Daddy Long Stroke полностью

“Oh, no,” she says, cuttin’ me off, “that’s not necessary. I called American Express and they took care of it for me. I got a full refund for the ticket. When you didn’t show up at the airport, I called them right then and told them that there had been a family emergency, even though I didn’t know there was.”

“Oh, word? So you lied to ’em? That’s wassup.”

She laughs. “Well, yeah…I guess. But it ended up being the truth, so I didn’t really lie.” If you say so, I think, wonderin’ how many other muhfuckas she’s sponsored, then had to call her credit card company and lie to ’em when the nigga didn’t come through. How many of ’em did she haveta call, screamin’ for dissin’ her. More than she’d like, I’m sure. “I still hope you can forgive me for going off the way I did. I know this is probably not the right time with you just getting back and all, but I really wanna see you. I’ve been missing you. So whenever you’re ready to get away, let me know.”

See. What I tell you? I smile. “Baby, I’m ready now. I really wanna see you, too. But my paper’s kinda low.” She cuts me off— as I knew she would, tellin’ me I don’t haveta worry ’bout money; that she’s gonna get the ticket; that she wants her box rocked bad. “Damn, you really know howta fuck a nigga’s head up, baby.”

“I really care about you. And I’m always thinking about you.” I shake my head. “Don’t worry,” she says, gigglin’ like some silly-ass bimbo. “I’m not gonna ask you to marry me or anything like that.”

“Yo, ma,” I warn, turnin’ up into the Jersey Gardens mall. “Remember what I told you. Don’t get caught up. Let shit flow.”

“I think it might be a little too late for that,” she tells me, pausin’. “I already am.”

I hear myself sayin’, “Then ya dumb ass is a fool.” But instead I say, “Listen, don’t say I—”

She cuts me off. “I know, I know. But you can’t stop me from feeling how I feel.” I sigh, knowin’ how this is gonna go down. She’s gonna get way in over her head, then end up havin’ a muthafuckin’ emotional breakdown when I dismiss her ass. “I know you haven’t made me any promises, but I love you, so I’m willing to take the risk. And whatever happens happens.”

Bitch, you don’t even fuckin’ know me. I find a parkin’ space, pullin’ in. As I’m gettin’ out the car, Akina texts me: Where are you?

“How you know it’s love, and not infatuation?”

“Because I know the difference, and what I feel for you goes way beyond infatuation. Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you all this, but oh, well. I feel what I feel. And I know what’s in my heart for you. It’s love.”

“Then proceed wit’ caution,” I advise, makin’ my way toward the movie theater. “Listen, I gotta take care of sumthin’. I’ma hit you up tomorrow, aiight?” She says okay, then tells me to have a good night. “Yeah, you too, baby,” I say before disconnectin’ the call. I text Akina: I’m walkin’ in now.

When I walk up, Akina’s standin’ by the entrance wit’ her hand on her hip, lookin’ sexy as fuck in a black mohair sweater, a pair of black leggin’s and a bangin’-ass pair of black four-inch platform Gucci boots. I peep niggas tryna check for her—hard, but she’s iggin’ ’em. I grin. “Yo, what it do, pretty baby?”

She rolls her eyes, suckin’ her teeth. “Nigga, fuckin’ with you, we ’bout to miss the damn movie.”

I glance at my watch. The shit starts at seven-thirty. And it’s seven-thirty, now. What the fuck she spazzin’ ’bout when there’s gonna be fifteen minutes of fuckin’ previews? I shake my head, decidin’ to let the shit go. “Yo, you tryna lose ya teeth? What I tell you ’bout ya mouth.”

“Whatever,” she says, tryna stomp off. I watch her juicy ass shake and bounce.

I run up behind her, grab her by the arm, then pull her into me, givin’ her a tight hug. She tries to act like she ain’t beat, but she doesn’t pull away. “Yo, you ready to play wit’ these balls?” I ask, whisperin’ in her ear before lettin’ her go.

“Nope,” she says, pushin’ a movie ticket into my chest. “Play with ya own damn balls.”

I laugh, followin’ her. “Yeah, right.”