18. Carmelo “Slim” Hawkins
“You think my brother would be pissed if he knew you were here?” Drea asked as I stepped inside.
“You’re grown, Sweetness. Why you care what he thinks?” I grinned. “Unless the only reason you keep me around is to fuck with him.”
She rolled her eyes, but I peeped the smile she was trying to fight.
She closed the door behind me and breezed into the living room, already reaching for the bottle of wine.
We’d been in this holding pattern for months—late-night texts, silly memes, any half-assed excuse to check in.
But every time we did link up, it was like no time had passed at all. It was always too easy with her.
This woman kept trying to convince herself that she didn’t want a nigga like me— someone who moved in the same world as her brother.
Her baby daddy had fucked her up, and when he put hands on her, it was me she called.
Not her brother. Even after Fontaine found out, I was still the one who cut his brakes.
It didn’t matter though, the damage had been done and Drea had been side-eyeing every man with street ties since.
She dropped down on the couch, tucked a leg underneath her, and looked over her shoulder at me.
I lingered in the foyer for a moment, taking her in—the freckles scattered across her face, her sandy brown hair pulled up into a messy bun.
Something about her looking all soft and comfortable made me wish I could have her like this every day.
From the first night we met at Fontaine’s party in our twenties, I knew she was finna be a problem.
Her smile was like sunshine after rain, and her sense of humor hooked me early.
I kept it respectful, kept my distance—she was my boy’s sister—but it didn’t matter.
We started texting after Fontaine asked me to give her a ride home, connecting over our love of martial arts and action movies.
Then she got with her baby daddy, and I had to watch from a distance while he broke her down piece by piece.
After the dust settled with that, we’d circle each other every few months–close enough to touch, never close enough to keep.
I took off my shoes and settled on the couch beside her. She shifted over and draped her feet across my lap.
“So you call me over because you’re bored?” I teased as I stroked her calf.
She set her glass down and shrugged. “Maybe I missed you.”
“Mhm. I’m not about to do this shit with you, Dre.”
“What?” She batted her lashes innocently.
“Where’s Gunnar?”
“My mom has him for the weekend.”
I shook my head, letting her feet slide off my lap as I stood. “Yeah, I’m out.”
“Why?” She caught the hem of my hoodie.
I sighed and rubbed my face. “You not about to fuck on me and then leave my ass on read for another six months.”
“Don’t you got that bitch up in Brooklyn? I don’t see the issue,” she let out an annoyed breath.
“The issue is, I don’t fucking love her.”
Her eyes widened like I’d set off a grenade in the room.
But this wasn’t news—I’d told her how I felt on more than one occasion.
I let her brother and everyone else believe I was the one playing games.
Truth was, I’d been ready to change her last name to Hawkins, but she refused to move past her demons.
I stared at her, searching her face, tired of feeling like the nigga she keeps in her back pocket in case of emergencies.
“I—” she started, voice faltering as she still held tight to me. She was stuck, battling conflicting emotions, not sure if she wanted to let me in or push me away.
I licked my lips and leaned down, crowding her space. “I told you, I was done doing this push-pull shit with you. We not about to be doing that dumb shit your brother and Nairobi were on. I’m not that kind of nigga. If you want me here, say that, and say it with your chest. If not, let me go.”
She looked at me, those hazel-green eyes telling me she wanted to say yes, but she was trying her best to keep that wall up. Then her fingers slid down to lace with mine, thumb brushing over my knuckles.
“You know I can’t do a relationship right now, Melo. With Gunnar… the salon...”
I sat back down. “Haven’t I treated you like you’re the only woman on this earth for me? You know I’d step up for Gunnar too. Why you keep pushing me away?”
She laughed nervously and looked away, but I caught her chin, bringing her face back to mine.
“Why you keep pretending you too good for me?”
She rolled her eyes, but there was no malice in it. Her hands slid up my chest, fingers curling around the strings of my hoodie. “I never thought I was too good for you, Melo.”
My lips found hers—testing the waters, moving slowly like we had all night to get reacquainted. She tasted like red wine and bad decisions. She moaned into my mouth, running her nails along the back of my neck.
Our clothes came off slowly. My hoodie. Her sweatshirt. Her yoga pants. I gripped her thighs, soft and warm, pulling her under me. Her breath caught when my hand found the heat between her legs and started rubbing her through the thin fabric of her panties.
