Page 6 of In Too Deep

“Nothin mane, c’mon.”

Naturally, I let her walk ahead of me and when we neared my car, I sped up and opened the door for her. She jolted her neck back and gave me a weird ass look.

“What? Niggas don’t open the door for women no more?”

“That’s not it, it’s niggas likeyouwho I don’t expect to do it.”

Instead of responding, I shook my head and waited on the sidewalk for a few cars to pass by until it was safe enough to get back in the driver’s seat. Cool air wafting from the vents cooled me down the moment my ass hit the seat. Momentarily, I glanced over at Synthia, and she looked relieved, despite all the bitching and bickering she was doing prior.

“Don’t this shit feel good?”

“Yeah, it does,” she answered with a slight head nod.

I could smell the sweat permeating from her body, but the scent of peaches oozed from her skin, like it wasn’t a fragrance, but as if it was cloaked around her flesh permanently.

“What’s that shit about you saying I don’t look like the type of nigga who opens doors for women?” I grinned. One hand was on the steering wheel, and the other arm was resting on the armrest. “I’m a lil’ offended. Because what you mean by that?” We shared a chuckle. I was breaking the ice, trying to get her to crack a smile.

“I hear a lot of things about you, Rome. A lot of bad things—more than good.”

“You stay off Lamar and Semmes, right? How far you had to walk?”

Prior to moving from the curb, I carefully surveyed the road for approaching vehicles.

“Not too far, probably about fifteen more minutes on foot,” she let me know.

“Yeah, I know, just tell me the house, I know the area though, but those bad things you heard about me, where they come from?”

I momentarily took my eyes off the road and glanced over at her.

“So, I suppose to tell you who said those things about you and what they said?”

“Naw, because I really don’t give a fuck who said it, but nine times out of ten, it was probably said from a hating ass nigga or a bitch who couldn’t be pacified. I wasn’t put on this earth to please a mothafucka, and if I did some fuck shit to them, then believe they did some fuck shit to me first. I’m only problematic when I’m given a reason to be.”

I felt the need to explain to her. Synthia walked around like there was a chip on her shoulder. From what I learned from Trecee, she didn’t have much, and her aunt treated her like shitgrowing up. It was also rumored that she stole. Anything Synthia did, Trecee frowned upon, other than when it was time for Trecee to do her hair.

“It’s right here,” she spoke softly, pointing at a worn down ass house.

It didn’t suit her. The living conditions were poor as hell, and the house didn’t look livable. The grass was knee length. Windows on the side were boarded up, and there was a dusty Nissan Altima in the driveway.

“Thank you,” she muttered, and put her hand on the handle, preparing to exit, but I placed my hand on her thigh, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Aye.”

“Huh,” she glanced over at me, lifting her head a little bit. The Nike fitted cap obscured her vision.

“This yo spot?”

She responded hesitantly, parting her mouth like she was about to speak, but she nodded her head instead. “It’s not what you’re used to, but I’m comfortable. Don’t judge me…”

“What a nigga like look like judging you. I’m just saying, noticing the grass and the windows boarded up. You rent from a private owner?”

“Yeah, some old nigga I met from Facebook Marketplace. My house got broken into and instead of putting bars around my window, he opted for them to be boarded up. Code enforcement comes by, and I have to deal with that, but…” she shrugged her shoulders mid-sentence. “That’s his problem and not mine.”

Stroking the hairs on my beard, I was pedaling on my thoughts, observing the neighborhood, and listening to her speak.

“How much is yo rent?”

“$1200,” she sighed.

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