9. City #2
“How come you don’t ask me out on dates?”
“We do go out.”
“Like formally.”
I pushed her off me. “Say what you mean, Suk.”
She turned facing me, placing her foot under her legs as she sat Indian style.
It’s crazy how flexible she was. The way her body contoured into different angles, shapes and stretches was a flex.
She didn’t talk about it, just showed me the first time, and we’ve been fucking on some animalistic shit since.
“I’m saying it’s been a minute since I’ve been on a real date.”
“And you wanna do that with me?”
“I mean, since you’re saying it like that, then no.” She dropped her leg and was about to get on that pouty shit when I caught her, keeping her still.
“I’m not saying it like that, and you know that shit.”
I haven’t been on a real date in my life. I’ve had women and, but the most we did was what Suki and I did; fuck and chill. They didn’t require much. A lil’ bread, some good dick and company. That’s what I thought all women wanted.
“So then, what you saying, City?” she asked with her chest heaving.
“I’m saying… I didn’t know you wanted all that.”
“I mean we hit the lounges and shit, come back, chill and do us.”
“But we’ve been doing that off and on.”
“What’s got you in your feelings… that they found out, the movie or the wedding shit?”
“Tell me you haven’t been in yours too?”
“I mean…”
“Because both of us haven’t even attempted to talk to each other since they outed us.”
I wanted to hear her thoughts. After all, I said my part because I can’t tell where we’re at with this. I move how she moves– accordingly.
“Shit, I figured you were busy.”
“I was, but still. City, don’t make me have this conversation by myself because I’ll shut this whole shit down and move around.”
“You ain’t having it by yourself. I’m right here.”
She didn’t say anything.
I pulled her into me. Her head hit my shoulder, but it didn’t bother me.
I went back to the movie.
I kissed the top of her head. “I heard you about the date.”
That answer seemed to settle her as her body went lax. The movie was going; Suki had fallen back into rhythm. The moment felt light.
“What’s your ideal dream date?”
She stared off into the TV. Her eyes didn’t move. Her long lashes were still.
“I don’t have one.”
“So, how you know what you want?”
“I know I wanna be treated better than a fuck, blunt and shots. A nice dinner with the works. I can see myself doing that. We’re always turned up; sometimes it’s okay to tone it down.”
I nodded, filing it away in my memory.
We ended up falling asleep on the couch. No fucking, just relaxing. That had my ass worried because I realized I liked hanging with her outside of sex and the other shit. Why was it easy with Suki?
* * *
Not even a couple of days later, I was back at Mama’s crib. I needed her advice because there was this urge to do something different… something I’ve never done before.
“Two times in a few days. It’s serious. What’s going on, Devin?”
I took a seat.
She went into the coffee table, inside her secret compartment, and pulled out her pre-rolls.
“You put something on my mind the other day.”
“Oh, Lord, let me get two. My baby’s thinking, y’all.” She grabbed another, handing me one before putting fire to hers.
I laid back on the couch, staring at the ceiling as I lit mine.
“What’s an ideal date for you?”
She laid her head back on her chair. “One where I don’t have to fuck just because I got a lobster,” she joked, but that shit hit me in the chest. All jokes were laced with 50% truth. It made me realize that Mama probably hasn’t likely never gone on a real date before.
“I’m dead ass, Ma.”
She stared at the ceiling like she was envisioning it.
Smoke swirled around the living room with the TV as background noise. I was all ears. I wanted to get inside a woman’s mind to see what I’d been missing. I braced myself for something I wasn’t even sure about.
“Something classy, you know?” she began.
The more Ma talked, the more her eyes lit up.
It made me feel bad a couple times because she was getting lost in a fantasy that she’s never experienced and that shit’s sad.
Mama’s always been a down ass bitch for her niggas.
I knew there were some no-good mothafuckas in the mix, but every one of them?
What the hell was she doing with their asses, much less giving them babies?
After a couple blunts and chopping it up, I headed to Saks Fifth to do some shopping. I wanted this shit to be right, and with the information fresh on my head, I hit up Rayzor to come help a nigga out.
“Damn, they on you like twelve.”
He smacked his teeth. “That’s Morrison, stupid ass.” He looked back at his security detail. “This my city. Fuck I look like having security?”
“You ain’t regular no more, nigga. You know it’s a mothafucka waiting on that opportunity off hate. Not to mention the shit we do in the streets. No lacking.”
“You know I stay with it on me. I dare a nigga to run up, and I don’t even need the shit.”
“I’m already knowing.” I glanced back.
I picked up a shirt that I liked; it was hard. It was a short-sleeve black Moncler shirt.
“Nigga, you ain’t going to the lounge. You need some playa shit.”
“Show me your ways, ole Master Rayzor looking ass,” I joked.
“What kind of look you going for?”
I shrugged.
He grabbed a short-sleeve Emporio Armani satin shirt, and another long-sleeve version.
“It’s like what you just had but upgraded for the occasion.”
I grabbed the shirt, observing it. The only time I put on black long sleeves is when I’m looking up at a casket. I don’t dress up. That ain’t my style. My closet had jeans and dress-down clothes.
“A nigga gon’ burn up in this slippery shirt.”