Page 33 of Smoke

“No sucky sucky?” she asked, laughing.

I picked up the dildo and threw it at her, causing her to scream as she ran out and closed the door. Turning my attention back to my phone, I called Romi on FaceTime. She answered on the third ring.

“Yes, Mr. Dillinger?”

“How are we supposed to be friends but you’re trying to give me the bubble guts?”

She laughed. “You got my delivery, I see.”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Most people would say thank you. You just don’t appreciate my snacks. That’s okay. I’ll eat them.”

“I’ll make sure I save them for you. You must not be busy.”

“Obviously, you don’t care if I’m busy. You called.”

“You answered.”

She huffed. “Whatever. You must not be busy either.”

“I was about to get into something when your delivery came. Made me laugh. I don’t like how you be having a nigga just kee-keeing and shit.”

“What’s wrong with having a good laugh?”

“Nothing, just… I don’t do this shit with women. I don’t have female friends.”

She sighed. “So you just fuck and duck them, huh?”

“When you say it like that, it sounds bad.”

“I mean, it wasyouwho said we were friends. You can’t break up with me so soon after.”

I chuckled. “Break up with you?”

“Yes. I take my friendships very seriously.”

“I hear you, mama.”

She giggled. “I have to get back to work. I have a client coming in.”

“A’ight. I’ll holla at you.”

“Don’t eat my snacks, either.”

“Bye, woman.”

Her laughter echoed in my ear as I hung up the phone. For a moment, I sat there, grinning to my damn self. A nigga was in trouble… big trouble.

I pulledup to my childhood home around six, with my music bumping. Both my mom’s and stepdad’s cars were in the driveway. I hadn’t put the car in park good when the front door swung open and my mama stepped out on the porch with her hands on her hips. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but her lips read,“Turn that shit down.”Just to fuck with her, I turned it up louder. She stormed over to the car and leaned in through the window to turn the stereo off. As she went to pull back, I got her in a playful headlock.

“Devin Shamal Dillinger!” she yelled, pinching me.

“Ouch, Ma! Damn!”

I let her go, and she climbed out of the window.

“You get on my nerves,” she said, swatting my arm. “You insist on playing this ratchet shit every time you pull up here.”

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