Kade #3
“They wanna play? Let’s muhfuckin’ play.” Yayo grinned, tilting the Ace bottle to his lips and reaching for two more currency stacks. Spend Dat by Yung Miami dropped through the speakers and the energy inside the club shifted.
“WHERE ALL MY SCAMMIN’-ASS NIGGAS AT?” Yayo screamed into the air, throwing money so aggressively security started looking stressed.
The beat exploded through the club as money started flying—our section answered to theirs.
Then theirs got louder. Then ours did. Then somehow this shit escalated into a full-blown financial warfare situation between rich niggas and the women who loved embarrassing us publicly.
“Spend that shit! Spend that shit!” the girls screamed from across the club as strippers started abandoning our section. Now THAT pissed me off.
“Oh hell nah,” I said, watching half the dancers migrate toward Ysis and them, because apparently my wife had turned their section into the damn promised land. The girls stood there hollering in victory as bills covered the floor around them.
Ysis stood in the middle of all the madness with one hand under her stomach and the other throwing bands in the air, staring directly at me like she’d won the lottery. Technically...she had.
“I know this nigga not turned on right now.” Cassian said after one look at my face.
“Man shut up,” I muttered, watching my wife rub all over the stripper with her pregnant ass, carrying my children or not.
“Nah, look at him.” Marcus barked out laughing.
“That nigga fighting demons in real time.”
“Why she over there looking like a pregnant video vixen?” Cazmir added, sipping his drink as the rest of us watched.
See, this was the problem. My wife had no business looking that good while at the same time stressing me the fuck out.
The little black dress hugged her stomach perfectly, her bob swinging every time she laughed and she tossed cash as if she partially owned the establishment.
Then the disrespectful heffa looked and blew me a kiss, before slapping five with Kayla.
“Oh, she think this shit funny,” I said, adjusting my watch.
“She do,” Yayo said. “And lowkey? They frying our ass right now.”
“Aight man, calm down before I forget she pregnant up in here and start acting on instinct.”
“Too late for that.” Yayo barked out laughing.
“The party’s over.” I stood up.
“You crashing out already?” Cassian asked.
“Nah, but these wenches got too much damn confidence for women we pay bills for.” That had everybody hollering. Ysis and them clocked us and got louder on purpose.
“Spend that shit! Spend that shit!” they screamed, still throwing money in the air.
“Let me go collect my woman before she start acting single in HD.” Yayo said, cracking his neck beside me.
“They won this battle,” Marcus cackled, which only made me smirk.
“As long as I got this stick, we winning the war.” I grabbed another stack. Marcus nearly choked laughing while Yayo stood up beside me looking possessed.
“That’s my sister right there,” he nodded, then looked toward Kayla. “And my lil baby over there lookin' too fucking fine.”
“You say that like you own her,” Cazmir laughed.
“I do.”
“Lord have mercy.”
“Take it up with God.” This nigga straightened his jacket, grabbed the bottle and started walking toward their section like a man marching into battle while the rest of us followed.
“Move. Family reunion in progress,” he announced, cutting through the crowd.
Meanwhile, I was still trying to process the fact my six-month pregnant wife had secretly boarded a jet to Miami just to spite me.
Not only had she ignored direct instructions from her husband, but now she was in the middle of a strip club throwing money at ass while carrying my legacy.
Lord, give me strength, because the line between wanting to cuss her out and bend her over the nearest surface was getting blurry.
The girls started screaming the second they saw us approaching. “What y’all thought? It was gone be a party without us?” Kayla laughed as Yayo slid into her space.
“Ma, the way y’all done flew across the country six months pregnant, throwing money at ass and stealing strippers from our section? This ain’t even a bachelorette party no more. This a hostile takeover.”
“Don’t give me that look,” Ysis sassed, wrapping her arms around my neck before I could even start. “What’s yours is mine, remember?” She smirked the stepping into my embrace like she hadn’t just hopped on a plane six months pregnant to stress me on purpose.
“Oh, so that’s what we doing?” I stared down at her, gripping her hips tighter than necessary. “Last time I checked, what’s mine was supposed to be at home resting, not in strip clubs.”
“Well, last time I checked, you left me at home while y’all flew to Miami to throw money at ass and make poor decisions. I couldn’t let my man go unsupervised.”
The section exploded laughing. “You was having too much fun without me.”
“That was literally the point.”
“And yet here I am.”
“Ice got that nigga on house arrest,” Cassian yelled.
