Page 75 of Save Room for Us

“What I tell you ’bout that nickname?” Low smirked as Cemone, Lequay, and Shakur walked up.

“Well, I think it’s cute, and I’m gonna keep calling you that.” Banks smiled widely as my brothers and I watched the whole interaction go down.

“Take yo’ ass inside,” Cemone told her, brows furrowed as he sat down.

“You not my daddy, nigga!” Banks barked back, making Cemone reach for the Gucci belt he was wearing as Banks ran across the yard, calling for Lisara before entering the house.

None of us would get away with whupping Banks, normally because my father would press the issue about his baby girl, but if Cemone told him it was over her flirting with a grown ass man, he might just let the shit ride.

Like us, my pops didn’t play that shit and had made it clear Banks couldn’t date until she finished college. So I knew he would be irate at the thought of her making heart eyes at a twenty-one year old man and a dope boy at that. Shit, I would too. Only reason I was chill was because I knew Low and didn’t believe he’d cross a nigga like that. At least I hoped he wouldn’t, ’cause I’d kill him.

My brothers weren’t as well acquainted with him, though, so they didn’t have that luxury.

We were all laughing at his crazy ass, but Cemone’s face was still balled up.

Turning to Low, he said, “Aye, don’t let Banks get you into some shit, nigga.”

“I ain’t even on that, cuz.” Low shook his head as he looked at Cemone. The latter eyed him for a moment, Lequay and Shakur doing the same, like they didn’t believe him.

“He not. I know this nigga.” I spoke up for him, though I wasn’t happy at all with what had just gone down.

The small conversation between Banks and Low looked friendly as fuck. Same time, Low wasn’t exactly about to diss Banks in front of four of her damn brothers, and it looked more like a crush on Banks’ end than his.

“I’m twenty-one and she seventeen. I ain’t no pedophile.” Low frowned, and I knew his facial expressions enough to know he wasn’t bullshitting.

“Don’t forget it,” Shakur reminded him.

“Banks might as well be a nun,” Free joked, but nobody laughed because the moment was too tense.

This nigga needed to quit selling drugs and do standup because he never shut the fuck up, always trying to pull a laugh up out of muthafuckas.

We kicked it for a minute longer, but I could tell my brothers were making Low’s ass uncomfortable. They wouldn’t move around the backyard like normal, instead choosing to post up by him all night.

“I’ll be at the whip.” Low stood and dapped up me and my brothers. Cemone watched him as he obliged him.

“Y’all, chill out. Ain’t no fucking way I’d let that shit happen. Low’ll be in the ground before he and Banks can become cool,” I let them know.

“I know you’ll handle it,” Lequay said.

“How the fuck he get a nickname already then?” Shakur quizzed, clearly still bothered.

“Because that’s how Banks is. She out there and extroverted. But I can promise you that nigga ain’t spent no time with her. I’m gon’ keep it a buck though. She like him, it’s obvious, but you ain’t gotta worry about Low. Banks ain’t worth his life and his livelihood.”

Lequay and Cemone nodded, and eventually, Shakur accepted my response as well with a subtle head bob. All four of us were uncomfortable with that truth, the fact that baby sis had a crush on a nigga period.

I said bye to everybody else then left out to hop in the whip where Free and Low already were.

As soon as I pulled off, Free said, “Low, did you piss on yo’self?”

“Nigga, fuck you. Ain’t about being scared, it’s about respect. I got respect for Asif and his people, so I wasn’t about to get into it over some shit I’mnotdoing. Plus, I get it. If I had a little sister, I’d be the same way.”

“So you don’t think she fine?—”

“Aye!” I snapped, startling Free. He was leaning up from the back seat, head in between the two front seats of my Rolls Royce. However, my voice had jolted his ass to the back. “I bet not ever hear you speak on Banks like that again, cuz, or I swear to God, it’s gon’ be yo’ last.” I kept my eyes on the rearview so we could make eye contact.

“My bad, boss. It was a joke.”

“Quit fucking joking all the damn time. And Banks St. Thomas ain’t gon’ ever be on the fucking table for jokes. That goes for both you niggas.”

---