Happy birthday.
That was it. The shit was dry, cold with no heart, or energy. No nothing. My stomach dropped and the liquor didn’t soften shit. I breathed hard through my nose as I typed again.
That’s all you gotta say to me?
My phone buzzed quick this time.
This exactly why I didn’t wanna say nothing to you because everything turn into a fight. Happy birthday ‘Lo. I hope you having a good one.
I sucked my teeth and cussed under my breath. I wasn’t about to argue with her on my birthday. I wasn’t about to stand in no bathroom heated while the whole club was out there chantin’ my name. Toni wanted to play stubborn, cool. I could play that shit too.
I cut the messages off and shoved my phone in my pocket. Then I walked out the bathroom and through the club with my shades low and my expression set like stone. Niggas reached for me and I dapped them up without breakin’ stride, and the women who slid up to me touched my arm and whispered birthday wishes but none of it got through ‘cause the only woman I wanted to hear from was the only woman who was actin’ like she couldn’t stand my ass.
I made it back to the VIP section, sat down, grabbed the bottle, and poured myself another drink with a slow steady hand. The music pounded around me, women laughed, Renza cracked jokes, Pressure talked with Pluto about somethin’ she was smilin’ through.
And I sat here remindin’ myself that Toni was not about to fuck up my motion. Not on my fuckin’ birthday.
I took another drink, leaned back in my seat, and lifted the blunt to my lips again.
I wasn’t about to let my wife fuck up no more of my night. If she ain’t want me no more, cool.
It was time to do me.
Drahma Town
Yass! Sing that shit, bitch!” I shouted to my bestie while she sat in the passenger seat of my white Mercedes, rapping like she was auditioning for a record deal.
The bass vibrated through the doors as we flew down the expressway with the windows cracked just enough for the night air to kiss my glossed-up lips.
Dream was yelling the lyrics, Mia was in the backseat hitting her little two-step even though she was sitting down, and Nola was recording all of us for her story because she never missed a moment when we looked good. And we looked real damn good tonight.
I pushed my hair off my shoulders in that slow, lazy way I always did when I wanted to feel extra fine, letting the silk ofit fall down my back while the glitter oil on my chest caught every bit of light from the dash. My skin was glowing like it had something to say, my lashes curled up pretty, and my lip gloss was sitting thick and wet the way I liked it. I knew exactly what I looked like, and I wasn’t about to downplay it. Women lied all the time, but Echo Lennox didn’t need to. I was the only girl and the baby out of three overprotective brothers who treated me like a trophy they kept polished. If anybody in this world was raised to walk like they floated, it was me.
Trips, gifts, niggas throwing money, private flights, ocean views, rooms full of roses, expensive meals and long hotel balconies where I stood in tiny bikinis taking pictures I didn’t even need to edit. That was my life. I was twenty-five and spoiled, and I embraced every bit of it. Some girls pretended they didn’t like being spoiled. I never had that problem.
“Bitch, you really ate that verse,” I said to Dream, laughing as I swung the car into valet. “Nicki need to put you on payroll.”
“Tuh! I’m just sayin’,” she giggled as she fixed the strap of her dress and checked her reflection. “Echo, you know we look too damn good. They not ready.”
“They never ready,” I replied with a smirk, tapping the wheel as the valet boy damn near stumbled trying to open my door. I stepped out slowly, letting my leg show just enough to make him blink too much. My heels hit the pavement and my girls climbed out behind me in a line like we were arriving at an award show.
“Have a good night, ladies,” the valet boy said, his eyes glued to us like we were a walking billboard.
“We will,” I answered, sliding my hand into Dream’s as we walked toward the entrance.
The bouncer didn’t even ask for IDs. He just looked at us and pressed his hand to his earpiece.
“Let them in.”
Dream squeezed my hand. “Told you.”
Inside, the club smelled like hookah, liquor and money. The lights were low but colorful, moving over the crowd in waves, and the DJ was already hyping up whoever’s birthday it was. Niggas turned their heads as soon as we stepped in, looking us up and down like they were hungry. Women stared too, and I didn’t blame them. We were a sight.
I kept my walk slow, my hips moving just enough to catch attention without begging for it. Some nigga grabbed his friend’s arm when he saw me pass and mouthed something like “damn,” but I didn’t even look twice. Pretty men didn’t impress me. I’d been around enough money and enough arrogance to know the difference between a nigga who looked good and a nigga who was worth my time.
We slid into a section that wasn’t empty but wasn’t crowded either, and nobody questioned it. Men liked pretty girls in their sections, and pretty girls liked free drinks, so everybody won. Music pumped through the speakers and Dream had already started dancing when the DJ’s voice boomed through the mic.
“Aye! Aye! Turn this bitch up for the birthday boy! Kay’Lo in the building tonight!”
