Chapter 9
DRAFT NIGHT
“Have a nice night,” the tall, thick, fine ass man I had been talking to said, tipping an imaginary hat before he quickly scurried away.
I checked my breath and did a quick sweep of my face with my phone camera before standing there with an ugly, confused frown on my face.
I couldn’t figure out what the fuck I was doing wrong.
The draft party we had been invited to was in full swing and the niggas were out.
It was more like an actual party at a mansion that happened to be on draft night.
With TVs casually playing in the background, and an abundance of food and liquor, it was a really good time.
Spending all my time around a fine ass, single, almost funny, annoying ass athlete was starting to get to me.
I found myself fighting the urge to masturbate damn near every evening when I got in from work.
I decided that it was high time that I ended my dry spell and found something to ride off into the night, so I was on the prowl.
The only problem was, the niggas weren't biting. I had at least ten men come up to me, strike up a conversation, then the moment things started to go well, they rushed off. At the same time my last prospect walked off, I noticed Chase a few feet away, trying to be inconspicuous—as if someone could miss his big ass! When he noticed me eyeing him, he hurriedly slammed his phone shut and slipped it in his pocket. Somehow, I knew that couldn’t just be a simple coincidence.
“What’s good, Weezy?” He greeted me with a half-smile and a raised brow when I stomped over to him.
“Gimme your phone!” I demanded with my hand out.
“W-What?” He immediately flipped it open and started pushing buttons. I snatched it out of his hand before he could dispose of any evidence, going straight to his text app to see that he had sent a text to every man that I had a conversation with that night.
Chase
Bro, you don't wanna talk to her. I heard she beats on niggas. Just looking out for you.
Chase
Kellan, if you thinkin’ bout smashing that chick, I wouldn't. She has six baby daddies and five kids… and every single one of the niggas are crazy about her. Just lookin out. I know you got that new endorsement money, I wouldn't want to see nothing fuck that up for you.
I went through all ten messages of his ass telling them everything from I was a virgin, on the hunt for someone to deflower me that very night, to I wore dentures and would pop them out for some sloppy toppy.
While I was impressed by the creativity, I also wanted to punch him in his stupid ass face because he was keeping me from getting fucked.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I glowered at him before pushing him so hard that he stumbled back a bit.
“Damn, girl! You need to suit up for the Flyers next season! You see why I said you like to put hands on niggas, right?”
“Why would you play me like that?” I fumed, nostrils flared. I was damn near feral and the fact that he was standing in the way of me getting cracked like a cheap windowpane had me seeing red.
“Because, you act like you don't know a nigga in public, but you got time to be up in everyone else's face.”
“Nigga! We are not homies! I work for you!”
“Well you’re off the clock tonight, come kick it,” he said with a goofy grin.
“Bye, Chase,” I said, rolling my eyes at him and walking back to the bar to try my luck with the niggas again.
“How you doin’, sweetheart?” The deep voice from behind me made me smile and turn around slowly, only for the smile to be knocked clean off when I saw the owner.
Was voice-fishing a thing? Because there was no way that the smooth sounds I just heard belonged to the miniature nigga behind me with a gold front tooth and an open shirt—complete with chest hair all spilling out.
I tried not to judge a man by his inseam, but I was five foot three on a good day, had on a sensible block heel, and could still see clean over his bald spot when I looked straight forward.
“I’m good,” I answered with a forced sweet smile.
“You mind if I talk to you for a little bit, baby?”
“Sure,” I said with an obvious nod towards Chase, trusting that he wouldn’t let this go on too long…
I was so wrong.
Khia may have told a joke, but she never told a lie—I put my trust in a nigga and I was the stupid hoe.
Ramsey’s little ass had been talking my ear off for the past twenty minutes, and Chase was nowhere to be found.
He walked off laughing after I sent him a signal for help for the third fucking time.
“So, what are you doing after this? You wanna link up?”
“I um—I can’t. I have to get home to my kids. I have five!” I said quickly, hoping that was a high enough number to get me the fuck away from him. Clearly that only worked on the fine ones, because he didn’t even bat an eye. Maybe it was because I forgot to mention the six baby daddies?
“That ain’t no problem, baby. Ramsey love the kids,” he said with a chuckle. That, mixed with the dried bit of sour cream on the corner of his mouth that I had been hyper-fixated on for the last few minutes made a shiver of disgust trail down my spine.
