Page 23 of Hellcat Barbies: Imani
“Thanks. I’ll teach you the next time we cook them.”
“Next time?” I question because his words are so absolute and assured.
“Yea, next time. You fed me. I tasted yo’ sweet pussy. You rode this dick and now, I’m feeding you. We go together,” he says and I can’t stop laughing.
“What grown ass man says go together!” I exclaim.
“Shit, me. Who’s going to check me.”
“What if I check you?” I ask, knowing damn well I won’t.
Maybe it’s the instant connection I felt with him after the store. Maybe it’s the fact that he just cooked this delicious cheesesteak for me. It may even be the way he looks at me like I’m his favorite meal. Hell, it most definitely may be the way he just sexed my body like he owned it. I don’t know but whatever it is is working.We go together, real bad.
“Do you want to check me?”
“As good as this is, no.”
He turns to face me then with a serious look on his face, he asks, “So, just my food is good?”
After placing the half of my Philly back on my plate, I give him the same curtesy of eye contact and turn to face him. “No. Everything since you let me in has been good, especially you. You really turned my shitty day to sweet and I’m not ready to go back home yet. After we eat and clean up this kitchen, I want to go back into room, climb into that big ass bed, crawl on you and just rest. Hell, maybe take a nap.”
“Trust, we can do all of that.”
Daymir
Imani:How long do I have to get ready?
Me: A couple of hours. There at 8
Imani:Who’s driving?
Me: You
Imani:What should I wear?
Me: Clothes. No more questions.
Imani:Alright, damn! ?? I’ll be ready.
Me: Are you sure you don’t want me to bring you something to eat?
Imani:Oh so you can ask questions but I can’t? JK. No, I’m good.
“Nigga, are you gonna take your fucking shot or not?” my cousin, Dodge barks, tearing me from my phone and her.
“Chill, nigga,” I bark back then place my cell on the table.
Since I hadn’t kicked it with him in a minute outside of the business, we met up here at the pool hall, The Local Cue. Wehave one of the tables on the VIP side of the hall. We’ve been playing for a minute. I’m two balls from winning and it’s my turn. I tap my cue on the floor a few times, chalk my cue tip, then call my shot before taking it. “Six ball, corner pocket.”
“That was her?”
“Eight ball, side pocket,” I call my second shot instead of answering him.
Right as I take my shot, he asks again, “That was yo’ girl, right?”
Distracted, I don’t make my shot. “Yea, that was Imani but you did that shit on purpose,” I say and step back for him to take his shot.
“Me talking didn’t have shit to do with that shot. Three, side pocket,” he says. “You know Presha wants to meet her. She’s all over my ass about having ya’ll over,” he says referring to his wife.
