SHOT CLOCK #2
“It means you ended up in the friend zone, and it was never supposed to go beyond that. You know Heavy. That nigga don’t cuff bitches. He stick and move. For one, you was his ace’s girl,” Viggo pointed out.
“Pierre been gone for years, Viggo.” Prischa sighed.
“Loyalty ain’t got no time stamp, Pri. Looking out for you and fucking you is two different things.
In Heavy’s eyes, you’ll always be Pierre’s girl.
Shit don’t feel right, but he was willing to give that shit a go for you.
Because he does care about you, believe it or not. Just not how you want him to.”
Heavy had said all the same things in so many words, but for some reason, hearing them from Viggo put things into perspective for her.
Henna glanced at her friend as she cruised the Southwick streets with a pensive stare.
She’d tried to break it down for Prischa, too, but she knew it was hard when a woman wanted what she wanted.
It was easy to be caught up and consumed by a nigga when you loved him, and that was whether the feeling was mutual or not.
Shit was borderline obsessive. Prischa pulled over when they reached the liquor store and parked in the lot.
She left the car running and sat with Henna while Viggo went inside.
“I don’t want to come between you and Heavy, Hen. I know you love your brother. You do not have to go to bat for me like that.”
“Why not? You’re my friend, too, and I don’t think it’s right how he’s treated you.”
“Heavy never lied to me about what we were,” Prischa admitted.
“It was all in my head. What I wanted for us. I kept trying to force him into this cookie cutter life with me and Pierre, and that’s not even who he is.
Before Pierre died, I told him repeatedly, I didn’t like him in the streets all the time.
I was always scared and waiting on that phone call until the day my nightmare came true.
” She sniffled and thought about the police showing up on her doorstep to let her know her son’s father had been gunned down.
It was the worst moment of her life. Pierre was barely three years old and had no memories of his father because of that.
“Hey, it’s okay if you’re not over that.” Henna reached for her and rested a hand on her shoulder. “Anyone would still be traumatized.”
“Yeah, but Heavy was able to help me through that. He was the one showing up making sure me and Pierre were good. I couldn’t get out of bed; my son was neglected.
Your brother really stepped in, and then you, too.
You held a mirror up to me and showed me what I was doing to myself.
I’d lost weight and didn’t know how to put one foot in front of the other.
I took Heavy’s kindness as more than that, and I clung to it for all these years, thinking it was something else.
The fact is, your brother is just a good man, no matter what anyone says. ”
“He’s a good man, but he’s not fucking perfect, Pri. Take him off that pedestal,” Henna encouraged, giving her shoulder a squeeze.
“Yo, the homie Oz leaving the club,” Viggo informed them, climbing in the back seat with a plastic bag filled with what he called his party pack.
Two bottles of tequila, a bag of ice, some margarita mix, and two packs of backwoods so he could smoke all night.
“Pri, can we chill at your spot since Lil’ P at Petal’s?”
“I guess.” She rolled her eyes and shifted the car into drive.
“So, what’s up with Oz?” Henna turned to ask Viggo.
He ripped open a bag of Doritos and stuck his hand in the bag.
“Why you asking?”
“Inquiring minds, Viggo.”
“More like an inquiring pussy.” He chuckled while chewing. “Nah, Oz is cool, but that nigga got hella babies and baby mamas. He leaving the club now because one of them bitches on her stalker shit and pulled up.”
“Oh, so we harboring a nigga and shit?” Prischa joked.
“He so damn fine, I’ll handle his baby mama for him.” Henna lowered the visor mirror to check her reflection.
She dug her MAC gloss from her purse and applied a coat then puckered her lips at her reflection.
Moments later, they were pulling into Prischa’s driveway, and Oz was already parked on the curb, blowing one in his car.
The three of them piled out, and the girls walked the sidewalk to the porch while Viggo went to check on his friend.
“What’s up, bro? You coming in?” he asked when Oz let the window down.
“I’ma fuck you up if you with another bitch, Odin!” his baby mama screamed through the speaker on his phone. “I already told you to quit fucking playing with me.”
“And I told you this shit is over, crazy. Go take care of my seeds while you out here chasing me all over the fucking state.” Oz shook his head and gripped his blunt tighter between his fingers.
