“Nigga, it’s seven in the morning. I just got in the house. You wasn’t bullshitting, huh?”
“Hell, nawl.”
“I feel you, I feel you. Yeah, anyway, I told her ass that she had to keep her word…”
Listening, I felt like the nigga was bullshitting me. I really didn’t appreciate the way that his sister had blown me of, after fucking up my car. She’d really tried to handle me. Publicly. I couldn’t let that slide. So, I was adamant about my payback, because it was the principle. And now, I didn’t like how I had to keep calling this nigga QT to get any confirmations, after his sister had refused to call me directly.
It had been a week since QT’s sister had slammed some girl on the hood of my car. I’d put my shit in the shop the very next day, and my shit was now repaired. But I was serious about ole girl repaying me for my deductible. Especially after her ghetto, ignorant ass wouldn’t even apologize. I told QT that his sister had to make it right, and he’d been swearing that she was coming through to clean my house.
Let him tell it, she was busy all week, and eventually I got fed up with the runaround. I told him that either his sister was pulling up to clean, or I was gonna show up on her doorstep. He swore that she was coming, although she never actually called me herself, like I’d suggested. Now, it was Sunday morning, I was hosting a dinner at my house, and my cleaning lady literally wasn’t available. So, I actually needed the service, and I wasn’t waiting around until the last minute. Ole girl needed to pull up while the day was young.
“So, do you know if she’s even up yet?” I questioned QT. “Yeah, she’s up. In fact, I just left that muthafucka at her truck.
It was her birthday yesterday, man. Not that you give a fuck. But we been out partying all night, tearing up the city. I had surprised her with a party bus. And we officially ended the celebration when I seen you texting me. I told her to go handle her business, then I
dropped her ass off to her truck. She swore that she was headed straight to your crib, after I gave her the address.”
“But how is she gonna get in the gate, if she won’t even call my phone?”
“Man, look. She can be stubborn, but she aint slow. I guarantee that once she realizes that she can’t get in that gate, she’ll call you. I’m telling you—”
Just then, my line beeped.
“Say, let me catch this other line. I’ll call you back if I need you.”
“Bet,” QT agreed, before I clicked over. “Hello?”
There was no response. “Hello?” I repeated.
“Hey. This is Babi. How can I get in this gate?”
Lifting my head, I glanced at the surveillance screens, and saw that she was outside of my private gate. She was outside of a Escalade, with the door wide open, standing in front of my intercom.
“Who the fuck?” I grumbled, while frowning in confusion.
I was staring at the camera, trying to figure out who I was looking at. I had a clear view of the girl at the gate, and she looked nothing like QT’s sister. This girl had long brown and blonde hair that was whopped to one side. She had on a black cropped top that exposed most of her stomach, along with a matching mini skirt. There was a Gucci fanny pack wrapped around her waist, along with some Gucci printed thigh-high boots.
With my grade A cameras, I could clearly see that the girl standing outside of my gate was a bad muthafucka. I’m talking about bad to the bone. That ass was round. Those hips were poking. There was a bow to her legs. She was super thick. And
fucking beautiful. I’m talking cute button nose. High cheekbones. Full, kissable lips. Clear skin.
“Uh, hello? Can I get the code?” She questioned, snapping me back to reality.
“Yeah, just pull up,” I finally responded, before buzzing the gate open.
“Alright.” I watched her hop into the Escalade. “Now, what do I do?” She asked, after pulling into the gate.
“You can just park in front of the house.” “Okay.” She rudely ended the call.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “That’s definitely her ghetto, ignorant ass.”
Mumbling to myself, I traveled out of my bedroom, knowing that it was a nice walk to the front door. It was definitely times like this that I regretted having a seven thousand square foot home.
By the time I approached the double doors, I could see her through the glass. When I opened the door for her, I was smacked by the sweet scent of her perfume. And she just stood there, while holding a Gucci bag.
Since she didn’t say nothing, I didn’t neither. And we just stood in the doorway, staring at one another.
Openly, I visually drank her in, examining her from head to toe. Eventually, I settled on her face. “Is that your real hair?”
