Page 1 of Girl, We Go Together
Chapter 1
Cayla Carmichael
Everybody get your muthafucking' roll on
I know shorty, and she doesn't want no slow song.
“Had a man last year, life goes on.”
I sang as I grinded my hips from side to side to the beat. My voluptuous frame swayed sexily to the bass. It had been a while since I stepped outside my house, so the impromptu girls' night out that I was indulging in was needed. For a while now, I had allowed myself to lose it mentally, and I was disappointed in myself for that bullshit. For five years, I had been tied down to who I thought was my high school sweetheart, Lamont.
I’d had a curvy frame all my life. This ass and these titties were homegrown and passed down to me from my mama. But quickly, my frame got a little out of control. Instead of putting on a freshman fifteen, I gained fifty pounds in my first year of college. The stress of trying to maintain my grades after losing my mom had me eating like crazy. I was hard as hell on myself because I wanted to follow in her footsteps so badly.
Anybody else would have taken a break from school to grieve, but I pushed my head further into books because I knew I had to make my mother proud. I wanted to make her proud. Since Lamont was at my side when I lost my mom, I thought he would have stayed when I looked down and no longer was able to see my goodies, but that wasn’t the case. He couldn’t seem to remain faithful to me once I gained weight.
The slew of skinny bitches running around campus didn’t help his wandering eyes either. College changes people altogether anyhow. For me, it gave me a sense of growth. I wasn’t willing to tolerate his bullshit just because we shared history. So, when I’d had enough of his cheating ways, I ended things between us. When I walked across the stage to grab my degree that would fill my world with new opportunities and a fresh start, I walked out of that nigga’s life. Having to do an additional four years in veterinary school while single was stressful, but I got the shit done.
As the beat faded into another, I let my body work its way with the music. The club I was in was low-key, just how I liked. It opened about a month ago and was on my list of places to visit with my girls. We wanted to check it out before the buzz got too hot. Those popular clubs and lounges always ended in gunfire or riots. The hot pink heels on my feet from Fashion Nova weren’t equipped for that kind of night. The five inches wasn’t ready to stomp a bitch out or run from bullets. They were already carrying enough weight as it was.
I gathered my weave in my right hand and then sighed as I fanned myself with my left. I had worked up quite the sweat on the dance floor. This was as close to a cardio workout that my body was going to get. I stepped aside to pull down my dress that had risen from my dancing. Standing on the sideline, my eyes were fixated on one of my girls. My best friend, Zynea, coulddance her ass off. She did it professionally, so when we were out, she showed off her skills.
“I’m thirsty. I’m going to the bar,” I said before starting to walk off.
She just gave me a head nod as she continued to work the room with the sway of her hips. I shied away from attention unless I was drinking, but she lived for that shit. The only reason I was on the dance floor was that the four rounds of tequila shots we had gave me the courage to step out of my shell. That and her practically pulling me out of my seat to dance with her. When I made it to the bar, of course, everyone crowded the space. People were yelling over one another as they tried to place their orders. I squeezed my way into a spot where the bartender could see me so I could order my drink. Standing at 5’4”, I couldn’t see over the crowd. I went up on my toes and stumbled into the man standing beside me. I was about to apologize, but he spoke first.
“Aye, thick mama, you trynna get up outta here or what?” he slurred.
When he tugged on my right arm, it threw me off guard.
“Get off me!”
I snatched my arm out of his grasp and then created some distance between me and him. Granted, I had bumped into him first, but that didn’t mean I wanted to go home with him. Touching me was crossing the line and completely invading my space. I was disgusted by the encounter but was willing to let it go, not to ruin the night for me and my girls. Some niggas just didn’t know how to act once they started drinking. The glossy sheen on his bold eyes told me he was three sheets to the wind. As I tried to scurry to the opposite side of the bar, a raspy tone caught my attention.
“Yo, don’t fucking grab on her like that.”
Thick locs framed the outside of the man’s face, and when he spoke, diamond fronts clanked together with each word.His eyes were dark and piercing, and his chiseled features complemented his chestnut complexion.
“You gonna do something about it?”
The man who was trying to get me out of the club was challenging my knight in shining armor.
“Yeah, I’ma have ya ass kicked out of my shit.”
With the wave of his hand, two bodyguards came and escorted the man out of the club.
“Get ya fucking hands off me,” the man yelled at the two bodyguards who were roughing him up toward the exit.
When all the commotion died down, I finally spoke.
“I appreciate that,” I said as I grabbed my arm because the man had tugged at it so hard that it was hurting. I hated that I bruised so damn easily. I could already see the ring from his handprint forming on my espresso complexion.
“You good, sweetheart. I can’t stand a thirsty nigga, that’s all. It gives off rapey vibes, and I don’t have time for my club to make The Shaderoom. And I damn sure don’t have time for Olivia Benson and her people to pull up,” he said with a friendly smirk.
I took note of his attire because this was his second time mentioning that the establishment we were in was owned by him. He was dressed in a pair of distressed white jeans, and army green, white, and yellow retro dunks were on his feet. The white shirt he wore exposed his frame. Although the outfit was very basic, the diamond-filled Cuban link on his chest and his earrings glistening under the club’s dim lighting let me know he had to have some money. His chest was broad, and I could tell he worked out by how big his arms were. Those muscles involuntarily flexed while he was talking to me, and it was hard for me to focus. His left nostril was pierced, which I wasn’t usually a big fan of, but it looked sexy on him.
The only man to walk the earth with a nose piercing who was attractive to me was Tupac. The rest of these niggas with nose piercings were nothing more than hoochie mamas in my eyes.
“Your club here is nice,” I complimented, shaking the naughty thoughts I had of this man standing before me.
