Page 61 of Gang of Roses: Rebel

She looked me up and down with her nose scrunched. “Nah... I’m good.”

“See, that’s your problem.”

“My problem?”

“Yeah.”

“What now?”

“You keep dressing like you about to kick somebody’s front door in.”

She looked down at herself. “The fuck that got to do with anything?”

“You wear baggy clothes, combat boots, ride motorcycles, own more guns than most niggas I know, and barely give men the time of day.”

“So?” She was offended.

“So folks swear you gay.”

She laughed so hard she nearly dropped her beef jerky.

“Boy, ain’t nobody thinking that.”

“The hell they ain’t.”

“They know I like men.”

“I know you like men.”

“I’ve always liked men.”

“I know,” I laughed. “I’m just saying, if somebody didn’t know you, they’d probably think otherwise.”

She rolled her eyes. “Why? Because I don’t like wearing tight ass clothes. They need to mind their damn business.”

“I agree.”

“Besides,” she smirked, “I ain’t changing the way I dress for nobody.”

“I know you ain’t.”

“And if a man can’t handle a woman in combat boots, he ain’t the man for me anyway.”

I pointed at her.

“Now that... I actually agree with.”

She grinned. “Damn. Mark this day on the calendar.”

“Don’t get used to it.”

For the first time all damn day, I found myself laughing. Rebel was a menace. She knew damn well she wasn’t fooling nobody. Hell, she’d been dressing like that since we were teenagers, and she’d still had plenty of men chasing after her. She just never seemed interested in keeping one around. I stood and pointed another finger at her.

“Don’t touch nothing while I shower.”

“You say that every time I come over.”

“And every time I come back, something missing.”