9. Psalm Mitchel
Psalm Mitchel
Istood at the counter in Flip'd, scanning the menu taking up time I didn’t have, like I wasn't about to order the same thing I always ordered. I now had twenty-five minutes to get to creative writing class. I could have hopped back in my whip to make it on time, but a nigga's ribs were touching.
Bring me back a slice of cake.
Her little ass had the nerve to not ask but to blackmail me.
If she only knew I had old Hamburger right where I needed him.
One Saturday, I got permission from my music professor to access the supply room for new guitar strings — I'd zoned out delivering my personal rendition of Tevin Campbell's "Can We Talk" and struck a chord too hard, popping three strings at once.
When I stepped into that supply room, I caught Hamburger's old ass wedged between some young buns.
I could skip every class, turn in nothing, and still walk away with an A.
That kind of leverage wasn't my style, though. I liked earning my grades honestly. Besides, creative writing was the one class that gave me an excuse to lay eyes on Bratty Ass for an extended period — and argue with her without giving away my true thoughts.
"Welcome to Flip'd! What can I get you?"
The cashier was Deja — a senior who'd had a thing for me since we both stepped onto campus freshman year.
Deja was gorgeous. Dark, smooth skin, plus-sized frame, and a good time by every measure.
She'd invite me to her dorm every so often and made it abundantly clear just how much she was feeling me.
Her head game was superior — mouth so strong she could suck the fluid out of your brain.
The pussy was what any man would comfortably call good: tight, wet, and willing.
But Deja's undeniable beauty and my biological needs aside, it wasn't enough to make her mine — though she'd expressed more than once that she wanted to be.
I hadn't yet come across a woman who truly captivated me, and I wasn't entirely sure what qualities I was even looking for.
What I did know was that a fat ass and a pretty face weren't enough.
So, I'd give women the time of their life, get my nut, and move on.
I was always polite when I saw them afterward though — never cold, never distant.
I wasn't wired to make a woman feel less than for getting her needs met.
"Let me get a double with bacon cooked crispy, no onions, add jalapeno," I ordered.
"You want a side and a drink?" she asked.
"Yeah, fries well done and a water," I added.
Deja keyed in my order, making sure to glance up and hold eye contact a beat too long, bottom lip caught between her teeth. I made a mental note to get at her later.
"Anything else?" she asked.
"Nah, that's—"
I stopped mid-sentence. Chestnut brown eyes and perfectly glossed lips had just walked into my psyche uninvited — and I wasn't thinking about Deja.
"—and a slice of pineapple upside-down cheesecake," I finished.
Not only did ordering what Juliet requested amuse me, it made me feel like a simp. Polite, yes — that I'd always been. But a pushover? This was new territory entirely.
"That's different from your usual order. Trying something new?" Deja's nosey ass asked.
"Nah, I caved to blackmail," I said flatly.
The confused look on her face told me exactly where that conversation was headed and I wasn't in the mood to entertain her flirting session any further.
"I'm pressed for time, beautiful — think you could tell them in the back to speed that up for me?" I asked, adding a little more teeth to my smile and a slow wink.
"Depends," she responded, lowering both her tone and her eyes. "Am I going to see you later?"
What was it with all the negotiating today? Having already made the mental note about Deja's whirlpool of a mouth — and being very aware of the clock — I gave her what she was fishing for.
"Of course, beautiful."
Blushing like she'd just read a good morning text from her man, she made her way to the back and told the kitchen to expedite my order.
I stepped to the side to wait, allowing her to take the next customer.
Checking my phone, I had an unread text from Amara — a girl I'd been meaning to get back to — and one from my mother. Naturally, I opened the latter first.
Ma: No morning hug or kiss. And to think, the pain I bared to give you life.
I laughed at her dramatic ass. These kinds of texts meant it had been too long since I'd given her mother and son time. Instead of responding, I decided I'd just pop up on her tonight before seeing Deja — flowers in hand. Closing out my texts, I opened Instagram and started scrolling mindlessly.
Social media wasn't somewhere I spent much time.
The worldwide connection it gave people was genuinely remarkable — but the content itself was largely superficial.
