Page 37 of Another Constant

“What’s up, sis?” He sounded chipper, which meant one of two things. He was either about to ask me for some money or probably even a damn organ. He was his father’s son, so sadly I never knew what to expect.

Before I could respond, he was already talking and already pissing me off.

“Me and my boy are on the way to your house. He was looking to buy a dog. How much do you sell them for again?”

“Excuse me. On your way where?”

“Yo’ crib. That’s where yo—” he started but I stopped him in the door.

“Don’t ever bring anybody to my fucking house. What the hell do you mean?”

“Damn, I was tryna do your ungrateful ass a favor. Shit, you could’ve at least gave m?—”

“Hari, you don’t sell my dogs, I do. I don’t know how many times I gotta tell you this. My business has nothing to do with you or your father.” I hung up the phone before he could say anything else.

I was so pissed off that going to sleep was no longer an option. I got up and instead went to check on the dogs.

* * *

“Who pissed you off, handsome?” I asked, standing at his side, watching him tear into the pasta dish I’d brought with me over to his place tonight. I spent most of my day at home with my dogs and going over numbers for the shop. I was finally turning over a feasible profit, enough to where I was able to not only pay for breeding, but also have enough money left over to not be going into my savings every other month. Money looked good.

“Why did somebody have to make me mad?” he asked, not pausing a bit on his eating.

“Because as soon as I walked in the door, I smelled cake and there one is, freshly made and iced. If I’m not mistaken, you told me that you bake when you get mad.”

He chuckled. “I bake to keep from knocking a motherfucker off. But nothing too bad.”

I just looked at him, hearing his answer and not finding myself the least bit bothered. Why wasn’t I? Because OA was my brother.

“What do you do?” I asked finally. I’d wanted to ask plenty of times, but never had the courage. Not until now.

I was spending too much time with this man to not know what all he was into.

“I make money and stay out of the way, baby.”

Again I just looked at him, this time waiting for a real answer because the one he had just given me was a bunch of crap.

When he realized I hadn’t responded, he glanced over at me, eyes heavy with irritation. Kinga hated to be questioned.

“My name is tied to a lot of shit, Harlem. I handle my business and keep it quick. Now if that answer doesn't work, then tell me what would.” This time he didn’t look at me. Instead he grabbed one of the bottles of water on the counter and opened it. He chugged it, then reached for the next. By the time he was done chugging the second one I was already moving in the direction of his bedroom.

I didn’t know what answer I expected from him, but shit. The vagueness of his responses irked me. I wasn’t expecting him to tell me he was a drug lord or anything like that, but something. Then again, did I? I was getting attached to this man, so the last thing I needed was to know he lived the type of life that carried a high chance of him being taken…from me.

I stripped down and climbed into his shower as if it were mine in no time. I needed to think about my expectations of him. Everything was fine when we said we were seeing where this went, now weeks later it was going and I was getting attached. I didn’t know how long I was standing in the shower before I heard the door opening.

“Why do you care what I do, Harlem?” He stepped into my space, cornering me between him and the ivory shower tile while the heavy water beat against his back.

“Because I wanna make sure I’m not setting myself up for failure getting emotionally attached to you. There's a saying we’ll see where this goes and then actually being around to see where this goes… the action part that some people seemingly forget..”

“We way past saying that shit, sweetheart. I’m attached to you and I intend to see where this goes.” He tilted my head up and made me look at him. “I own a few businesses, as well as facilitate the sales of weapons across city lines. I also own a few blocks, nothing too major there though. I’m just a man making shit happen and keeping his name clean.” He pecked my lips.

I just looked at him, completely thrown but not really. I knew he wasn’t just a mechanic shop owner. He exuded so much power and commanded a type of respect only street dudes got. In a way he was hood rich, but he didn’t claim it or pay it any attention.

“Is that a problem for you?” he asked, voice heavy.

“No. Just be honest with me.”

“I got you.” His hand found my neck, pushing me back against the tile. “Now I’m finna complicate some shit for us, then you’re about to go out here and warm me up some more food with your stubborn ass.”

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