Page 19 of Gotta Jones For Ya
I nodded a lil’, still half-listenin’.
Trap chimed in, “You need me on the pickup or nah?”
“Nah,” I mumbled. “I’ma handle it.”
Truth was, I hadn’t heard a damn word they said until now. I was starin’ across the yard at my bros' kids runnin’ through the sprinkler, grill smoke dancin’ in the air, music thumpin’ from the Bluetooth speaker. All that shit had me picturin’ Ny wit’ a round belly, me on the grill yellin’ at our bad ass kids while she sat wit’ her feet up lookin’ pretty as fuck gettin’ spoiled.
Damn. I missed her ass.
That smirk she always gave me when she was half-irritated, half-turned on. The lil’ tongue swipe across her bottom lip when she got nervous. The way she was avoidin’ officially bein’ mine. Damn.
I blinked and reached for my phone only to find that shit not in my pocket. I patted my cargos again and came up empty.
“Bruh, where my jack?”
Wock laughed, “Monae had it earlier, remember? She said she was tryna Snapchat some lil’ nigga her mama won’t let her talk to.”
“Fuck,” I muttered, standin’ up. “I forgot.”
I made my way toward the house, ready to get my phone and shoot Ny a quick “what you doin’?” text. I had her routine down to the minute and knew she was in bed wit’ some ratchet TV show on, thinkin’ ‘bout this dick. I couldn’t wait to finish up this business and get back to her ass in a few days.
I hit the patio, and my twin sister, Keema, burst out the screen door wit’ hella attitude on her face.
“Oh, so you ignorin’ the fact that I don’t want my oldest talkin’ to fast ass boysandyou got a new girlfriendandain’t tellin’ her ‘bout your family?” she huffed, arms folded.
I frowned. “Fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”
“You let Monae use Snapchat, and ‘Future Wifey’ called, and she picked up. Said she’s pretty as fuck but rude for hangin’ up in her face.”
My whole body tensed. “The fuck she answerin’ my shit for, MeeMee? Ny prolly think she some bitch I’m fuckin’ wit’ or somethin!” I snatched my phone from her ass, and she just shrugged like it was no big deal.
“Well, that’s what you get for lettin’ her sixteen-year-old ass use your phone anyway when she’s grounded!”
I stormed past her and into the house and unlocked my phone to FaceTime Nyomi. Nothing. I tried again. Nothing. I pulled up our message thread to see her wild ass angry text, and I typed my own.
That shit didn’t even go through, and I knew right then her ass blocked me. I even tried hittin’ her up on social media. Blocked.
“Fuck.”
I sat down on the edge of the couch, phone gripped so tight it damn near cracked. My jaw locked. My mind raced. She really thought I was playin’ her? Thought I’d fuck wit’ her that raw, open her up, make her feel safe, then let some random hoe answer my phone?
Hell nah.
I knew her past had her reactin’ before she processed shit. She was too used to gettin’ hurt, so her reflex was to cut ties before she looked stupid. I understood, but goddamn, she had me fucked up blockin’ my ass, knowin’ damn well I’d pull up on her.
My voice got low as I stared at the blank screen.
“I don’t know what the fuck she think this is,” I mumbled to myself, standin’ up, already plottin’ on when I was gon’ pull up on her ass. Business first, then I would be on her bad.
Chapter Ten
Three Days Later
I was mad.
Mad at him.
Mad at myself.
