Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 37

"If it's like that then why don't you stay your butt home? Ain't nobody asked you to come over here and lay up with me." She said, fighting the smile pushing at the corners of her mouth.

"Keep runnin' ya damn mouth and I will," he dropped a kiss on her lips, and then stepped around her. Walking to the kitchen, he glanced over his shoulder. "Got someting fa me, gurl?"

"Depends," she said, following him into the kitchen. "You got something for me?"

A grin hitched the corner of his lips as sunlight filtered in through the window and bounced off the gold in his mouth. "How many ya dropped fa me?"

"Twenty-five." She swiped two Tupperware bowls off the counter and handed them over.

He sat them back down on the counter and popped the top on one. Inside the container, thirteen cookies sat stacked one on top of the other. Carefully, he took out a single disc and turned it over on his palm. A low whistle slid from his pursed lips. "Dis here is heavier than my peoples. Thicker too."

"That's because Tim and Dre recook their dope. Before it's all chopped and flipped it be more baking soda than coke in the hard." Cleo shifted her weight on one foot as she thought of Tech's peons. They always wasted product and he stayed overlooking their fuck ups like he bought coke in by the boat load. "You know that's why you keep losing licks right? Don't nobody wanna buy that oil base shit Tim be pushing or the shrinking dope that Dre always moving. How many more times are you gonna cover for them to Trey?"

Without looking he waved her words back at her. Humph! She rolled her eyes. He always shut her down when she went in on Tim and Dre.

"How much I owe ya? Twelve-fifty?" He asked

"Times two." Her mouth quirked in a smirk.

"Wut? Naw" He shook his head with a straight face. "It's fifty a cookie, right?"

"Now you know damn well it's a hundred."

For the past nine months since Tech found out she could whip, she'd cooked his dope. During that course of time she'd saved several stacks. Thanks to him her stash spot was almost out of space. Pretty soon she'd have to find somewhere else to stash her loot. She loved having those problems. There was nothing like having her own.

Dimples winked from his cheeks as a grin split his grill. Placing the hard back into the Tupperware bowl, he reached in his pocket and tugged out a wad of cash. He counted out twenty-five wrinkled hundreds. In a too smooth for the bullshit fashion, he snaked his arm around her and slid the money in the back pocket of her Bongo jean shorts. Never one not to be extra, Tech squeezed her ass for good measure.

The screen door squeaked open. "Where the hell those peckerwoods goin' with that damn furniture."

Liberty's voice brought five feet of flexing distance between Cleo and Tech. Shock played Cleo dumb. What the hell was Liberty doing home? It was Saturday! She shot Tech a hate maker. If Liberty pulled the leather on her because of him they would have some for real, for real problems.

"They bringing it up here. Tech got it for my birthday," she said, before holding her breath and waiting on what came next. She didn't have long to wait.

"Oh so this grown ass boy bought you a bed for your birthday that was almost..." Liberty squinted as she glanced up at the ceiling.

"Two weeks ago." She supplied.

Cleo mentally shook her head. It figures Liberty would forget her birthday. She always did.

"Unh uh. You givin' me the wrong damn answer," she walked further in the apartment stumbling over air as she went. Cleo could tell by the glazed look in her eyes, Liberty was lit.