“Hey, Summer!” I heard Tele shout.
Without thinking, I turned to see Summer waltzing through the living room. Naturally, she’d come dressed for the occasion. Versace from the shoulders down. Custom, wide, diamond framed, clear Cartier glasses sat on the bridge of her nose, just for sport.
As usual, she was TV ready, and probably really hadn’t gotten herself together completely on her own. She definitely regularly kept people around, just for her physical maintenance. Because she was conceited and had the bread to do so.
“Oh, brother,” Ora grumbled, causing me to cut my eyes in her direction.
Looking at her, I could almost see the jealousy seeping from her pores. But who could blame her?
Summer was a different breed of woman, and there weren’t too many walking around like her. Her presence always filled the room, and if there was even a smidge of insecurity within you, then that level of being was sure to make you uncomfortable.
Funnily, despite Ora not caring for her, Summer was mostly a girls’ girl. Damn near a feminist. Always wanting to deprogram, and ‘wake the women up, and drag them away from misogyny’ as she’d like to say. And she’d often say that one of the reasons that she didn’t care for Ora was because she was too male centered. Although deep down, we all knew that there was more to the story.
Summer was sometimes full of shit, on the real. Like, she could see everybody else’s bullshit a mile away, but always struggled to identify her own. I could say that, because I knew her, and could clearly see that she was a fucking runner.
Frankly, having Summer at any capacity in my life, had forced me to learn more about women, than what I once believed was humanly possible.
The modern-day Summer prototype was a career driven woman. One who believed in her own dreams, and wasn’t going to let societal norms stand in the way. She was also a unevolved nigga’s worst nightmare.
Money didn’t impress Summer. Hell, the girl literally had a limited series streaming on Netflix, at the time. So, she clearly had her own. Therefore, having money didn’t guarantee keeping her, either, if she didn’t wanna be kept. As a man, you had to actually show up. Have some character and depth. Which is why most of my peers preferred fine and broke. That way, he could buy himself out of pretty much anything, and never really had to be held accountable. And more and more, I fucking understood their way of thinking.
“Hey, y’all.”
Glancing to my left, I saw Harlem marching into the living room, causing me to grind my teeth together. Because Summer’s line stepping ass knew better.
Summer
My stomach was doing somersaults, while I was nauseous as fuck. Fearing that in any minute…my mask would be snatched off, and the real would come tumbling out.
Back in L.A. …I’d grown accustomed to duality. You weren’t fake, just because the public knew one version of you, while everybody else knew another. Hell, in my case…there were actuallythreeversions of Summer. There was public Summer, my family’s Summer, and lastly…Harlem’s Summer. And never were all of those bitches in the same room together. Which was how I’d been keeping some semblance of order, and not completely losing my fucking mind.
Now, I was at my mama’s, wanting to run for the fucking hills, badly. Meanwhile, Harlem was seemingly having the time of his life.
Harlem was tossing back drinks, and socializing with whoever…while Breeze was uncharacteristically quiet. Which was quite dangerous, in my opinion.
Those drinks had Harlem extra friendly, and I knew that he was drunk, once the crowd had dwindled down, and he’d insisted that me, him, Breeze, and Ora sit down to play spades.
I’d made up every excuse not to participate, and still found myself sitting at the table on the outside deck, across from Ora’s weird ass.
Initially, Breeze was extremely standoffish, but with Harlem being so talkative, it wasn’t long before they were engaging in conversation, after not really speaking in over four years.
“So, when do you think that you’ll be back on the court, Breeze?” Harlem questioned, before chugging down the last of his margarita.
Breeze nonchalantly shrugged. “Probably never.”
Harlem furrowed a brow. “Damn, for real? Your injury is that bad?”
“Nah,” Breeze admitted. “I’m just at the end of my contract, and Ion really care to renew.”
“Oh, damn. So, you was serious when you used to say that your NBA career would be short. I know you just made theForbeslist, but damn, bro. You really don’t love the game?”
“I don’t,” Breeze admitted with no hesitation. “Not like the average player. Just a means to an end.”
Harlem nodded. “I hear you. Ion understand it, but I hear you.”
“Right. So, you ready for this upcoming season?” Breeze questioned, as he was dissing out a card.
Smiling, Harlem nodded. “Was born ready.”
