Cleo ran a critical gaze over every surface of the kitchen. She'd bleached the countertops, stove, sink, and microwave three times. Glaze scented candles saturated the air with a Hawaiian breeze fragrance. To the naked eye, everything was everything. Nothing was out of place. Good. She released a sigh, and drifted over to the sink. Quickly, she began to stack aluminum cups and whips into a brown grocery bag.
As she placed the last item in the bag a glint of silver from her reflection in the window snaked her attention. Her gaze zeroed in on the dainty cross around her neck. It glittered as a bold as shit reminder of C's. She hadn't seen or spoken to him in a year, but he still had the power to bust her head game wide with a single thought of him. How the hell was that possible?
She was with Tech now. Believe it or not, he was a good dude. He never took her through the changes that C's had. She didn't have to worry about bitches being on his pager, hoes falling out of the closet or sluts trying to play her position. He showed her the upmost respect. If he dealt with other chicks, it never got back to her. So why the hell couldn't she shake the brick headed Puerto Rican from the other side of the tracks?
A knock at the front door yanked Cleo free from her thoughts of C's. Leaving the kitchen, she crossed the living room and opened the door. A white dude in navy blue polo shirt stood on the porch, frowning up at the number on Ms. Lucy's door, before swinging his mud brown eyes back to her apartment number. Wrinkles creased his sweaty forehead as he glared down at the clip board in his hands.
"What?" She snapped, wondering who in the hell was the corny ass dude. He couldn't have been a bill collector or utility worker there to cut something off because it was Saturday. Maybe he was there slinging bibles?
His gaze shot to her face. "This apartment G?"
She glared at the number two on the door frame. "No. The building is G. Apartment is 2."
"You Cleopatra James?"
"Why?"
The corners of the man's mouth tugged downwards as his nose turned up in true, I'm too good for this shit, fashion. "Look, I have a three piece bedroom suit down in the truck. Now are you Cleopatra James or not?"
"What that's supposed to mean? Ain't nobody order that-,"
"I ordered it, Lil' Mama," Tech yelled from half-way down the stairs. "Dis da right place. Bring it up."
The man swung around to size Tech up, after a moment of appraisal, he nodded and turned to descend the stairs. Once the man passed him, Tech jogged up the remainder of the steps. Cleo glared at him, arms folded and tucked firmly under her breasts. He leaned down to kiss her. She turned her head and his lips slapped her on the cheek.
"What did I tell you about buyin' all this stuff? Liberty doesn't like it, which you already know. She cut the hell up when you bought the living room suit." She turned around and stomped back in the house.
Tech followed her in, snaking his arms around her waist. He yanked her back to him. "Dis fa ya, doe. A late birthday present. How she gonna be mad 'bout dat?"
"Because this her damn house. She can be mad about whatever the hell she wanna be mad about," she said, refusing to relax in his embrace. He got on her damn nerves acting like he didn't know one plus one equaled two. "And you know she already can't stand you. The last thing she need is something else to step down about when it comes to you. 'Sides, my birthday was two weeks ago."
Tech wrinkled his nose and shrugged. A clear sign he'd started to feel a way. "Yo mama gonna step down no matta wut I do," he said. "Nah let's stop arguin' 'bout someting we both need. I'm tired of sleepin' on dat woe out mattress. My back ain't been right since I started stayin here on da weekends. Last night one of da wires hangin' outta da damn ting stabbed me down to da white meat. You heard me?"
"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.
She slid the Tupperware bowls off the counter and handed them to Tech. "What answers you lookin' for then?"
"Number one, what the hell he doin' in my damn house? How many times I gotta tell you I don't want this bullshit ass Haitian sniffin' around here?" Liberty stopped halfway to the kitchen to snatch her cigarette pouch out the back pocket of coochie cutter shorts. "Why the hell he buyin' you a bedroom suit anyway? And don't give me no shit about your birthday, because what you sleepin on ain't none of his motherfuckin' business."
At the wrong possible moment the white man from earlier peeped his head through the doorway. "Where'd you want the bed?"
"Back on that got damn truck. 'Cause ain't none of that shit comin' up in here. And while you at it..." Liberty drilled Tech with a Satan inspired hatemaker. "Box his ass up too. Ship his ass back to Haiti. Now get yo' coochie ass up outta my house."
"Nah hold da-," Tech began.
"Bye, Tech." Cleo cut him off.
