Page 3 of The Hood's Finest: Jersey & Mylani
“I know it’s hard, but try to stay outta Destiny’s way. She’s mad and jealous. I know she’s your sister, but that doesn’t mean you have to fuck with her.”
The waitress came and took our orders, and I continued to talk to my little sister until our food came. It wasn’t often I got to spend time with her because I was usually asleep or working. Idid what most girls from the hood did and stripped. It was easy money, and it kept us afloat. Did I want to do it forever? Hell no, but for right now, I did what I had to do. I signaled for the waitress so that I could pay for our food. I needed to get a few hours of sleep before I went to work tonight.
“You can go ahead and close us out,” I told the girl waiting on us as I dug in my bag for my wallet.
“Oh, girl. That fine young man over there already paid for y’all,” she informed, pointing to a booth not far from us. I smirked and nodded my head at the fine ass man that was looking in my direction.
“That was generous of him. Here, take this for your tip.” I handed her a twenty-dollar bill and gathered my things so that we could leave.
“Lani, you know him?” Trinity inquired.
“Nope. Not at all.”
“You should. That nigga is fine as hell,” she simpered.
“Calm yo’ lil’ hot ass down. I thought you were dating Dantè?”
“I am. That don’t mean I’m blind.”
“Girl, come on here.” We headed out the diner but not before I stopped by my sexy admirer’s table.
“Thank you for paying for my sister and my lunch. That was nice of you.”
“No problem, shawty. How about you thank me with yo’ name and number?” He grinned, exposing his grill.
“You seem like a hood nigga; use your resources. You know the hood talks.”
“You right. I’ll be seeing you ’round.”
I switched out of the diner with Trinity in tow. I’d definitely be waiting to run into his fine ass again.
3
Jersey
I watched as shawty, and her sister walked out of the diner. I’d never seen her before, and that was odd because I knew damn near everybody in the hood. It was all good, though. I’d most definitely be checking for her cute ass.
“Bruh, she was fine as fuck. You about to smash, ain’t it?” my brother, Houston, questioned, sitting across from me.
Houston was the youngest of my brother Memphis and me. We were raised in the heart of the hood, Decatur to be exact, by our parents, Charmaine and Kenneth. We were some of the few in the hood that were blessed to have both of our parents in the household. My mom was a middle school teacher, but she was only professional at work. Charmaine Watson was as ghetto as they came. Our pops, Kenneth, owned his own trucking company. When he got his company where he wanted it to be, he took his family out the hood and moved us to Roswell. I’d never knock my parents for doing what was best for their family, but Iwasn’t giving the hood up. That was my stomping ground, and I was forever gonna be a hood nigga.
“Depends on what I find out about her. She fasho looks smashable, but I need to check shawty’s resumé first.”
“I feel you. What you getting into tonight, though? I’m thinking about hitting up Gangsta Paradise. It’s been open for a minute and I ain’t been through there, yet. They said, the bitches in there bad as fuck.”
“Shit, I ain’t doing shit. I’m picking up Jerz lil’ bad ass later, but I can drop him off to Ma.”
“Aight, bet. I’ll hit up Memphis and see if he can get loose from Nisha’s looney ass.” We both shared a laugh at our brother’s expense. His girl was like a fucking warden. That nigga couldn’t take a shit without her crazy ass busting in the bathroom to make sure he was really shitting and not on the phone with another girl. The shit was comical as hell.
“Bet. I’ll get with y’all niggas later.” I dapped my brother up and went to handle a few things before I went to pick my son up.
I rode through the hood and stopped at one of my spots to check some shit out. I wasn’t into micro-managing shit, but I didn’t play about my damn money. I pulled up alongside the gate that surrounded the perimeter of the house. I got out the car and walked through the gate’s opening and up the cracked driveway. On my way, I passed a fiend walking out looking like they’d just hit the lottery. Most would shake their heads in disgust or disbelief, but this was the type of shit I lived to see—muthafuckas making me money. It wasn’t my fault they chose to get high. I wasn’t forcing this shit on nobody, but I appreciated it all the same.
“Wassup, Jerz. What brings you to the hood? You fucking with the lil’ people today?” a young nigga named Ceez said as soon as I graced the living room.
“My money is what brings me here, nigga, and my shit better be right.”
“Bruh, don’t disrespect me like that. You know yo’ shit straight.”
