“Damn, nigga, turn that down,” I laughed, covering my ears.
“You wanna be wifey, you gotta get used to loud music. Hope you smoke weed. It’s part of the process.”
I laughed. “Whatever, boy. And yes, I smoke.”
He turned up the music, playing “Stacey Adams” by Snoop Dogg. He drove out of the hotel and hit the freeway, but we didn’t stay on long.
Before I knew it, we were in a whole street takeover. V Saint pulled up fast, through the crowd. We ended up in a crowd of Mustangs, Hellcats, Trackhawks, sport Benzes, the works. Luxury star car, Phantom League. I was so caught up in his professional side and forgot this was a hood nigga by night.
“You can stand in them heels for a minute?”
I laughed. “Always.”
“Well, get out with me.”
I stepped out the car and the energy was live. V-Saint kept me close like the Glock he kept in his waist. He was leaned against the car, me in front of him while he smoked and drank with his crew. He had his hand around my waist, and I couldn’t lie, I was enjoying the vibe.
“This too ghetto for you?” he asked lowly in my ear.
“No, it’s just been a min.”
At that moment, a midnight blue Mustang pulled up and the hottest producer in LA pulled up, tires screeching, loud as music, energy on ten. He stepped out loud and cocky.
“What’s the deal, bro? I see you flesh them out like an IV.”
He glared at me.
V-Saint smirked.
“You tryna make me a topic, bro?”
“Not neva,” Kairo smirked back. “I just pulled up to pay my dues, then I’m out,” V Saint said.
Kairo nodded. He then got on the phone. We kicked it with his crew a lil longer before the car club owner pulled up. He stepped out a midnight blue Lambo truck with a money bag. V Saint pulled a knot of money from his pocket. He then greeted the owner, dapped him up, and then dropped the money in the bag.
“Let’s go,” he whispered to me and tapped the side of my thigh.
We got in and left the scene.
On the way there, he turned down the music at a red light.
“What you saw back there is a part of me. I ain’t no stuck-up suit and tie nigga if that’s what you lookin’ for.”
“I know who you are,” I told him.
He turned the music up and drove off.
$$$$$
We made it to his hotel, and when he opened the door, I was surprised yet pleased with the setup. It was a penthouse, and he had a big bouquet of roses on the table, a bottle of champagne and tequila, and food, real dinner. Steak, lobster, sides, the works. I was definitely starving.
“Thought this was a hood date, huh?”
He took off his shirt, then pulled me close.
“I didn’t know what to expect. Heard you’re a tough cookie.”
He chuckled. “I am.”
