16. Téa
SIXTEEN
téa
DAYS LATER BACK IN LOS ANGELES . . .
Tying my hair up in the bathroom mirror, I nibbled on my lip wondering when I would be taking this invasive ass DNA test that Rakim had requested.
As I meandered through my thoughts, my doorbell sounded off. It was nice having a doorbell in my new apartment and not having to be startled by someone banging on my door loudly enough to get my attention. I was thankful to Rakim for this.
Padding out into the hallway, rounding the corner to the door, I peered through the peephole once I arrived, expecting to see Rakim.
Instead, Mylo was standing there making me wonder why the fuck Rakim sent him or what he’d instructed him to do.
Additionally, I was pissed that he’d actually ran his mouth about what I used to engage in to make money on the side.
“Yes?” I opened the door, frowning even harder when I peeped the white plastic bag containing food suspended from his long fingers.
Mylo was fine as hell, always looking clean, and though he didn’t wear too many flashy things or logos, you could sense that he had bread.
Currently, he wore black Nike joggers, socks, Nike slides, and a white T-shirt that wasn’t too tight but snug enough for me to see the wife beater hugging his muscular frame under. He appeared to be only slightly shorter than Rakim, but he was well over six feet.
“Thought you’d want some shit other than TV dinners for the baby.” He smirked, smooth brown skin seemingly glistening under the bright lights of the apartment building’s hallway.
“So you’re bringing me food, why? Is this an apology for snitching to Rakim?” I folded my arms, brow hiked and ignoring the gust of his cologne that had danced past me every time he adjusted his posture.
“Nah, it’s not. I told you I couldn’t keep that shit from him. Rah is like my brother, and I barely know you, so why the fuck would I betray his trust to appease you?” Mylo ran a hand down the bottom half of his face, caressing his dark chin hairs.
“Okay, so take him some food, nigga.” I tried to close the door, but he blocked it, sliding inside as if he’d been invited.
“Excuse you!” I snapped, enraged but also baffled at the way he’d begun moseying around my kitchen, opening up the food as if he was my man or paid the bills in my shit. “Hello?”
“I know you ain’t ate today, and that’s not good. Nor are them nasty ass TV dinners. Quit being so fucking bullheaded and sit yo’ ass down,” he demanded just as a hunger pang ping-ponged around my stomach.
Irritated but not too much to turn down the food now permeating the air of my apartment, I took a seat at the small round dining table and waited.
Mylo brought the Styrofoam over to me, accompanied by some of my new silverware.
He did the same for himself, and once I prayed, I dug into the pancakes, bacon, and eggs from the unknown place.
Knowing LA, it was from one of those random burger spots.
“Thank you.” I finally came up for air after taking down half the stack of pancakes so far.
“You welcome.” He bobbed his head. “I apologize for exposing something you probably ain’t want people to know, but in this situation, I had to keep it real.
Rakim and I are in a business where loyalty and trust means more than money.
You can’t do what we do around niggas who keep secrets, especially ones of this magnitude. ”
“I get it.” I smirked subtly, liking that he found some way to apologize to me all the while holding onto his standards. “You know he popped up to my hair appointment, and I’m still trying to figure out how the fuck he knew I was there.”
We chortled in unison.
“Ain’t no telling.” He put the water bottle he’d taken from the case by the door to his lips to take a sip. “But if the homie wanna find you, he gon’ find you.”
“Yeah, I gathered that, and now I’m kind of scared of him. He seems so coldhearted and crazy,” I admitted, feeling somewhat comfortable with Mylo at the moment.
I was a woman, and as a woman, I knew when a man liked me. Mylo liked me. He didn’t strike me as the type of nigga to just be bringing food to random women, no matter how cool or close he might’ve been with Zaire.
I snickered at my statement, but I noticed Mylo’s face was straight. Maybe I had pegged his ass wrong, and he was about to reprimand me for talking about his friend.
“Judging by how you living now, he can’t be too coldhearted, right?” He eyed me.
“Right.” I nodded, forgetting that, somehow, even though I was literally standing inside an example of Rakim’s generosity. “This is because I’m pregnant with his brother’s kid though.”
“Coldhearted muthafucka wouldn’t care what was in ya belly,” Mylo volleyed.
“Hmm. Does he have a girlfriend?”
“Why? You wanna be it?”
“No.” I chuckled, seeing that Mylo was smiling and not feeling envious. “I just can’t imagine him in a romantic situation. He seems rude as hell.”