“I’m sorry,” I said with a frown. “I gotta go.” I tried to be nice, but the man wouldn’t take a hint and I had seen enough.
“Fuck you mean? Nah sweetheart, we havin’ a conversation. Don’t be fuckin’ rude,” he said, grabbing my arm.
Ten, nine, eight…
“You got a half of a second to take your hands off me,” I warned. He really had less than that because my knife was out of my bag and slicing the filthy paw he had on me in half of that half second.
“What the fu—” His words were cut off when he literally went flying into the air, finally the height of a grown man as he came face to face with Chase.
“We got a problem?” he asked as he held that man up by the back of his shirt like a school bully. I was sure Ramsey was at least a little bit excited to finally be able to see over the doorknobs in the room for once.
“Wha—Naw, naw man! Ain’t no problem! We were just talking, and I was about to go! Ain’t no problem at all!”
“Apologize,” he snarled.
“Aye, Amaya, I-I-I’m s-s-sorry,” he pleaded, looking at me with big eyes.
“You accept that?” Chase asked, looking down at me. I started to fuck with him, but I let it go, giving a small nod, wiping my knife off, and putting it back in my purse like a lady. Chase lowered him back down to his normal hobbit height and he scampered away as quick as he could.
“Did you just stab that nigga?!” he asked once we were out of earshot of any other partygoers.
“I sliced him. It was just a flesh wound!” I said with my hands up defensively.
“You are fuckin’ certifiable. Crazy ass,” he chuckled. He was so fucking fine when he laughed, and the fact that he had just hemmed a nigga up in my honor for the second time had me all warm inside.
“I never would have had to if you would have intervened! You saw me send you the signal to kill that shit, and you walked off!”
“Nah, sorry. That sounds like a job for a homie. You made it crystal clear that that’s not what we are.” He shrugged, and I mugged the hell out of him because he was playing in my face.
“Whatever!” I rolled my eyes.
“Speaking of friends, why are you by yourself? Ain’t you here with Jocelyn?”
“Yeah, but she’s actually been duckin’ and dodgin’ me all night. First, it was a call, then the bathroom, then she went to get a drink, and I haven’t seen her ass since!” I rolled my eyes.
“You keep rollin’ them eyes, they gon’ get stuck like that!” he said with a laugh. I rolled them again. That was when I realized that I had more fun standing there arguing with him than I had talking to any of the other niggas I had entertained that night.
“Fine, since you insist on blocking me, and Joce clearly ditched my ass, humor me. What you got in mind… homie?”
He paused, looking me up and down for a second. I was just about to open my mouth to cuss him out when he spoke again.
“You play pool?” he asked.
“Only if you’re not a sore loser,” I answered and shrugged. He ushered us to a part of the house with a whole gaming set up—darts, a pool table, foosball, and air hockey. He racked the balls as I grabbed us two sticks off the wall.
“You sure you know how to play?” he teased as he took his stick from me. All I could do was smile in reply—he had no idea.
A little while later, I had beat the brakes off that nigga in 8-ball five times straight. We had a friendly wager going, every time one of us scored, the other had to share a secret. I was getting all his tea and he only got a few tidbits of information out of me.
I beat his ass for Monica—after Quincy dunked on her silly ass in the name of love.
For Leslie—because why the fuck would Scott McKnight spin the block on her after double dipping in her cousin?
And for every other woman who ever had a man try to play in her face.
I almost let him have one game, but then I pictured him, standing in the driveway of his childhood home, looking goofy as fuck saying “Double or nothin’.” That prompted me to beat the fuck out of him again, no holds barred.
If he would have asked before he started shit-talking, I would have told him that my Uncle B used to sneak me and Mona out to his pool tournaments, telling my aunt Nelly that we were going to book signings and concerts.
Mona and I both got so good we were hustling grown ass men out of their whole mortgage payments before we graduated high school.
“I think I’m done,” he said, giving me the nastiest of glares.
“Aww,” I teased. “You mad?”
“Fuck you, Toni,” he spat with his arms crossed.
“So you gon’ be a sore loser?”
“Who likes losing?”
“Not me! That’s why I didn’t!” He laughed when I stuck my tongue out, his face completely softening. I thought I was the shit until he whooped me four to one in a foosball tournament.
“I kinda wanna hit you in your fuckin’ face right now,” I huffed and he jumped back. “Nigga, I’m not about to hit you!”