“You miss me for real, Sweetness?” I murmured, kissing along her jaw. “Or just the way I make you feel.”
She shivered and pressed harder against my hand as her eyes fluttered closed. “Both,” she breathed.
I slid her panties to the side and found her already soaked for me. “Pussy says otherwise,” I muttered as my fingers ran through her slick folds.
“Slim—” she panted.
“Nah, you call me Melo. Fuck that,” I corrected as I dipped my head to kiss her throat, tracing her pulse with my tongue. She whimpered and grabbed at my shoulders. I slid two fingers inside her, using my thumb to rub her clit. Her back arched off the couch, thighs tightening around my wrist.
“Melo, fu—” she gasped.
“Let me hear you, baby. Don’t hold back.”
She answered with a trembling moan, her hips rolling until her whole body trembled as she came with my name on her lips. I brought my fingers to my mouth, licking her release. I wished I could bottle that shit up and have it on-demand.
Drea fumbled with my sweatpants until she got them and my boxers down enough to free me. She hooked her legs around my waist. “I want you, Melo. Please.”
I pushed inside her slowly, savoring the way her mouth fell open, eyes rolling back, nails biting into my shoulders as I filled her up. I started to move, watching my dick disappear inside her.
“Fuck, Dre,” I grunted in her ear.
She clenched around me, pussy squeezing me so tight I almost folded right then.
“Melo,” she moaned, her hips meeting mine, the both of us moving together. Sweat slicked our skin, the room was thick with our heat and filled with the sound of cussing and her soft cries.
“I want you to nut in me,” she whimpered.
I swear to God, I almost lost it. We were playing with fire, but fuck it, I didn’t care.
“That’s the wine talkin’” I said, voice ragged, trying to keep it together.
“I’m—oh God, fuck—” she gasped.
“Drea, baby.”
I delivered steady, deep strokes—like a metronome. I tried to pace myself, but every time I looked down at her, felt her tighten around me, I nearly gave in.
I gritted my teeth, fighting the urge to let go.
Fuck.
Her voice broke through my thoughts. “Carmelo. Please… I need you to come in me.”
My last ounce of control vanished. My hips snapped faster as I groaned her name. Her nails dug deep, legs locked around me as we came together, her pussy milking me as I came hard inside her.
For a long moment, we just lay there, catching our breath and listening to each other’s heartbeats in the quiet. I pressed a kiss to her shoulder, feeling her smile against my jaw.
“Told you I missed you,” she murmured, lips brushing against my ear.
I closed my eyes, holding onto that, even if just for tonight.
Brooklyn S
We need to talk
I shoved my phone in my pocket as I let myself into my grandmother’s one-bedroom condo. The smell of grits and the sounds of Frankie Beverly’s Golden Time of Day washed over me like a warm hug.
A smile crept across my face as I heard Nana singing along, her voice drifting from the kitchen—just a little off-key. I hung my coat on the hook by the door, kicked off my boots, and followed the music.
Caroline Hawkins was my everything. Nana stepped up when a drunk driver took my parents and left me at twelve with nobody but her.
There was no insurance payout, no trust fund.
Just funeral costs and memories. At sixty, she put aside her dreams of retirement and kept working to keep a roof over my head, doing her best to give me a happy childhood.
My aunts and uncles were full of excuses about their kids, not enough money, saying it’d be too much to take me in, so they left Nana to figure it out.
She never once complained. Just made sure I was loved and given the kind of security only she could give.
That’s how I ended up running with Cash’s pops.
Watching Nana work herself to the bone when she should’ve been enjoying retirement–I couldn’t just sit with that.
Everybody knew Ricardo Banks was that nigga on the Eastside.
Back then, the Banks Crew was just growing, and I’d known Cash since we were kids.
Their family moved away when we got to high school, but Ricardo still took me under his wing and that’s when I started hustling.
I’d leave money for Nana to help with bills— she never asked where the money came from, but deep down she knew.
Still, to make her happy, I graduated high school and went to trade school to become an electrician.
But the streets and the fast money they promised were louder than the straight and narrow path.
When Nana had her stroke, that money was what covered her medical bills and got her into the best rehab facility in the city.
