Page 16 of The Smoke Hour

“That fuckboy you don’t love but are choosing to marry.”

My heart dropped again when I thought about my situation and what I was facing.

“That’s not your business.”

“I’ll take that as a yes. Has he equally spent bands on you?”

“My shoes you’re holding hostage are just one of the gifts he’s given me. But I like showering my man with things that appeal to him too. I’m a good girlfriend.”

“Maybe that’s the problem, sweets. You’re busily showering him, and somewhere along the way, he’s left you hanging out to dry. Stop being a good girlfriend and present yourself as wife material. Don’t pay a nigga to marry you.”

“I never paid anyone to marry me.”

“Then why are you marrying someone that you don’t love?”

“He did a favor for me, okay?” I bit off.

“You’re indebted to him. What was it? Did he save a sibling from rehab? Pay for your parents’ medical expenses or your child’s daycare? Did he save your home from foreclosure? Your car from repo?”

“I hate that you insinuate those things about me. If I had a child, he or she would definitely have a father. My parents are healthy and have enough insurance to cover them. My brother isn’t addicted to shit, and I’m not a single parent who can’t afford her child’s daycare. Neither is my home foreclosed nor has my car been repo’d,” I snapped.

“Then why are you marrying him?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but he saved my business.”

“And demanded that you marry him as repayment?”

“He’s offering me stability and a future,” I stated, unsure why I felt the need to defend Terry’s ass against Smoke.

“Get ready to sit your ass down and win these shoes back.”

Smoke

“Idon’t know how to play poker.”

“What can you play?”

“Oh, I’m mad skilled at a game of bones. You got some dominoes around here?”

I chuckled. “Look at your little ass tryna act hard.”

“Not trying, boo. Just telling you the facts. I’ll kick your ass in a game of bones and be walking up out of here with not just my shoes but that Patek on your wrist, that ice on your neck and in your ears, and if you’re not careful, I’ll even have the deed to this place.”

I narrowed my eyes and released a low whistle.

“She talks mad shit. Let’s see what you workin’ with, baby girl,” I replied and led the way into the inner part of my office.

“This is nice,” she remarked.

I looked around my game room, which had black and red decor. At the far end of the room, there was a pool table with a large built-in waterfall on the wall behind it. In the middle of the room was a circular table with several chairs around it, where we played poker, pinochle, rummy, and dominoes.

At the very end of the room were two leather chairs and a love seat positioned strategically around an eighty-five-inch TV and a gaming console. Along the back wall was a bar and a refrigerator with snacks. A crystal chandelier hung over each setting, providing intimate lighting.

“You’re not only an admirer of muscle cars but of beautiful black women, I see,” she noted as she stared at the paintings on the wall. They were erotic seventies paintings of shapely black women with big afros. Although they were all nude, they were tastefully posed to cover their vaginas, and only their breasts were on display. Some of them, you could see their breasts and ass based on the way they were turned.

“Have a seat.” I held out the chair for her, and she sat down.

“Wait! Are those my shoes on that shelf?” Kaifiya asked and popped back out of her seat.

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