“You hit it from the back or the front?” Marquise whispers with a grin. “Shit, was it bald or did it have peach fuzz?”
“Fuck that! Did you lick it and then stick it? That’s what Keenan used to tell me to do. That shit made me aGodin high school.” LaQuan claps.
My stomach is in shambles and my neck is hot because I need to getinsome pussy to get Phat off the brain, but I can’t. LA won’t let me and Phat’s persistent, so she keeps popping in my head. I missed her voice today at practice, her mouth when I stumbled into Mom’s after putting up shots with Marcus after dinner, and her smart ass mouth when I read Brandy’s second thirsty text this morning.
I ease on the bench in front of my locker and push my right foot into my sneaker.
“Bro, get off me.” Bryson shakes Marquise off his shoulders, but his lanky body doesn’t move.
“Nah! Not until you tell us what it’s hittin’ for.”
“Nah! Nah! Get off me.”
“Come on...just tell us.”
“Just give us a lil’ hint. Was it good or not?”
“You bringing her thick ass to Splashtown?”
I’ve been in enough locker rooms to know how this will end. Niggas were straight vultures—especially ones that hardly got play from girls. The pecking order is at work again.
Bryson smiles, exposing every tooth in his mouth. “Shit, yeah.”
“Okay.” Marquise fans his arms out. “Clearly you hit if you bringing her on a date.”
Adate?
I roll my eyes over to Bryson in all of his red-faced glory.
They let out another round of howls like a sweaty ass fraternity party is comparable to a night out at Avra or Nobu in Malibu.
He grins wider and his next words come out slow. “A’ight... a’ight. I did. I hit it.”
“Oh, shit!” everybody shouts but me.
My mouth gets dry while they shoot a million more questions at Bryson. Panties or no panties? From the front or back? Can she ride? And the worst: Did she swallow?
“Like a champ.” Bryson gloats with bright eyes. “Like a motherfuckin’ champ.”
“Ooh-wee!” Marquise closes his eyes. “Oh, she definitely gon' be at Splashtown.”
They’re so impressed by what they think Phat did I hear the planning in their voices when they file out of the locker room and back onto campus.
When my left shoe makes it on my left foot, it’s just me and Bryson. He was so into his newfound fame he couldn’t even finish pulling his shorts up his ass, so he’s stuck with me. Me and Dough are always the last ones in the locker room.
I fiddle with the laces on my sneakers even though they’re already tight enough and pull my headphones off my head. Bryson has a tight smile on his face like he didn’t notice Phat’s absence again today at practice and after being her pet for so long, I’m sure he knows how frail CeCe is. He has to.
I swallow the ball in my throat. “Phat know you lie on her?”
He stops pulling at the strings on his basketball shorts and frowns. “Huh?”
“Do Phat know you lie on her?” I repeat, swiping my tongue out to taste her like I did on the rim of that glass.
“You calling me a liar?”
“I’m not calling you shit. I’m asking you a question.”
“Yeah, a question I ain’t answering. Just because they’re your host family don’t mean you know anything about her. You don’t know nothing about meorPhat.”
