Chapter 2
Summer
“Baby, what are you doing?” Tricky Ricky asked my mama, as she was carrying a comforter across the living room. “I told you that me and Breeze had it.” He insisted, as he crept up behind her, before stepping in front of her and kissing her lips.
Sitting back on the couch, I gagged. “E-yuck.”
Snickering, right next to me, my girl Tarin lightly elbowed me. “They’re so cute. Right, friend?”
“Ewe.” I crinkled my nose in disgust.
Tarin shook her head, as my mama switched off, and Ricky headed back outside, probably going to grab more boxes.
It was Saturday morning, and Ricky and Breeze had been moving in since daybreak. From my understanding, they were supposed to start the night before, but the day got away from them. And now, they were up, bright and early, making too much damn noise.
My girl Tarin had come over to kick it, and we were chilling in the living room, after she'd pretty much twisted my arm to do so.
“Damn, I’m thirsty,” Breeze mumbled, as he casually strolled past us, shirtless.
“OMG,” Tarin swooned. “Look at what God did. I can’t believe that he’s actually gonna be living here. Literally the finest boy at school.”
I rolled my eyes, hating how she was sounding so damn thirsty. I was also hoping that Breeze hadn’t heard her, because nobody needed him walking around the house, thinking that he was the shit.
Yeah, sure, Breeze was attractive. He was 6’6 in height. Had deep red-brown skin. Like a Hawaiian. A tapered fade that was wavy and silky. A cut physique. And bow legs. Being that Tricky Ricky was Rick Fox’s doppelganger, one could assume that there were some form of admixtures in their bloodline.
Breeze was the star of the basketball team. Everybody swore that he was NBA bound. So, the groupies at school were endless, and my friends were no exception.
Me, personally, I didn’t care for boys who thought that they were bigger than the program.
So, I never bought into the hype. They said that he was from the hood, and the girls loved that about him, but he just mostly got on my nerves.
My dealings with him had always been through Harlem, and he was the cause of most of our arguments.
Because Breeze was a notorious hoe, and I could only assume that whenever Harlem was running with him, he was on that same type of timing too.
So, I didn’t like the nigga, and was wishing that my girl didn’t, neither.
“Girl, pipe down,” I whispered with curled lips. “It’s not that damn serious.”
Tarin goofily giggled. “Of course, you would say that. You hate him. But I’m gonna be your future step sister-in-law. Just watch.”
Fluttering my lashes, I peered at my friend. Tarin was a cinnamon brown skinned, petite girl with braids that draped down to her butt. She was thin, so I couldn’t really say that she had a shape. She was cute, though. In an around the way girl type of way.
Not to downplay my girl, but we both attended the same school and saw the caliber of girls Breeze entertained and played. He’d literally dated every it girl on campus…besides me.
With those girls, he played games, and did as he pleased. That’s why I could only imagine the ways that he’d play with the likes of Tarin. And she simply knew not what she was asking for.
“Friend, he’s not the one. I’m telling you. You’ve seen how he handles those other girls. Why would you want to be put in that rotation?”
“For the experience.” She fanned herself, as Breeze waltzed past us, chugging down a bottle of water.
There were visible beads of sweat dripping down his hard body, while I took in his heavily tatted skin. Apparently, Ricky had no issues with his son inking his body up, as he’d been having tattoos for a few years now.
“Oh, what’s up, Tarin,” he paused and spoke. “I didn’t even realize that you was sitting here.”
“Hey,” she eagerly responded. “I see y’all moving in.” She quickly glanced over her shoulder. “We gotta smoke one with you. To properly introduce you into the fold.”
“Oh, yeah.” He licked his lips. “You talking my language with that. Unlike Ms. Meany, right here. All she keeps giving me is some eye rolls.”
“Whatever.” I rolled my eyes. “You just make sure that you aint blocking my car in, with your green giant looking ass.”
“Alright, Ms. Piggy.”
My jaw dropped, and I gasped, as he gleefully strolled off.
I cut my eyes at Tarin, as her lips were tucked into her mouth. “Did that nigga just call me fat?”
***
Ima come over there in the morning.
Reading the text from Harlem, I sighed. As of late, he was always pressed for early morning visits on Sundays, because my mama would be at work.
Unfortunately, now, I had to step lightly, until I knew exactly what this new set-up was made of.
Undoubtedly, Harlem wanted to slide between my legs, and I didn’t know how cool Ricky would be with me locking up in my room with my boyfriend.