Hazel irises drilled holes in Cleo's face. Tech rarely ever lost his cool, but the stiff set of his jaw put his mental on blast. He was pissed. Refusing to buckle the hell down, she fired hate makers right back. Liberty was her mama! If she said he had to go, then he needed to get the fuck on. What the hell did he expect? She had told him about breaking bread on Liberty's apartment.
When he took too long to grab a door knob, she made a concession. "I'll page you later."
Reluctantly, Tech gave her nod, and then strolled out the front door, pass the white man who stared at them like he was waiting on the punch line.
After Tech left, Liberty glared back at the man. "The hell y'all waitin' on? Take the shit down the hall to the first door on the left."
Relief dropped the man's shoulders as he damn near broke his neck nodding at Liberty. Spinning on his heel, he turned to wave his arm at someone waiting on the stairs. When the workers busied themselves with bringing in the bedroom suit, Liberty dropped down in a seat at the kitchen table. Cleo rolled her eyes on the sly. After all that back and forth, she still ended up taking the damn furniture. Sometimes she wondered how many brain cells Liberty actually had after free basing for years. It couldn't have been many. Not how she spun out on the reg.
"You need to keep that Haitian from around here. His ass violatin' and the last thing we need is a bitch kickin' in my door lookin' for that bastard," Liberty said, finally lighting the cigarette pinched between her fingers.
Cleo sucked her teeth as she placed the paper bag on the counter under the sink. "The police will be comin' for nothing. Tech don't keep nothing here."
"Ain't nobody talkin' about them lawz. I'm talkin' about those fuckin' Latinos you love so much," Liberty said, exhaling a stream of smoke in her direction. "He and Trey got them jits from around here movin' weight in Mobile and Prichard."
She'd already known that much. A few weeks back she overheard Tech arguing on the phone with Trent, one of his older brothers who lived in New Orleans. When she asked him about the argument he shrugged her off like he usually did when it came to the dealing side of his business. However, she had a PHD in ear hustling. From the little she overheard, she pieced together that Trent planned on locking down a place called Happy Hills in Alabama under their oldest brother Trey's orders.
Tech was pissed. Snaking Happy Hills would cause problems for his block bleeders. Because everyone knew you couldn't get money while returning shots. She could tell whoever ran Happy Hills must've been a beast. It was clear that Tech did not want to run a foul on dude's territory.
Cleo spun around to face Liberty. "Are you saying somebody in the Circle runs Mobile and Prichard?"
"Not when I ran with 'em. Alabama belongs to one of the Cartels. They don't play about their yard or money. That's why you need to put some move around distance 'tween you and jit," Liberty said, dumping ashes on the brand new dining table. "Because they comin' for his hoe ass and you don't need to be in their way when they do."
Cleo's eyes narrowed to slits as she trained her gaze on the linoleum floor. What the hell had Tech let his dumb ass brothers get him into?
~ ~ ~ ~
Cleo lay on her new bed. She stared up at the ceiling, thinking about everything Liberty had spoken on earlier. Over a year ago, she'd gone through the same mess with C's. Folks coming through taking shots at her to get back at him. If Pep hadn't dived in front of her like a suicidal Lake View patient, she'd be a memory. It still hurt that he no longer came around.
The last time she'd seen him had been the night her and Tech became official. He'd promise nothing could keep him away. Liar! Like C's before him, Pep too had become a ghost destined to haunt her past. The only people she had left from the Circle was Ant and Angela. They always checked on her. On her birthday they even both came to take her out to dinner and a movie. She had so much fun with them that when Ant attempted to sneak a kiss she'd let him.
Their relationship confused the hell out of her. Don't get it twisted. Ant still lived on her nerves. On everything the game loved though, she couldn't push him away when he hemmed her up. Even though she had Tech and he was with Keena, all those complications went out the window every time he put his mouth on hers. Thoughts of C's and what he'd do if he ever found out didn't even shake her into doing the right thing. At this point she doubted if anything could.
A fist slamming against metal drove Cleo from her room. She sprinted to the living room and peered through the peep hole. Rolling her eyes, she snatched the front door open. Tech pushed pass her without waiting to be invited. Alcohol followed and clung to him like a stripper to a pole. The scent was so loud, it smelled like he'd been baptized in Hennessy.
He'd been to the club. It didn't take Ms. Lucy in bifocals to see that. He reeked of thirst busters. The entire living room stunk of desperation and daddy issues. She frowned at the time on the microwave. The display read three am. The whoring hour. What was he even doing there? She'd paged him around five right after Liberty left. Since he hadn't bothered to call her back, she didn't expect to see him.
