Chapter 18
Italian Cuppacio
“You finished changin’ her?”
Standing on the outside of the guest bedroom that was across from Jisei’s old primary one, I pulled the blunt from the pocket of my shorts.
“Yeah, I’m done. If you smell like smoke, you can’t hold her, Italian.”
Awl fuck.
Just as fast as I pulled the blunt from my pocket, I stuffed it back in.
I’d been smoking this townhouse the fuck out; so much so that Pearla and ’nem had to lift the windows and air it out before Glee had come over with the baby on her birthday.
The door opened and out walked Mahzeyah’s gorgeous ass.
As always, she was frowning at the sight of me, but unlike other ugly motherfuckers, her frown made her look even finer.
While patting Baby Leader’s back, she faced me, not bothering to wipe the disdain she displayed.
“I ain’t smoked all day today,” I protested.
“It’s only noon. That isn’t a flex, boy.”
With the roll of her eyes and a smack of her plump, glossed lips, she turned on her white ankle socks and went in the opposite direction.
With each step she took, the pleated skirt of her cheerleading uniform bounced.
Green, white, and yellow never looked so fucking good.
She’d been complaining about cheer camp every day, but a nigga had been thanking God every time she came around in her practice uniform.
Her face, her body, and her attitude were perfect for the sport—Mahzeyah was made to cheer.
Baby Leader’s little head popped up, making me stick my tongue out at her, and before they could get too far down the hall, I was right behind them.
“You said I could hold her after you changed her.”
“Don’t you need to take Solana her lunch?” Mahzeyah replied as she hurried a bit, giving me a quick glimpse of her green uniform panties that the left side of her butt cheek was spilling out of.
Smiling, I had to adjust myself in my pants.
Mahzeyah was only seventeen and wasn’t shaped like the older women who had no business spreading their legs for me, a minor.
But her body was tight and perfectly proportioned for our age.
Her thick, smooth legs were toned from her extracurricular activities, and her coffee-colored skin was flawless under the little makeup she told me was necessary, even for cheer practice.
Her hair was pulled into a high ponytail today with curled ends, held by a yellow bow.
Some days she wore a white bow, and other days, green.
I guess it just depended on her mood. One thing her mood never changed about was how she treated me.
She was the cobra, and I was the ignorant motherfucker who liked to stick my hand out to test if she’d strike, and Mahzeyah always bit.
I didn’t mind, though. A little bite was good for the soul, and her fine ass delivering it was enough to keep me hopeful that one day—when I was ready—she’d at least let me smell her fine ass.
I liked that Mahzeyah dubbed my ass. Women were too eager and too easy when it came to young niggas like me.
Not just in Jagoda Bay, but in the Chi too.
Granted, when we lived in Chicago, I was only a little nigga, but I was still getting girls.
One look at me, and the opposite sex was falling all over themselves.
Mahzeyah, though? Mahzeyah always gave me the cold shoulder, and I knew it was because a young nigga like me wasn’t nothing to her.
Her daddy was the biggest boss, and her mama had motion too.
I couldn’t recall exactly what her mama did, but I knew she helped people grow their businesses or some shit like that.
Whatever it was, her family had her set for life, and Mahzeyah wanted for nothing.
The type of niggas she gave her time to were those that could do what her daddy did for her.
I respected it. I’d be looking at her sideways if she was just out here giving it out to any nigga that passed her by.
She had standards, and them bitches were high.
And now that I was getting older, I understood that girls who had high standards would become women who refused to let a nigga be their downfall.
Mahzeyah had no choice but to be choosy as fuck coming up the way she had.
Her people were not letting her fuck with no birds, which was why I didn’t understand her current obsession with that rap nigga.
Flexer may not have been a bird, but he gave off platypus vibes, with his ole sneaky Phineas and Ferb ass.
Being fed with a diamond-encrusted spoon all her life, I’m sure she probably thought fucking with a rapper was her best bet to maintain the status quo. And, shit—maybe it was.
I fucked with Flexer’s music. I wasn’t a hating-ass nigga.
He had bars, for sure, and knew what he was doing in the booth from what I’d seen.
Had Reaper—Grind’s partner—not gotten killed, though, he’d be giving Flexer a run for his fucking money.