No, I didn’t answer to him, but he could possibly be the eyes and ears for my mama, and I didn’t need him reporting that I was screwing my boyfriend in her house.
That might not go how you want it to. Tricky Ricky might be a snitch.
I responded to the text, while Tarin was shuffling through music on the radio that was Bluetooth connected to my phone.
We were parked curbside, outside of my house, smoking a blunt.
It was just nine o’clock, and we were bored.
Personally, I would’ve loved to go clubbing somewhere, but Tarin was just 17, and wasn’t old enough.
In fact, I was the only one in our friend group with a late birthday, which meant that I was older, and legal.
So, I hadn’t managed to hit the club scene yet, because none of my girls could come along.
Therefore, I spent a lot of time pulling up to college kickbacks, where identification wasn’t necessary.
Or I was getting high, while cruising through the city.
“I’m getting hungry. Wanna swing through midtown and find one of those spots that gives club vibes?” I randomly questioned, while rapping my nails on my steering wheel.
Tarin nodded. “You think—”
The sound of someone tapping on my window interrupted her.
Glancing to my left, I saw Breeze standing outside of my car.
“I got the good shit.” He claimed, as he waved a blunt in my face.
Sighing, I unlocked the doors. “Get in the backseat.”
He nodded, before opening the backdoor and sitting in the SUV. Immediately, his sweet yet masculine cologne filled the truck.
“Oh, shit y’all been blazing already,” he chuckled, as he closed the door.
“Sure was.” Tarin’s friendly ass smiled, as she looked back at him, before handing him the blunt. “It took you forever to come out.”
He took a toke off the weed. “Yeah, I know. But I wanted to get everything over and done with. Now, my room is completely setup, and all my clothes are put away.”
“Really? You put up all those clothes?”
“Yep. Now I can sleep in tomorrow.”
“And then you’re gonna get up and go see your girlfriend?” Tarin asked, probingly.
I sat rolling my eyes, saying nothing.
“Girlfriend?” He lightly chuckled. “I don’t have one of those.”
“You said that like having one is a bad thing.”
“Nah. I was just stating the facts, lil’ mama.”
“So, why don’t you have one?” She shamelessly interrogated.
“Because. I haven’t met anybody worth giving that title to.”
“So, you’re picky?”
“Not per se. I’m just not what people expect me to be, and then shit gets weird.”
“Wait. What do you mean by that?” I found myself questioning.
“It means that girls love the idea of me. The super star basketball player. NBA bound. Mr. Popular. And that’s what they come with.
Focus on the nigga they knew from a distance.
Then dismiss whatever doesn’t fit that narrative.
So, the reason that I don’t have a girlfriend is because not one of the girls I deal with can tell you how I’ve taken apart and rebuilt my computer too many times to count.
They don’t know about the apps I’ve created.
Or the ideas I have for my own digital platform.
That’s boring to them. Then they call me crazy when I admit that playing ball just comes natural to me.
But it aint my passion. They swear that I’ll change my mind when I say that I’m going into the tech world after college and am only using ball to get a full ride.
They change the subject when I say that I honestly don’t see myself drafting into the NBA. ”
“Wait,” Tarin spoke up. “So, you honestly could never picture yourself in the NBA?”
“Yeah, I could. And that’s the problem. I can vividly imagine myself going pro.
It will be just like high school, all over again.
It would just worsen. The fake people. The groupies.
The attention. Everything that I don’t care for.
The appealing part is the money aspect. I wanna be filthy rich, and if I gotta use basketball as a stepping stone, then so be it. But that’s not where it’ll end for me.”
After processing everything he’d said, I nodded. “That sounds like a solid plan. I wish that Harlem thought like that. Because he eats, sleeps, and breathes ball. And he doesn’t like to consider what he’ll do, if it doesn’t happen for him.”
“Well, in his case, I get it. That nigga is going to the NBA. No questions. He just gotta let go of the dream of us hooping, side by side.”
Staring straight ahead, I smirked. “You believe in your boy that much?”
“You don’t?” He rebutted.
“No. I definitely believe that he’ll make it. I guess…it’s just refreshing to hear somebody expressing different interests. You know how jocks are. Always one track minded. Conversations can become redundant.”
“Okay, so, what you wanna do, after we graduate?” Breeze questioned, as he passed the blunt to me. “You wanna be in fashion or some shit?”
I hit the weed, before shaking my head. “Nah. What made you say that?”
“Cause. Shit, it’s clear that you love getting dressed up. I know it probably takes your conceited ass hours to get ready in the mornings.”