Lighter Shade of Brown (Urban Fiction) BWHM

Chapter 23

"You cooking dope in the microwave?" She asked, glancing back at him. "Won't you mess it up like that?"

"Not if you know what you're doing," He said, snatching a miniature egg beater off the countertop. "It comes back, just like stovetop." Flexing his wrist, he proceeded to beat the liquid cocaine. "Grab the milk outta the fridge for me."

"For what?" She asked, scrunching her face.

He stared at her with a soulless gaze, until she retrieved the milk from the refrigerator. Holding it out to him, he sat the cup down and took the carton from her outstretched hand. After he splashed a little of the solid white liquid into the mug, he snatched it back up, and then started whipping it again.

As he worked the contents of the cup, she allowed her eyes to work over him. The way the muscles in his stomach tightened, while he labored over the dope made her mouth dry. Not appreciating how the thin sheen of sweat on his chest provoked her to lick her lips, she forced herself to look away.

Being around him, had thrown her body into automatic response. At this point she had more control over the damn weather, than she did her own body. No wonder why boys from around the way never brought their girls around him. They wanted to keep them! Taz was a threat to all females alike, young and old.

"I see you lookin'," he said, his attention still focused on the cup, while his expression brooked boredom. "What's on your mind?"

Oh hell no! She'd be damned if she opened that door. Her—buck wild—man would kill them, and leave both of their asses in a ditch. So instead of telling him the thoughts really dominating her brain, she chose to share the notions dancing at the corners of her mind. "Can you teach me how to cook it up in the microwave too?"

Her question snaked his concentration from the cup. "Yeah?"

"Yeah," she said, hopping on one of the bar-stools placed at the islander. "I mean half the time of the process is waiting for it to boil." Shrugging, she nodded toward the mug. "It'll be a game changer if the microwave can cut cooking time in half."

"If you really wanna learn, then c'mere and I'll show you," he said. His offer sounded almost like a dare.

Accepting the challenge, she slid off of the bar-stool, and met him in the center of the kitchen. A full smirk, touched his lips as he handed her the cup.

"Do you know how to make it come back the regular way?" He asked, dangling the mini egg beater in front of her face.

Cleo snatched it from his loose grasp. "What you think?"

"Who knows," he said, "with C's there's no fucking telling. You can either jump two bricks in a few hours or your pussy is that snappa."

"My stuff is none of your damn business," she snapped as she began to take her frustrations out on the cup. "And as for jumping two keys in a couple of hours, forget Nike. You dig that chick so much, you fuck her."

"I wish, sheeit. Isn't like I haven't tried," he said, laughing as he hopped up to perch on the edge of the countertop. "But C's got her nose open and thangs. Chica, won't give my ass the time of damn day. It's cool though. Too many bitches in the world to worry about just one."

Pissed from six days to Sunday, Cleo whipped the dope until her wrist popped and her fingers tingled. Hearing Nike's name reminded her of all C's previous fuck ups and lies. In fact she was still dealing with those issues. So listening to Taz go on about Nike like she was Rosie Perez or somebody, made her want to bash him in the head with the damn coffee mug.

He must've sensed her building rage, because he switched lanes on the conversation. "Heard about the shit that popped around here last night. Maldonado bringin' his people through to lay the damn block down. Now why do you think that was?"