Page 63 of Hood Legacy

“She’s thoroughly fucked, sir,” Xoey sighed. “That’s why she's standing like that. Your boy put it down before she got here, and her body hasn’t calmed down yet.” She rolled her eyes when Pyrite turned his attention from her to us. “Now, we all know that you’re in your feelings because of the baker, but you gotta get it together and realize the obvious.”

“Fuck the Baker,” he grunted, then kissed his teeth again.

“Nigga, if you took the ankle monitor off her ass, she just might,” Xoey sighed. “You got that woman working this shit with that on.”

“Shit gonna stay on, too, cuz she ain’t getting away from me,” Pyrite said, then shrugged. “Not now, not ever.”

“You a cold nigga,” Xoey laughed.

I looked around the room for the woman they were talking about, and when I noticed her, I immediately knew she was the person they were talking about because she was dressed like a chef. She was beautiful with her dark brown skin and curvy shape. Her eyes were locked on Pyrite, and he returned the glare. She mugged him, then flipped him off and left the room.

“She still hates your ass,” Aceyn said, laughing.

“She better be happy I uncuffed her from that fucking chair,” Pyrite said, then shrugged. “She can hate me all she wants, shit doesn’t matter because she’s mine.”

“Okay, Mr. Dark Romance,” Xoey laughed, and I couldn’t help but join in. “I can't wait to see how y’all love-hate story unfolds.”

“Xoey plus twelve, why the hell are you even here?” Pyrite sighed. “This is supposed to be for players, press, and behind-the-scenes people for the W.”

“Nigga, I’m here as the press,” she said, then flashed her press badge at him. “I’m the reporter today.”

“That explains the hair,” I said, nodding. Whenever Xoey was in character, she changed her hair. The Chef wore a short pixie cut. The reporter wore box braids. Very few people knew she had a head full of curls that she kept hidden under wigs.

“Exactly, now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go work,” she said then walked away. The further she got from us, the more her demeanor changed, and we all saw the moment she went from our friend to one of the voices taking over.

“Sometimes, I question my own sanity when she’s around,” Givens said, and we all looked at him confused. “She legit is crazier than everyone we know and yet is the sanest simultaneously.” He looked at us and shrugged. “She’s either crazy, or we are, and right now, I’m leaning toward the latter, and I don’t know how to feel about that.”

“Ssshh,”I whispered into Legacy’s ear, then kissed it. “I got you.”

She reared back with a confused look, but we didn’t stop moving on the dance floor. “I didn’t say anything,” she said, shaking her head. My hand went to the small opening in the back of her shirt, and I caressed her skin.

“I was talking to your body,” I said with a smirk. “I can feel a chill sweep through you every time I touch your skin.” I traced my index finger halfway up her spine to prove my point and felt her shiver. “Told you.”

“Stop playing, Aceyn,” she laughed, pulling me closer. We were in the middle of the dance floor, enjoying each other’s company and not giving a fuck about what was going on around us. The press conference was over, and for the next few hours, we had to show our faces, but after that, I was taking her home and getting back in her pussy. My dick has been hard since I watched her get ready for this shit earlier. I talked shit about how she was reacting, but my ass was just as bad. The only thing on my mind was feeling her pussy wrapped around my dick later.

“I ain't playing,” I said, kissing her face. “As soon as we get home, I’m putting in that work. I want you screaming and moaning ‘til you horse.” I shook my head.

She traced the back of my neck with her finger and smiled at me. “You do know you have to behave occasionally, right?”

“Why?” I questioned. “You think I give a fuck about these people? Baby, we are only here because you have to be here. I never come to this shit.” I shook my head and turned my attention to the people in the room before returning to her. “This press shit is not my lane. Plus, I can't stand the nigga who is over it.”

“Mike?” she asked, and I nodded. “Why don’t you like Mike?”

“Nigga gets on my fucking nerves. He has a smart-ass mouth and thinks less of everybody, like we haven’t worked our asses off to get here. There are very few black and brown owners, doctors, and back-office people in the W, and his bitch ass knows it. You would think he would want to make sure we look out for each other.” I shook my head. “His uppity ass didn’t get the memo.”

“It’s a pride thing,” she sighed. “He had dreams of being in the NBA but was never drafted. He only started working for the W because of his friendship with Kenneth.”

“The Mares’ owner?” I asked, and she nodded. “How do you know all this?”

“I knew Mike first,” she answered with a shrug. “Remember the boy who introduced me to basketball?” I nodded and licked my lips to keep from saying anything. “That was Mike.”

I stopped moving and stared down at her, confused. “I thought you said you didn’t see that nigga often. Only at a game or two a season with his wife?”

“We don’t,” she said, shaking her head. “He’s back office, yeah, he’s around, but we don’t deal with each other often. We have dinner once a year, usually after this, just to catch up.”

“So, you keep up with that nigga?”

“No,” she denied and rolled her eyes. “Aceyn, what is the problem? Because it's obvious that there is one, and I’m confused as to why.”

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