. Why do you talk like this?” She paced in front of me again.
“Cause the shit is true. I tried to be nice but she keep pressing them jugs all over me! I don’t need my back smelling like her climate change.” I eyed her titties as I talked to Rina.
The stylist finally stepped back with an offended huff. I exhaled dramatically right in front of her face.
“Thank you.” I inhaled the fresh air around me thankful that she stepped away to give me space to breathe in fresh air.
“I’m gonna go use the bathroom.” The stylist said with an attitude.
“Okay ma. You pretty as fuck by the way. Ain’t shit to be ashamed of, I was trying to be nice about it, but I had to keep it real. While you in the bathroom, use some of that soap and get in between them big baby’s.” I winked at her and turned around on the stool to give my full attention to Rina.
“You a fuckin’ menace.” Iceman retorted with a laugh.
“I’m real,” I corrected. “This is what the fans love about me.”
“No,” Rina said, pointing at me, “They love the illusion that you’re wild, not the reality.”
“Same difference.” I shrugged.
Rina stomped away towards the kitchen island and opened her laptop. I stood and walked over to the ashtray.
“Okay,” Rina put on her glasses and pecked away at the keyboard. “Your rehearsal check-in is at four. Your wardrobe fitting is at six. The label dinner is at eight. And tomorrow?—”
“Tomorrow I’m the star of the whole damn festival. I got it all Rina, you emailed me the same shit you saying now. Everything is going to be perfect.” I winked at her.
“This overly confident nigga is a trip.” Casper chuckled out.
“Nah, I’m delusional,” I said proudly. “It’s working for me, you two lil niggas better be paying close attention to your mentor.” I smirked at the twins.
“Please don’t ruin anything. Don’t go overboard, I’m begging you, Dreu.” Rina groaned the words out.
I ignored her and walked over towards the floor to length mirror. My locs looked longer, they went past my shoulders falling on my chest. My chains shined against my skin and my smile looked like it had been carved by God and poor decisions.
Most believed that I didn’t have talent but couldn’t deny that I had stardom. I didn’t have bars, but I had magnetism. I had nothing but good memories in Vegas.
My Pancakes was a memory that I’d never forget. I looked down at my dry ass feet and felt my chest tighten. I missed her soft ass hands massaging lotion sensually on my feet and in between my toes. I missed our late-night conversations and the way her big ass titties rested against my chest at night.