From looking Rakim up, I knew he had a girl once upon a time that he’d murdered for but couldn’t picture it. I tried to find photos of the girl, but nothing came up, and eventually, I stopped caring.
Chuckling, Mylo gulped more water before setting it down and replying, “I got news for you—he has a girlfriend and a serious ass one.”
“Interesting.” I got back to eating. “What about you?”
“What about me?” he inquired smartly.
“Is there some girl that’s gonna be popping up here wondering why her nigga was in my house and eating with me?” I cocked my head, chomping down on the sweet pancake.
“Shouldn’t be.” He laughed when I shot him a look. “Nah. I’m not attached, and I don’t have anybody that thinks we attached, before you ask.”
I didn’t know if I believed that. Mylo had money, looks, and height . . . There was no way there wasn’t a woman blowing up his phone or pacing her apartment right now querying as to why he wasn’t texting her back.
“So you’re celibate?”
“I ain’t say all that, but I don’t have a constant fuck buddy or anybody in heavy rotation.”
I squinted my eyes at him, smothering my smile when I noticed a smirk appear on his face.
“I see. Good to know.”
“No other niggas that I’d have to shoot for catching me over here?”
“No. I’m not exactly in a place to have a roster.” I lifted my brows, referencing my pregnancy.
“Cool.” Mylo watched me, and for some reason, I became uncomfortable. “Can I ask you something?”
His stare wasn’t creepy or even unwelcome; in fact, it was enticing and alluring, which wasn’t a good thing for someone in my situation. Not only was I pregnant, but I was pregnant by someone who was probably like a brother to him.
“Sure.” I stabbed at my food before shoveling some into my mouth.
“That pill shit, you been done right?”
I wanted to be upset but I had to understand why he was asking.
“Been done. I only did it here and there but now with Zaire dying and me being pregnant, it’s the furthest thing from my mind.”
Mylo beamed at my answered cutely, making me smile while rolling my eyes playfully.
After we finished eating, Mylo didn’t leave right away, offering to watch a movie with me, and stupidly I agreed. I should’ve been telling him to go home knowing that every time we made eye contact, a nervous feeling swelled within my belly, but I foolishly decided against it.
No movies piqued our interest, so we decided to watch Power. That was fine by me because even though I’d only watched sparingly, I’d enjoyed what I saw.
“So is this like what you and Rakim do?” I jested, sort of.
“In a sense.” He rocked his head left and right.
“So you’re rich?”
“I do well.” He gave me eye contact for a brief moment, and I could sense that he was being modest about his finances.
“Did Zaire do what you guys did?”
“Uh, he worked in another area is all I can say. We worked together but not really.”
“Oh, I see,” I lied. He didn’t even give me enough to see any-damn-thing, and I guess that was best.
Zaire was such a mystery to me still, and now he was gone yet here at the same time but inside of my stomach.
“You aight?” Mylo inquired since I’d drifted off into my thoughts of what shit would’ve been like if Zaire was alive.
He and I had hit it off so well, and I was hopeful about it, considering I hadn’t been lucky in love in the past. Most men couldn’t handle what I did to make money yet didn’t have enough to retire me or connections to help me make money another way.
Other niggas were just trash, either having no money, cheating ways, or no goals or hustle about them.
Occasionally, they’d possess all three attributes.
Zaire was different though. He wasn’t judgmental, he had his own money, and though he had a hood appeal, he was gentle with me. Some men were rough with me, not just physically but in conversation because of what I did for a living, but that wasn’t Zaire. I felt like a woman with him.
“Yeah, I’m fine.” I nodded, wanting to think about something else other than Zaire.
“We talking about what I do, but I don’t know what it is you do or shall I say want to do. I know you don’t plan to be a stripper for the rest of ya life, right?”
“To be honest, before this situation, I kind of did, but now I want something more. I want to go to school to at least get some credentials, but for what, I don’t know.
” I shrugged, expecting Mylo to wear a judgmental expression like most men of his stature when I stated that I was unsure of what I wanted to do with my life.
“That’s a good place to start. May have to dabble in different shit until you figure it out.”
“I plan to, though it’s gonna be hard to do with a newborn.”
“You gon’ have help.”
“Oh, are you gonna babysit for me?” I smirked, turning on my couch some to face him as I sat with my legs folded.
“I don’t know about all that. Maybe I can pay someone to look after her or him for a bit.” He grinned, making me roll my eyes playfully.
“That’ll work. I would appreciate either.” I watched him lick his full lips a little too intently. “You want kids?”