Page 45 of In Too Deep

“What you mean?” Mimi asked, fanning the flies away from her face.

Trecee scoffed. “These past few weeks, Romelo and I have been so distant. It’s weird.”

“Weird like how?” I questioned.

Trecee’s lips were twisted as she looked off into the distance in deep thought. “The other night we got into really bad. I’ve never seen him that angry before. It scared me for a second. It’s time I step my game up and start investing in myself—in my hair business. I could make a killing if I started taking appointments. I mean, Synthia, any time I do your hair and post pics on Instagram, they flood my comments, begging me to start taking bookings, right?”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

“So, is that what the argument was about?” Mimi interrogated, making my curiosity grow harder.

“Basically,” Tree shrugged. “It was the foundation of it, along with some other things. I can’t have my man running off into the arms of another bitch. Bitches be already flocking over him, and I can’t have these hoes trying to take my spot.”

“He must’ve lit a match to yo ass and showed you that fat meat is greasy?” Mimi spoke, followed by a loud cackle.

“Nope,” Trecee frowned as she rolled her eyes. “That argument made me think really long and heavy. I need to get on my shit. I need to be the Keyshia Ka’Oir to my Gucci Mane,” she giggled, sticking her tongue out and started whining her hips.

“Girl please,” Mimi fanned her off. “Niggas like Rome want bitches with ambition, that you don’t have, but you have to be on your feet and be able to hold him up when shit goes down. That’s where shit goes left, and that’s why bitches need to start reading the fine print. Yeah, shit be sweet in the beginning andevery hood bitch wants to reap the benefits of a rich nigga saving her. But that’s shit don’t last for long before that nigga starts throwing up shit that he’s done for you upside your head, if you can’t keep up with his lifestyle. Y’all see what happen to these piss poor ass girls falling for these rapper ass niggas all the time on the ShadeRoom. They get dropped like a bad habit and move on to the next thing.”

“Who said what Rome and I have going on is like that? I want to be able to sponsor my own damn lifestyle,” Trecee snapped.

Mimi put her hands up in defense. “I’m just saying. That’s how it goes. Don’t blame me for keeping it real.”

“Yeah, the last time somebody called themselves keeping it real, there was a brawl.”

“Bitch please,” Mimi shot off. “I’ll sweep the floor with yo ass. Don’t try me, Trecee.”

Trecee didn’t bark back, choosing her battles wisely. Mimi wasn’t the one to fuck with. I took it easy on her off the strength of us being related, but Mimi wouldn’t go for that shit. I’ve seen her drag a bitch and her mama in a fight without looking touched, only walking away with cat scratches. She was capable of sending her away, bumped up and comatose.

“Whatever,” Trecee snapped again, then shot her eyes at me. “Synthia, what happened to your head?”

“Huh,” I uttered dumbfounded.

“You got stitches?”

“Oh, yeah.” Lifting my hand up, I touched the stitching. The swelling had gone down, but the scar was still visible. It wasn’t noticeable at first glance unless you stared at me. “I hit my head on one of those scooters downtown in Houston. It’s not that bad.”

“Hmph,” Mimi stated, shooting me a sadistic side eye.

“How’re you just going to go to Houston and not tell us?”

I shrugged, bouncing back from another lie. “It was a quick trip. I needed a different booster.”

“You still doing that?” Trecee asked, raising her arched brow. “I’d never do no shit like that. Romelo wouldn’t allow it.”

Per usual, Trecee was donned in designer. There wasn’t an ounce of struggle in her clothing. The Chanel shirt, denim jeans, and Chanel sandals was her ensemble for a casual day like sitting on the porch, wanting to be a show stopper as if paparazzi flocked around her all the time. It was weird, but she wasn’t used to anything.

“Don’t say what you won’t do,” Mimi warned her.

“I’m just saying,” Trecee shrugged. “When you boost and shit like that, do you not get scared?”

“Scared money don’t make no money,” I uttered lowly. “I don’t plan on doing it for long. It’s a way out though.”

“A way out, huh?” Trecee judged me.

“Yup. I don’t have to depend on a nigga hand and foot. I set the tone and let the narrative play out how it wants to.”

“Clock it,” Mimi teased.

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