“You not gon’ keep playing with me like some toy! I bet if I start fucking another nigga you’ll pay attention.”
“I’ll give that nigga a band a week if he can keep you away from me.
” He inhaled the weed smoke and tapped the red button on the phone to end the call.
“Crazy bitch,” he muttered, shutting his car off and sliding the fob into his pocket.
“Don’t have no kids with these hoes, bro. Zero out of ten. I don’t recommend.”
“Nigga, come in and have a fucking drink. Let’s see if we can get a game of spades or something cracking around this bitch.” Viggo turned to go back toward the house, and Odin hopped out to follow.
Prischa’s three-bedroom home was laid. Pierre had set her up real nice before he died, and anything else she needed, Heavy would provide.
She loved all that extra, flashy shit, so most of her shit was decked out in chrome and embellished with big ass rhinestones.
In the living room was a gray tufted sofa, a soft white fur rug, and a mirrored chrome coffee table in the shape of a crescent moon in the center.
Above her fireplace sat a big screen TV, and along the walls were old gray and silver canvas paintings of different sites in Europe.
Most of them were sketched in gray and sprinkles of silver had been scattered over them, giving it a whimsical look that matched her end tables.
“Yo, where y’all at?” Viggo called out, stepping into the foyer.
“Kitchen!” Henna replied.
Oz closed and locked the door behind them before trailing Viggo past the L-shaped staircase and into the open kitchen.
All the appliances were steel, and a square bar table sat arranged with four chairs in the corner.
Henna stood, mixing drinks in the blender while Prischa bent over in front of the fridge in search of limes.
“We should have grabbed something to eat. I took out everything for street tacos, but I don’t feel like cooking.”
“Shit, allow me.” Viggo rubbed his hands together and marched over to the sink.
He knew his way around Prischa’s spot because he often came over to fix shit when Heavy couldn’t.
The two of them talked shit, but it had always been love.
If he was being honest, Viggo kind of had a little crush on Pri, and that was before she got with Big Pierre and everything.
He didn’t know how to come at her because she wasn’t like the other girls.
She’d always been focused and goal oriented.
Shit like that intimidated a nigga like him who didn’t take shit seriously.
“What’s up, Oz? You want a margarita?” Henna offered, eyeing him with lust as he climbed on one of the bar chairs and watched her.
“Less margarita, more tequila, shorty.”
“Hmm, tequila means turn up. You know that, right?” Henna flirted. “Why don’t we play some cards? Or we could go for a dip in the jacuzzi.”
“Jacuzzi?” Oz repeated.
“I’m good,” Prischa replied. “You two go for it, though.” She strolled over to the table and pulled out a chair to sit.
Oz licked his lips, his oval shaped teddy bear brown eyes sweeping over Henna hungrily.
He’d talked shit about Viggo fucking with his sister, and there he was, having impure thoughts about Heavy’s twin.
Her hazel eyes sparkled, and she was by far one of the prettiest women he’d ever met.
The few times he’d interacted with her, she’d been cool, and seemed interested.
He didn’t want to be a hypocrite or have Heavy looking at him crazy.
Shit was different with Viggo and his sister.
She was still a baby. Henna was a grown ass woman.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Oz shook his head. “I’m trying to be on my good boy shit. Especially with Heavy’s sister.”
“Being good ain’t no fun. Come on. Don’t be scared. And don’t worry about Heavy.” Henna reached for his tatted hand and tugged him off the bar stool. “I’m sure you could use a little relaxation.” She handed him a glass and carried hers in her free hand while leading him away with the other.
The two vanished outside the French patio doors, and Prischa shook her head.
Henna was a force, so there was no way Oz was going to resist her.
She was accustomed to getting what she wanted.
Chuckling at the interaction, Viggo decided to let him make it as he moved around Pri’s kitchen, so he could make something to eat.
“Turn some music on or something, Pri.” Viggo opened her fridge and removed the shank steak he was going to season and slice along with the onions and cilantro.
She turned on Alexa and asked her to play some club jams. “Some Cut” by Three-Six Mafia blared through the speaker.
“This my shit!” Viggo snapped his fingers and made his way around her kitchen with Prischa in the background, rapping along and sipping tequila from her shot glass.