“Fuck!” I yelled, about ready to fling the phone into the depths of the Caribbean Sea.
“Listen! The good news is, right now, I’m in talks with Adidas and Gatorade, and there’s been some chatter with Subway as well. I’m working on the next big thing for you, which is a lifetime endorsement deal. The five years you spent with Nike were great, but I know you want bigger. And we both know a lifetime deal is an athlete’s wet dream!” he boasted.
“Okay, so what happens now? What are they saying?” I asked.
“Well, nothing is in the bag just yet, but trust me, as soon as you get back in town, it’s back to appearances, interviews, and meetings. My goal is to have some new contracts coming your way in the next couple of weeks!”
I could hear his salesy tongue slithering through the other end of the phone. All I could do was shake my head. Until something was final, I didn’t trust shit he had to say.
“But endorsements aside, now that the news is out about your trade, you should be expecting a call from the Kansas City coach in the next week or so. Whether you believe it or not, we all want to make sure you’re the most comfortable in your new position there.”
“Yeah, aight.”
“I’m serious, Hendrix. We all want the best for you,” he assured me.
“I just don’t have time for a waste of time, Max. So, when you start showing me some shit that benefits me and I ain’t talkin’ about this hypothetical, maybe someday bullshit. I’m talkin’ concrete, sign my name on the dotted line shit, then we can talk. Until then, let the coach know I’ll be awaiting his call,” I said before pressing the red button and ending the call.
Growing up with street money meant I’d always been hard to impress. For much of my life, money was no object. After my parents got divorced, and I became the man of the house, I had to make sure I kept myself focused on my game so I could make it big and keep my mom used to the lifestyle she’d been living for years as the Queen of Inglewood. By the time I was going into my senior year in high school, I had already accepted a full ride to the University of Southern California to play basketball. After spending my freshman year there, I entered the draft. At five o’clock that evening, I got selected as a first round draft pick. By nine o’clock that same evening, my father’s house was being raided, and he was being hauled off to prison. Suddenly, my entire family started looking at me like the new cash cow since the drug money stopped coming in.
Early on, I learned that the people I called my friends and family only cared about what I could give them. Over the years, only a selectfew gave enough fucks to call and check on me at random or wish me a happy birthday. If I wasn’t writing a check or dropping off a care package whenever I dropped into town, they didn’t want to hear from me. The only person who had ever looked out for me and never asked for a single dime was spending the rest of his life behind bars.
nine
. . .
Day Four
Cassidy
Grips on your waist, front way, back way, you know that I don’t play,Drake’s voice crooned through the Bluetooth speaker as the private yacht my girls and I chartered set sail across the glistening, pristine water. Aside from the captain, there wasn’t a dick in sight, and I couldn’t have been happier. Lauryn, my girls, Brielle and Shauna, and I were in for a half-day of snorkeling, jet skis, and straight good vibes. Our squad was draped in all white bikinis, giving off serious Black girl magic vibes will all different shades of brown between us.
“Look what I’ve got, ladies,” Brielle cheered, waving a Ziploc bag in the air.
Lauryn’s freshly waxed brows shot up. “What the fuck is that?”
“It’s a weed brownie, bitch!”
“Brielle, you brought drugs here!” I blurted out.
“Shh! You goddamn opp! All loud and shit! Here, everybody break off a piece, eat it, and wash it down with a shot of tequila. Are we on vacation or not? Let’s start acting like it, bitchesssss!” she squealed,before turning around to do a quick twerk to Drake’sOne Danceblaring through the Bluetooth speaker.
Shauna shrugged while swiping her burgundy-tipped dreadlocks out of her face. “I’m in.”
Lauryn looked at me and then back at Brielle, who held the brownie in hand. “Fine, fuck it.”
“You in, Cass?” Brielle asked, coaxing me.
“Fuck it.” I shrugged. “Who would’ve thought a quarter of a weed brownie and shots of Case Migos would be my breakfast?”
“It’s the breakfast of fuckin’ champions, bitch!” Brielle hailed, smacking her fruit-scented lips together.
Forty minutes later, we were all high as shit out in the middle of the sea, getting white girl wasted and having the time of our lives. With a mimosa glued to my right hand, I laid out on the front of the boat to soak up all the vitamin D the bright sun had to offer while enjoying the view. I always been able to handle the dosage of the edibles I got from my weed man, but whatever Brielle had gotten a hold of was some next level shit. I’d never been higher. The captain anchored the yacht a couple miles from an isolated island so that Brielle and Shauna’s high asses could start jet skiing. As soon as I closed my mascara-spiked eyes and started to drift off into a light slumber, my phone vibrated against my thigh. I lifted my glasses and looked down to see a number with a Florida area code. A sour look paraded across my face as I quickly hit decline. I knew it was Omar, and he for damn sure wasn’t going to bring me down or kill my vibe. His lying, cheating ass could eat a hot, pickled dick as far as I was concerned.
“Bitch ass nigga,” I grumbled.
I contemplated tossing my phone into the water and watching it sink to the depths but decided to turn it off instead. I paced to the back of the boat and dropped my phone in the bottom of my bag.
“You good, Cass?” Lauryn asked, approaching me from the left.