Real life rarely made it to your algorithm.
What dropped in its place was an endless stream of overhyped performances from people influencing you to chase some imaginary level of greatness while forgetting everything the Almighty had already placed in your hands.
My page had two pictures. One of a signed copy of Zora Neale Hurston's Their Eyes Were Watching God, gifted to me by my great aunt Pearl. And a newly posted reel of my D'Angelico guitar — which had somehow pulled in well over fifty-five thousand likes.
Preparing to put my phone away, I swiped up one last time and stopped.
Alpha Rose Society had posted their newest lineup.
The women of ARS were consistently the most sought-after on campus — their reputation for accepting only the most polished and academically sharp candidates, combined with the limited number of pledges they took each season, made their intake a whole event every time.
Let's see what they're working with this season.
Swiping left, the ladies were posted by line number, largest to smallest. Number ten — a thick little thing, nicknamed Untouchable.
Hmm. Might have to see if she'd let me invade her personal space.
Number five — tall, model-esque, Caesar cut, nicknamed Legend.
Okay. ARS's menu looked more appealing than Flip'd's right now.
I kept swiping, speeding toward the cream of the crop. Number one.
The smile that left my face was more noticeable than a nigga in red at an all-white party.
Bratty Ass was number one. Nicknamed Sugar & Spice.
Juliet's beauty was compiled differently.
More natural, more laid back, effortlessly noticeable in a way that didn't ask for your attention but got it anyway.
Her beauty came packaged with intelligence, charisma and a confidence that never tipped into arrogance — but made it clear that someone had taught her to take up space since she was small.
Beauty plus that kind of energy? One look and you were caught in what I called the Medusa effect.
Just stuck, completely locked in. And then at the snap of her fingers — or in my case, a pluck — she'd have you doing exactly what she wanted.
Hence, my ass standing here waiting on this cake.
All diamonds have flaws, though, right? In Juliet's case, that mouth of hers was enough to soften a man for a full week.
I had never in my life encountered an annoying woman I couldn't simply ignore — until her.
She always had to be right. Bossy as hell, spoiled to her core, and it was abundantly clear that her mother had never once put foot to ass.
That only daughter curse had her in a choke hold — that, and that overprotective brother of hers.
I respected Echo. Genuinely. The man was a boss — solid, talented, and someone whose ear I'd been trying to get for my sound at HUSH for a while now. But the way he hovered over his baby sister was going to have her unmarried with a house full of cats if he wasn't careful.
“Here you go, handsome,” Deja’s warm voice brought me out of my own head and back to the task at hand.
“Appreciate you,” I said, collecting my food.
“I’m looking forward to tonight,” she said to my back.
“No doubt,” I responded, as I headed toward the exit.
Professor Hamburger had the class locked in — whatever discussion was happening looked deep from the outside. My opening this door was going to be an interruption regardless of how I played it.
Fuck it.
The hinge creaked exactly as expected and every head turned.
"Nice of you to grace us with your presence, Mr. Mitchel," Professor Hamburger called out, reaching for his tablet to presumably mark my attendance.
"Yeah, this one's on the house," I said.
A few quiet laughs moved through the room as I made my way to my usual seat — front row, left side, window. Hamburger picked the lesson back up as I settled in, set my bag down quietly and pulled out my annotated copy of Shakespeare's Othello. Pages flagged, margins full, ready to contribute.
I was midway through my own notes when Kenya tapped my shoulder and pointed three seats over with her pen. I followed the direction and my eyes landed on Juliet, who was already watching me with a smug expression like I owed her money.
I hadn't clocked it earlier, but the denim shorts and fitted Havenbrook Lions graphic tee she had on fit her frame well.
Those hips spilled over the waistband, and the shirt might as well have been latex around her chest. Her stomach, not flat, pushed out just enough — and paired with that slice of cake sitting in this bag, told me everything I needed to know.
Bratty Ass liked to eat. That shit was sexy to me.
I'd murder that pussy on her fun-sized ass.
Her brown Fendi slides revealed freshly pedicured toes, that precise white line sitting clean across the top of each one, making them all suckable.