“She not wrong though,” Marcus shrugged.
“Soon as we touched down, these niggas started acting like divorced NBA players with emotional trauma.”
“Man shut up,” I said, watching Ysis stand there smiling way too hard for somebody on probation with me.
“Don’t give me that look either,” she continued, rubbing her stomach. “The babies wanted to come to Miami.”
“The babies?” I repeated in disbelief. “The babies told you to charter a jet and come throw money at strippers?”
“See,” she pointed at me, looking at the girls. “This why I came. He don’t listen.”
“Cause you say dumb shit.”
“Oh my God,” Bree laughed into her drink. “They already married.”
“Unfortunately,” Ysis sighed dramatically.
“You was crying in my chest two nights ago talking about you couldn’t sleep without me.”
“And I meant every word. You still stress me out though,” she answered without shame. That had all the girls cackling while Yayo slid up behind Kayla looking entirely too pleased with life.
“I ain’t gone lie, y’all fried our shit tonight.” he said, looking around at the women.
“Definitely, cause the dancers done abandoned us,” Cazmir agreed. As if on cue, another stripper walked right past our section carrying her money over to theirs.
“Not our fault y’all section got depressing energy,” Lauren teased. “All y’all do is sit around looking rich and emotionally unavailable.”
“We ARE rich and emotionally unavailable,” Cassian said.
“Speak for yourself,” Marcus frowned. “I’m healing.”
“Nigga please,” Yayo scoffed. “You ate a stripper ass thirty minutes ago.” The entire section went dead silent before exploding as Lauren sat up and started smacking him with her clutch.
“YAYO!” Kayla screamed, doubled over laughing.
“What?” This nigga had the nerve to look genuinely confused. “I’m being transparent.”
“Brother, some thoughts belong only to you.” I said, shaking my head. “
“Nah, we need to normalize honesty in relationships.” He took another pull from the bottle.
“Coming from YOU is insane,” Ysis laughed.
God. I laughed under my breath, looking down at her.
I was still stuck on the fact my wife looked entirely too good tonight—her wedding ring catching every light in the club, pregnancy softening her in all the best places.
Her hips spread just enough to make every outfit look disrespectful, and judging by the smirk she kept throwing my way every five seconds, that woman knew damn well what she was doing to me.
“You know a hard head makes a soft ass, troublemaker.”
“And?”
“And you know I’m the king of turning punishment into foreplay.” Ysis bit her lip.
“See?” Cassian yelled toward the group. “This why nobody can separate these two toxic-ass people.”
“Anyway, we all here now,” Ysis said, raising her bottled of water in the air. “And we getting married bitchesss, so let’s turn up and make the most of it!”
“Cheers to that,” Kayla raised her glass.
“To my baby Yayo, safe sex, and paychecks.”
“Which some of y’all clearly ignored,” Marcus laughed, pointing at me and Ysis.
“To Kade and Yayo!” Everybody yelled together as glasses clinked around the section.
At that point everybody had collectively said fuck it.
The music got louder, more bottles came out, money started flying again, and before the night was over, it looked like a damn blizzard made out of hundred-dollar bills.
The rest of the weekend blurred together after that.
Parties, shopping, drinking, laughing till our stomachs hurt, and making memories we was probably gon’ exaggerate twenty years from now like old hood legends sitting on a porch somewhere.
After I had my way with her back at the house, Ysis spent money any time she saw a store window sparkle, and I let her do it because denying that woman anything was damn near a suicide mission at this point.
By the time we boarded the jet back to Memphis, she was curled up against my chest knocked out, with one hand tucked inside my hoodie like her body already knew where home was. I looked out the window, knowing two things for certain.
One: Miami never stood a chance against us. And two? In Twenty-four hours, Ysis Bautista was officially becoming Mrs. Myles forever...and God help anybody stupid enough to think they could ever come between that again.
“Mr. Myles?” The interviewer’s voice pulled me back into the present.
I blinked, shaking the memory loose before realizing everybody in the studio was looking at me.
Ysis rubbed her hand across mine, knowing I’d mentally drifted off somewhere else.
The memory was so vivid I almost forgot where the hell I was.
For a second I could still hear Yayo and Kayla arguing somewhere in the background, still see money falling from the ceiling while my pregnant wife tortured me in designer heels and attitude.
Damn. Miami had been a movie from start to finish.
Truthfully, I wouldn’t have changed a single second of that chaos. Not one.