“Yea—yeah.”
He must’ve heard me dry-heaving over Ace’s last subtweet.
@AceWilliamsJr 30m
Sent the car for The Kid. You know it’s a special delivery ‘cause we locked in.
Six hundred comments. One thousand retweets. Three-thousand likes.
The rest of the world is deciphering his subtweets using Dough’s lyrics just like I am.
I fumble with the phone and put it to sleep as we glide through the busy streets of Upper Kirby. Gus makes a sharp turn and I’m gulping again at the sight those retweeters and commenters didn’t have—their @AceWilliamsJr dressed down in fleece shorts, a vintage Lakers t-shirt, and more expensive ass sneakers that makes my crazy ass body swoon.
“Looks like yuh troublemaking Prince Charming awaits yuh,” Gus mumbles with a chuckle as he pulls up to the curb.
“I don’t think Prince Charming looks like that.”
“Forgive meh.” He laughs harder. “Your LA legend awaits yuh.”
“That’s more like it.”
I lean forward, ignoring the wild thumping between my legs at the sight of Ace standing in front of a high-rise. The surrounding streets hum with folks walking their dogs, deep in conversation on outdoor patios at the surrounding restaurants or just heading to whatever’s at their fingertips.
Ace tosses up his fingers at the truck and I lean forward over the middle console because my body doesn’t care that I look like a fool—it missed his face. And my brain is on some other shit if it thinks it’s going to overthink my ass into the backseat while he talks to Gus.
Gus rolls the window down before he pulls to a stop at the curb.
“Took you long enough,” Ace says, poking his head through the driver’s side window.
Gus sucks his teeth. “Cha meh take as long as traffic allowed…bwoy.”
I giggle. “I knew you was an OG.”
Ace laughs along with me and reaches over Gus, gripping my nose between his index and middle finger and shaking it. His fingers smell like earth and weed.
“Here.” He thrusts his other hand through the window toward Gus. “If you get caught by the Chief, you ain’t get it from me.”
My eyes grow at the joint dangling between his fingers.
“Yeah… yeah.” Gus nods, snatching it. “Better not be no mid neither.”
“Nigga.” Ace cocks his lips to the side. “And you bet not been hitting them corners hard with my package in the backseat either.”
“If so, yuhgood gyalwould’ve told by now.”
I don’t understand Gus’ fast words until Ace’s response bellows throughout the car.
“Oh, for sure. She know better. Just like she knows it ain’t no substitute for daddy’s spaceship. I thought you knew she was a Porsche girl?”
Now, my body isrealhot because I’m finally home and I get to hear the slick shit he types on Twitter in real life.
He pulls out of the window and fans his hand toward himself. “C’mon, kid.”
“Thanks, Gus!” I grin, climbing back into the backseat.
“No problem, Phat. Stay outta trouble.”
I must look a foolish sight to Gus—giddy with hungry eyes. Meanwhile, Ace is so laid back I would’ve thought he was high if it weren’t for his white eyeballs when he yanks the backdoor open.
