“Hi again.”
“What’s up, Trouble?”
“You came back.”
“I’ll always come back, baby.”
“What did you get us?”
“Smoked sausages.”
I took a seat next to him on the porch. We didn’t bother with the chairs. We sat on the steps, food between us as we watched Dooley come alive before our eyes.
CHAPTER
TEN
‘Cause girls is players,too.
August…
It had been four days since I’d seen that pretty face, heard that alluring voice, or kissed those plush lips. I was jonesing. Bad.
And, there was only one person who was capable of fixing the yearning I was feeling. I wanted to slide my dick so far up her that I could see that motherfucker in her chest.
There.
I stood back, head crooked as I peered at the dining table, makeshift table cloth, and wooden chairs I’d taken off one of my customer’s hands. Proud of my accomplishment, I rubbed my hands together. Just a few more dollars and the for sale sign behind the table would be destroyed.
With my realtor’s help, I’d put in a cash offer that the owner of the establishment couldn’t refuse. I was on the brink of buying. By the time the offer was accepted, I would have the rest of the funds to make the purchase. Until then, I was cruising.
There was only one person in the world I cared to share the news with. It was the girl who kicked me into overdrive. It was the only person who had personally contributed to my nest. The money I’d taken off her trick put me right where I wanted to be. The money she’d made in Miami we split down the middle. She’d robbed a nigga, so I wasn’t expecting her to willingly hand me a red cent. However, it was the only reason she had given me anything.
“Don’t let nobody touch my shit, Quincy.”
“Man, they better not fuck wit yo shit. I know that.”
Quincy could hardly keep his eyes open, but he’d keep an eye on my belongings. I’d bet my last dollar on it. The job paid twenty dollars. He wasn’t fucking that up. It would cost him his next high if he did.
“You coming back though?”
“Yeah. I’ll be back, nigga.”
I hopped in the Chevelle and burned off.
My first stop was the wing spot.“Fifteen-piece. Lemon pepper. Fried hard. All flats. Side of buffalo sauce. Extra ranch dressing. Carrots tossed in buffalo sauce.”
I spun the block, parking in front of Hyphen’s spot. Her car was in the driveway. I crept from my ride and up her porch. Using the key she hadn’t tried to pry from my hands, I entered her home.
Kitchen.
Hallway.
Living room.
Dining room.
Bedroom.
