Page 3 of The Perfect Verse
Donovan sat across from her, watching a slight scowl as their eyes connected. The last time they were face-to-face, he was on the other side of her heat. Even outnumbered, she still behaved as if she didn’t give a fuck. That annoyed him, still in disbelief that the chick with this petite frame in a wheelchair ran his bitch for years, but she had.
“What’s happening?”
He spoke with crossed arms. He eyed her tatted-sleeved arm that caught his attention. It was Chaney’s name beautifully scribbled on the inside of her forearm. He swiped his nose, channeling his emotions to stay grounded so she could speak her peace and move the fuck on. However, if she wanted the smoke, he had no issue blowing her brains out, his blickey resting against his lower back. Scooter may have underestimated her, but not him. He’d heard too much from his girl, face filled with tears about their toxic relationship.
“Making it, one day at a time,” she offered, and looked around. The studio was top tier, equipped with state-of-the-art equipment, and he was iced out from his bottom grill, neck, and Patek watch on his wrist.
“Good looks to you on your success. I see you doing your thing.”
She, particularly Chaney, had been plastered all over his social media with new purses, jewelry, dates all around town, and all. They were the modern-day Trick Daddy and Trina of Miami.
“For sho, but I’m still me, though. I’m sure you can relate.”
“I can.” She shrugged, eyeing the labels he wore like he wasn’t used to money—straight rookie move. It was also the move that marked him to be robbed just because she could. She’d earned her name, and she knew he knew; the bulge of his gun could be seen from the side.
“Congratulations to you, too. You beat that ten, maybe twenty-year sentence. That nigga X is serious. Shit, I need his ass on retainer.”
“Fuck no. Find your own lawyer.” She laughed, but they all knew it wasn’t out of humor, her jaw twitching as she sat up.
“Hey, fuck all that,” Scooter intervened, pulling up a chair. He grabbed the arm of her wheelchair, dipping his head with lifted brows. She pushed out a bout of air and smirked, followed by rolling eyes. Donovan caught that exchange, eyeing his cousin suspiciously as he lit then pulled on a blunt.
“Yeah, so uh, thanks for letting me fall through. I’m actually surprised you agreed to be honest. I mean, a bitch did try to kill you.”
“You did, but hey, I violated.” He grinned, which was short-lived as a stream of smoke seeped through his lip. “Trust, that shit can only happen once.” He lifted his index finger for indication.
“Chill, nigga. Fuck is wrong with you?”
“Nothing. I’m waiting for this uh… apology.” He cheesed, annoying the fuck out of her. “Can’t have history repeating itself, and I have shit to do.”
“Nigga, that shit can still happen.”
“Aye, y’all fucking relax. No need to whip out your dicks.”
“Shit, I thought only one of us had a dick,” he muttered when Scooter tapped his leg. “I apologize,” he conceded. “Despite what you think, I do respect you and your hustle. It’s hard out here. We have to get it how we can. Me through music, and you through…”
He waited, but she had nothing to offer since the lack of respect came with him fucking her girl on her clock. She was close to telling him to fuck with the barrel of her heat in his mouth. No bitch was worth that, not even Chaney. Any love she had for her left the day she chose the nigga in front of her.
“Anyway,” he continued. “I won’t lie. Chaney was upfront, told me about y’all, even that she loved and chased your ass… for years.” That was his way of letting it be known that her fucking hands weren’t clean. “I guess I must have caught her on a day you did some shit she couldn’t get past. She saw me one night when I was performing. Afterwards, she came and danced with me in the VIP. One thing led to another and…” His voice trailed, and he shrugged. “Well, you know the rest.”
“Damn, nigga. All that?” Scooter scoffed. “Just fucking apologize.”
“I apologize. Shit shouldn’t have happened.” He tugged on his ear with a smirk. “My shit scarred up, though.”
“Aye, some scars, we see. Some, we don’t.” She issued a grin when Scooter tapped her arm. They were both childish as fuck. At that point, he was sure they were wasting each other’s time and his. He didn’t give a fuck about wasted time, but when it impacted him, his patience grew short.
“Wrap this up.” That bossiness annoyed her, but he was right. She needed to put on her big girl underwear, apologize, and be on her way.
“I apologize. To be honest, you weren’t our issue. I was our issue most of the time. She just fed off my bullshit, accepted shit she shouldn’t have. I guess I moved a little too late. By the time I was ready to give her my all, she was giving that shit to you.”
“Maybe.”
“Treat her right, Dread. Don’t shit on her, because the world may be shitting on you. It’s not her shit to clean up.”
“Is this the part where the ex schools the current nigga on how to keep his bitch?”
A grin stretched across her face as she shrugged. “Something like that. Call it my little cheat sheet, nigga, and you’re welcome.” They both laughed before he reached over, and they slapped hands. Scooter pushed out a puff of air, thanking God no blood had been shed.
“You’re on paper?”