So yeah, she was the reason I did what I did—right or wrong.
“Morning, Nana,” I said as I entered the kitchen. She was at the stove, pulling a tray of biscuits out of the oven.
She smiled warmly at me over her shoulder. “Hey, my baby.”
She set the tray on the stovetop and pulled off her oven mitts. “Sit, let me make you a plate.”
I took my usual spot at the tiny kitchen table.
I’d tried for years to get her out of this neighborhood, to let me upgrade her into a nicer place somewhere safer, but Nana said she liked living where she knew the folks.
So I made sure the young dudes looked out for her ‘cause anybody messing with Ms. Hawkins was gonna pay with their life.
She sat across from me with her own plate and gave me a once-over. “Why you look tired? You working too much—you need some rest and a nice lady. When you gonna settle down and give me some grandbabies?”
I groaned as I ripped up pieces of bacon into my bowl of grits. “Nana, no one thinking about no damn kids. Plus you have enough, you don’t need me to give you one.”
She waved a hand. “Yes, but they’re not your children. I want my lil’ Melo to settle down with a nice girl, so you won’t end up an ol’ fuck boy like your Uncle Leroy.”
I nearly choked on my food. “Nana, whatchu know ‘bout fuck boys?”
“I be seeing things on TikTok.”
I was about to ask her who put that shit on her phone when the keys jingled in the front door.
Heavy footsteps clambered to the kitchen as my Uncle Leroy entered the kitchen smelling like weed and cheap cologne he probably sprayed on before coming up. “‘Sup, mama.”
Nana sighed, probably annoyed she’d conjured his worthless ass up. “Leroy.”
He gave her a quick hug, then looked over at me. “What up, nephew?”
I tipped my head at him. “‘Sup.”
He busied himself making a plate —without washing his hands— and slid into the chair next to me. His eyes darted to the Movado on my wrist. “Melo, you got something I can hold? I’m between jobs?—”
Nana went to say something, but I shook my head to cut her off. “Man, you always in a fucking tight spot. Aren’t you a plumber? Fuck you ain’t never got no money?”
He reared back. “Watch your mouth, boy. Just ‘cause you doing that street shit don’t make you better than me.”
I sucked my teeth and jabbed my spoon into my food. “Yeah, but I’m also not a fucking bum.”
Leroy bristled, ready to pop shit, but Nana shut him down with a look. “You not about to be in this house causing a ruckus, Leroy. No one got money for you. Plus, Melo’s right—you got a good trade but never got no money. Where’s it all going?”
“Nigga don’t do shit but drink and gamble.”
Leroy shoved his chair back. “I don’t have to deal with this shit?—”
“Alright, bye then,” I snapped.
He grumbled something and tossed his plate in the sink and stormed out, slamming the door behind me. The apartment fell quiet except for the Earth, Wind, & Fire coming from the kitchen radio.
Nana shook her head, muttering something about men and their pride and started clearing the table. My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I got up, kissing her on the cheek before stepping into the hall to take the call.
It was Sasha.
I hesitated and debated letting it go to voicemail. But I answered, remembering her text message from earlier.
“Yo.”
“I think he knows, Slim,” Sasha’s voice came out shaky from the other end.
I sighed and rubbed my jaw. “How?”
“He’s been extra clingy… he doubled my detail. There’s no way I can ghost them. And… I heard about that shooting at your friend’s baby shower.”
That gave me pause. “What you mean you heard about it?”
“They’ve been trying to figure out who did it, I’ve been hearing word from the other wives up here.”
“Are you good, Sash?” I asked.
“I’m fine, for now. I miss you,” she admitted. “I just needed to hear your voice. I love you.”
I swallowed. I couldn't say the words back. I cared for her, but love? Drea Jackson had my heart. “Be safe, Sash.”
I hung up and leaned against the wall. Me and Sasha were never supposed to be serious. I ain’t even know she was married when we first started fucking around, and by the time I did, we’d been hooking up over a year.
Her husband Messiah Lawson was the biggest arms dealer on the East Coast. The Reapers moved guns, yeah, but Messiah was the plug’s plug.
If he was behind the shooting, Cash would crash out worse than he did when he thought Nai’s situation caused it.
“Carmelo?” Nana called from the kitchen.
I shook my head. This was a problem for another day.