Page 104 of The Mob: Shio Cuppacio
“Yeah. This is ten dollars, which is the same as this bill.”
He went on with his lesson until we reached the one-hundred-dollar bill, and I was able to understand how to add and subtract the money. It wasn’t as simple as pesos, but I got the concept.
“Each one of these bills features a picture of a dead president. I’m not going to run through who these muthafuckas arebecause that shit ain’t important. All you really need to know is how to count it and who this one is.” He pointed to the hundred-dollar bill, which was more of a blueish color but looked green when I first entered the office.“Ever heard the phrase ‘all about the benjamins?’”
I nodded.
“They talkin’ about this nigga right here. A blue face. C-note. Hundred-dollar bill.”
Nodding, my body still not cooling down. I made him explain a few things more than once because my mind had wandered to the gutter every thirty seconds. Feeling confident to take a pop quiz if given one, I said, “I understand now.”
“Aite. Now grab one of those stacks of hunnids in the corner over there.”
“Hunnids?”
“My bad,hundreds,baby. Hunnids is just some lingo type shit.”
Baby.
I knew he’d used it as a term of endearment and that he didn’t actually see me ashisbaby, but that didn’t stop the hairs on the back of my neck from spiking.
At the end of his desk, I saw a tall stack of blue benjamin’s that was bundled in rubber bands next to the worn leather book. I lifted off his lap, because that was the only way I could reach it, and found myself with my ass in his face. I expected him to lean back, but he stayed in place, and all I could think about was how happy I was to have showered before switching to his side of the house.
With as manyhunnidsas I could hold, I took my seat back in Shio’s lap.
Bringing his face back to mine, Shio licked his lips, and I practically moaned. “This a money counter… Remove the rubber band and place the money on the tray right there.”
Shio was instructing me on what to do, but he was also taking my hands in his and guiding my fingers. I was almost scared to get up because I knew I’d ruined the back of my dress. This American Boy wasn’t doing anything but giving me a counting lesson, and I was turned on to themáxima(maximum).
Brushing his calloused hands against mine, he used my hands to place the money on the tray. The bills held a manufactured scent of fresh ink and clean cotton fibers. There was also a metallic scent that I caught a whiff of. Just like pesos, I’d not only been turned on by the man but also by being surrounded by so much money.I used cards back home because Papa didn’t trust me with physical bills.
The money went inside the top portion of the machine and was spit out of the lower half with a beep. “That’s twenty bands right there. A band is a…”
I perked up, and the slight movement caused me to brush against his manhood. My cheeks warmed, but I quickly said, “A thousanddolares(dollars).”
“Entonces, ¿cuánto dinero es? (So, this how much money?)”
“Veinte mil (Twenty thousand).” I was shocked I’d answered because I felt myself making a mess in the Skim’s thong.
Shio reached around me, rubber-banded the money, and set it aside. When he leaned back in the chair, I caught on to his silent instruction. Grabbing another pile of money, I did as he’d shown me and waited for the machine to beep. I banded the money, equaling another twenty thousand dollars. I never knew counting money could be so sensual, but it was, and I was having the time of my life besides my body being on fire.
Thirty piles of money later, my phone began to vibrate on the desk. Seeing my father’s name flash at the top of the screen snapped me out of my money-counting delusion and back into reality. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he was calling me. I knew what time of the month it was, and just like a woman’smenstrual cycle, my father was on time. Instead of answering, I left it to ring until my voicemail cued. Grabbing another stack of money, I kept the routine going as Shio remained silent, watching me.
The voicemail icon lit up on the screen of my phone, and just when I was about to grab another pile of money, two text message notifications popped up.
Shio squeezed my hip, and I froze momentarily. His grip felt right as if I was meant to be in his grasp. “That’s enough for today, Solana. Get your phone.”
I didn’t want to stop. I didn’t want to grab my phone. I didn’t want to see what he had texted me because I already knew what it was. I didn’t comprehend why he felt the need to remind me of the recurring procedure. The only thing I was surprised about was that he kept the shenanigans up even though I was thousands of miles away. I loved my father with all my heart, but it was shit like this that made it hard for me to respect him.I may have shown the proper regard outwardly, but my feelings were often indifferent toward my papa.
Wanting desperately to ignore Ines Ledesma, I obeyed Shio instead. Standing up, because even though it was just a text, I didn’t feel right opening the thread while sitting in a man’s lap who wasn’t my fiancée’s, I took a few paces to the front of the desk. I’d never even seen my stepmother sit in my father’s lap.Leaning against the desk, I swiped past the voicemail and went right to my text messages. The one between my father and me was at the very bottom, and surprisingly, no new messages were there. I did, however, have two new texts from the group chat the women had added me to when they sent the beautiful engagement pictures.
I didn’t have any of the numbers saved, but Apple was so smart that it had already used its iCloud information to help me identify was texting me.
Maybe Dasani Rinaldi
Hola Solana! Lol. Let me stop. What you doing?
I wantedthe full American experience, so I had long ago swapped all of my settings to English, even though I had no one to text with daily.Telling Apple to save all the incoming contacts, I laughed at Dasani’s contact number icon of her and their Don in Halloween outfits. It looked like he was not happy with the decision to have him hold a bag of sugar and wads of money, while Dasani was in a fitted, white dress labeled “milk,” holding designer luxury bags. She cheesed for whoever was taking the picture as he frowned. I understood their Don being a sugar daddy, but I didn’t know why Dasani was milk with Gucci bags. It had to be some type of American joke.