They both had a fan base in the same age demographic, and they both were some fly niggas.
It was commendable as fuck when Flexer did the tribute to Reaper.
He proved that he wasn’t just a rapping-ass nigga, and that he was about that real-nigga shit he be spitting in his songs.
Most niggas that constantly screamed they was real tended to be the opposite, so I couldn’t lie and say I wasn’t shocked about the nigga being a stand-up guy.
Mahzeyah was fine as hell, so Flexer getting at her wasn’t a shock either.
For me, right now, she was just easy on the eyes and sometimes fun to annoy.
I was a young nigga who liked pretty girls, and while Mahzeyah was a pretty girl, she wasn’t the only one.
I was fucking anything in a skirt with a pussy these days just because I could.
I was too young and still figuring my own shit out to try and bag a girl like Mahzeyah.
I wasn’t even about to lie like I was ready for a girlfriend.
I’d also told myself that she was too close to home, being best friends with my family, so I couldn’t do shit for Mahzeyah except cause some bullshit between the crew, and I wasn’t doing that stupid shit.
Mahzeyah served her purpose, though, when she came into my life.
Because of her, I unlocked a new fetish in me.
I didn’t realize it until I met Mahzeyah, but pretty, spoiled girls were my kryptonite.
When I did settle down, it wouldn’t be with a hood chick.
The more rotten she was, the better. I wanted mine sixty-day-old-milk spoiled.
“Solana been had her lunch, ZeyZey.” I finished my statement with a tug on her skirt, careful not to touch her ass.
I had a crush, but I wasn’t a creep-ass young nigga.
Plus, I didn’t want her to stop coming around.
It was bad enough that we were all in this townhouse unsupervised.
But then again, knowing Shio’s fake mad ass, he had cameras all over this bitch to watch Solana like this was his shit instead of Jisei’s.
Mahzeyah spun on her heels and nearly slipped, but I caught her. The baby was still secured in her arms, smiling like she wasn’t about to take her first tumble.
“See, you and those slippery-ass socks. Doin’ too much.” I grinned.
“Nigga, get your hands off me. Nails probably dirty. Eww.” She pulled back, putting space between us.
“My hands clean. My VraVra always cleanin’ my nails.” I held them out so that she could see. They’d even been clipped down and filed evenly. I didn’t do that polish shit, though.
Mahzeyah’s nose crinkled as she patted the baby’s back. “Ion know who coochie you been playing in. And who is VraVra? Is that why you call me, ZeyZey? Don’t be giving me pet names you give to other bitches.”
“Man, lemme hold the baby.”
She looked me up and down and snarled. “Nigga, no.”
Turning again, skirt flapping, she continued on, not stopping until she entered the living room.
The TV was playing Essex’s latest video on YouTube with Bella standing in front of it with the remote in her hand.
Pearla was standing behind Glee’s wheelchair, greasing her scalp while bopping her head to the beat.
I couldn’t believe my nigga had blown up like that.
Essex was like an uncle or big cousin to me.
I couldn’t really remember too much of a life without him.
He’d done my first tattoo, and even though it hurt like hell since I was young as fuck at the time, he was the coldest with the ink gun.
Now, he was the coldest in that rap game and coming for the top spot.
I had over ten tattoos, but Gal and I was just saying we needed some new art.
When he came back around, I was going to see if I could convince him to pull the ink gun out.
He was constantly setting up shop for Big Cuz and ’nem.
It had been too long, though, since he’d even did that.
“Essex, I’m telling you… The next video needs to be “Cum to Me.” I got the whole concept!
Listen, Essex! You and Missy should be in a warehouse, tied up in suits.
She should grab you by the tie and then start dancing on a pole in the middle of the warehouse.
You rap while she dances. That will be soooo hard!
Everybody already loves y’all! Plus, it’ll make that baby mama of yours look even dumber.
” Bella was talking a mile a minute, trying to tell Essex what to do.
He had hired her to handle his social media a while back, and no lie, she ran that like she was Usain Bolt’s little sister.
My cousin was the best at what she did. Still, she ended up giving advice about his other stuff, too, even though it had nothing to do with social media.
What made it worse was that Missy backed Bella’s nonsense, which gave her more ammo to suggest some of the wildest shit.