Moose tossed back the bottle of alkaline water he’d grabbed from inside. With no shirt, basketball shorts, and a pair of black and White G.T. Cut 3’s on his feet, he grabbed the small towel off his shoulder to wipe the sweat from his face. It was indeed a blazing mid-June day as the two padded toward his black Audi truck parked at a gas pump.
Mozzi clocked something out the corner of his eye as he popped a stick of Extra gum into his mouth. The same little attitude having shorty he’d been running into the last couple of days had just slammed her gas tank closed. The back seat of her Jeep was covered in different flower arrangements, which got him curious. Today, she had her long, curly hair pulled back into a ponytail and sported a floral romper with a pair of slides and big gold hoop earrings. It was simple, nothing flashy, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Mozzi watched her hop in the driver’s seat and slapped Moose in the chest.
“I’ll meet you at the court,” he told him before sprinting off toward her ride as she got in and started it.
“Nigga, what you mean?” Moose yelled after him.
Mozzi didn’t bother with an answer. Instead, he slid right into her passenger seat as she was pulling off. Like Moose, he wasn’t wearing a shirt. His jersey was slung over his shoulder, and he rocked matching basketball shorts and a pair of purple Kobe 9 Elites.
“What the f—" Coast was about to go off until she got a good look at who was sitting next to her.
The scowl on her pretty ass face shifted into surprise, then that contemptuous glare he had grown accustomed to. Shit was sexy. Her nose was perfect. She had this pouty mouth that looked like it needed to be kissed, and those eyes. Nigga almost got lost in them.
“Are you some kind of stalker?” she asked, searching his dreamy eyes as they raked over her.
“Where we going?” Mozzi queried, getting comfortable in her seat.
“We not going anywhere. You can get the hell out,” she emphasized.
“Mean ass,” Mozzi muttered. “Come on, take me over to Heights Park.”
“I was going there anyway to drop these flowers off. My auntie is putting me to work like she pays me a salary.”
“Who your auntie?” Mozzi turned as Coast tapped the pedal and pulled out of the gas station lot.
Moose was still pumping gas and shaking his head at his brother when they bypassed him.
“Beverly Bellamy,” she answered.
“Aunt Bee!” Mozzi grinned. “Yo, that’s my lady. She love a nigga and helped raise me.”
“Hmm, she must have took her hand off you a long time ago then,” Coast sarcastically stated.
Mozzi cut his eyes in her direction.
“And none of that sweet, nurturing shit rubbed off on you, I see. Keep acting like that. That baby gon’ come out mean as hell too.”
“Wh—I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She tried to recover from being read so easily and picked up her fountain cup from the cupholder. “Don’t hop in my car talking shit.” She brought the straw to her lips for a sip.
“You need to think about getting something else. Shit ain’t safe to be riding around here like this,” Mozzi told her.
“I love this car.” Coast’s brows scrunched together. “It’s the first thing I ever paid for with my own, hard-earned money, too. We in this shit ’til the wheels fall off. Literally.”
Mozzi examined the whip, taking note of a few rips in the old leather seats and her beat up ass steering wheel. On the floor between his feet was a hobo looking bag, and a few books were slipping out. Mostly some poetry shit he had no idea about. He understood the sentimental value, but this wasn’t it.
“You don’t look like you too far from that.”
“I don’t even know you. All in my business, too. Which is none of yours.” She rolled her eyes.
Her attitude and the sweet aroma of her Valentino perfume mixed with some kind of shea or almond oil struck his nostrils, sending the blood right to his third leg. Before he could get too far ahead of himself, the speaker blasting 2000s R&B could be heard from a couple of blocks away as Coast neared the park. The MC was giving out details about what was going on and who was present. He listed off the events that were taking place today, like sack racing, egg tosses, and relay races. The tournament didn’t start for at least another hour or so, giving both teams time to warm up.
Traffic was thick, and the blocks leading to the actual park were crowded. Cars lined the street with the sunroofs open and tops back as the bass thumped trap music. Outside thestorefronts and salon women laughed and gassed each other up. It had turned into one of those days when the entire city had come out. Mozzi nodded or chucked his chin at a few people they passed.
“Aight, take me over to the parking lot. My bro is already here. Look for a red G Wagon and let me out,” he instructed.
Coast had to slow down because people were crossing the streets, and kids were everywhere, too. Cruising through the lot, she came across the red G wagon like he said and pulled up behind it. The back door was open, and another tall, fine specimen stood, pulling a little girl out. She had to be about four years old, dressed in the cutest little Chicago Bulls jersey dress and matching retro 6s. She was one of the most adorable girls Coast had ever laid eyes on. The boy who rounded the back of the car from the other side looked to be about seven and was the spitting image of who she assumed was his father.
A brown skinned girl in thin framed glasses hopped out of the passenger seat, looking overwhelmed while carrying two trays full of dessert cookies. In the tangerine maxi dress, she was modest, with her hair pulled back in loose wave curls accompanied by a matching orange floral print headband.
