Chapter 9
T h e s u n w a s disrespectful the next morning, beaming straight through the floor-to-ceiling windows like it had a personal issue with my hangover. My phone buzzed on the nightstand for the third time, screen lighting up against the wood, but I didn’t reach for it right away.
My fucking head was pounding. Mouth dry as shit. I lay there in that big ass king bed, sheets twisted around my legs, trying to piece together my night—how many blunts went around, when the fuck niggas drained both bottles of Clase Azul.
Buzz. Buzz.
I groaned, grabbed the phone, and sat up slowly. “Yeah?”
“Don’t ‘yeah’ me like you got a problem.”
I scratched my beard, leaned back against the headboard. “Mornin’ to you too, Ma.”
“It’s almost noon, Quamaine. What the hell is good mornin’ about that?
We been up since seven gettin’ this food ready.
Your auntie Diane brought the wrong greens, and your Uncle Tone forgot the damn yams. So, now I need you to hit the store, pick up Aunt Sherry, and grab some ice on the way to Big Mama’s. ”
I squinted. “Wait… ice, Aunt Sherry, and the store?”
“Yes, boy. The store! ain’t nobody told you to be with them cousins of yours gettin’ toe-up last night.”
I rubbed my eyes. “I’m good.”
“You don’t sound good. You sound like your brain still marinatin’ in Tequila and weed smoke.”
I laughed under my breath. “Relax. I gotchu.”
“You always say that, and somehow we still be waitin’ on you like you a damn guest.”
“I am a guest, Ma.”
“You a son first. Get your ass up!” She hung up without waiting for confirmation.
I stared at the phone for a second, then tossed it onto the bed and sighed. “Damn.” Couldn’t dodge expectations today, even if I tried. Maybe if I moved slowly enough, time would just forget about me for a minute.
I peeled myself from the covers, padded barefoot and half-awake across the presidential suite, dragging my hand down my face. The place was damn near the size of a condo, with a kitchen, living room, private balcony, and oversized marble shower.
I turned on the Bluetooth speaker, let a lil’ Duffle Bag Trappy play, and headed for the bathroom. His new EP was fire. The hot water revived me. Steam filled the shower, and by the time I stepped out, I felt human again.
Flying through my mental to-do list, I tossed on black designer jeans, a fleece button-up, and fresh black Timbs. My Cuban rested on my chest, my AP gleamed, and a spritz of Gucci had me set. Then my thoughts drifted to Autumn’s fine ass.
I reached for my phone again, thumbing through my recent apps, instinctively opening DaGram app.
I paused, though, because what was I even searching for?
I didn’t know her last name. I didn’t have a handle or nothing.
I sat down on the edge of the bed, staring at my screen like I had a chance in hell of finding her in, and then I laughed.
“Yeah… I’m trippin’.”
I dropped the phone, went to the desk by the window, rolled up, sparked it, and let the tension roll off. Grabbed the key card, wallet, and dipped. Holiday vibes in full effect.