Cleo followed as Tech staggered his way to her bedroom. When he made it to her bed, he fell face first into the full sized mattress crossways. His long legs hung from the sides, while his dreads shielded his profile from view. He was done and expected her to take care of him. Who the hell did she look like? Betty Ford! At that moment, Tech was no better than Liberty. Aggravation nicked her nerves as she removed his shoes. Once she tossed his last sneaker to the floor, he flipped over.
"Come lay wit me," he said, holding his arms out to her.
Her face scrunched. Last thing she wanted to do was be under him while he smelled like an old drunk. The fumes alone was enough to get her college girl wasted.
"No," she said folding her arms under her breasts. "You're drunk and you smell like a wino pissed on you. Go to sleep."
"I'm not drunk." He tried to sit up, but only managed to prop himself on his elbows. "A lil' tipsy, but dat's all. Nah come here 'fore I come get ya."
Her gaze narrowed a fraction. On second assessment, his eyes appeared focused despite the loud stench of liquor. "Come get me? You can't even sit up all the-,"
In a movement too fast to track, Tech bolted upright slid to the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms around her waist he tumbled her forward on top of him. The move knocked air from her lungs. Thirty eight, she opened her grill to verbally devastate his ass. Being a true opportunist, he exploited the opportunity by thrusting his tongue in her mouth. Motherfucker!
At first she began to shove him off, but then his hips bucked and the bulge in his jeans hit the money spot at the crotch of her pajama bottoms. Fire licked her lower abdomen. Pleasure vibrated to life in a slow throb between her thighs. Her body temperature skyrocketed. The room became unbearable. Her clothes, a cruel punishment. Heat melted common sense to nothing in her brain, it also diluted her will with uncut submission. Instead of pushing him away, her legs wound around his waist to drag him closer.
Tech broke the kiss, to stare down at her. "Die wit me tonight. La petite mort." He kissed the corner of her mouth as he ground the bulge into her core in slow lazy circles.
"W-what?" She stammered. His words barely penetrated the sticky haze that drenched her mental.
"Let me swim in ya, 'til we both lose consciousness," he said, grinding hard, and then backing off before she could swan dive over the edge. "It's time, Cleopatra. We both due fa dis." He hooked his finger in the waist band of her pajama bottoms.
"But this feels sooo good. Let's just do this," she said, bucking her hips to add pressure to the friction. "Promise I'll straighten you when you finish me."
His hazel eyes darkened to metallic brown. Almost the same shade as C's Chevy. A moment later his weight left her body, leaving her cold and thoroughly unsatisfied.
"I'm tired of fuckin' hand jobs. Why ya keep blockin' me?"
"I'm not ready. You already know this, Tech," Cleo said, frustrated that he'd brought her to the edge and left her there.
"It's been almost a year. Wut ya still holdin' it down fa?" His gaze slid over her face in a slow review.
"I don't know."
"Is it Gianni? Are ya still waitin' on him ta come back around?" He fingered the silver cross around her neck.
She shook her head. "This has nothing to do with C's. Do you know how many times I could of bust it open for him? I'm just not ready."
"Would it make a difference if I told ya dat I luh ya?" He traced her profile with his index finger.
A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. "Do you?"
"Man, gurl! I'm crazy fa ya," he leaned forward to peck her lips. "Been so since da first time I put eyes ta ya."
"I'm feeling you too." She couldn't bring herself to say it back to him. The brick of ice in her chest wouldn't allow her.
Tech however, must have taken her admission as a declaration of love, because he kissed her like she'd just said I do. By the time he pulled away she was breathless and ready to finish what he'd started earlier. Instead of climbing on top of her though, he slowly kissed his way down her body, pausing at her breasts to nip each nipple through her top. A groan shoved passed her lips. She loved the feel of his mouth. Even through the cotton of her shirt she could still feel the hot wetness from his tongue. Moans strangled her as he nibbled and sucked until she could see the outline of her nipples through the material of her top.
Once satisfied that the tips of her breasts couldn't become any more erect, he continued his slow descend down her body. When his fingers once again hooked into her pajama bottoms and began to tug, her heart leaped into her throat.
"Tech!" She grabbed his wrists.
"Shh." He gently slapped her hands away. "I wanna try someting new."
~ ~ ~ ~
Sleep released Cleo a few hours later. Her lids fluttered open. A sliver of morning light fell to the floor from slits in the window shades. A shocked conscious hit play on last night events. Memories of what Tech did to her the night before shamed the hell out of her, while meticulously drenching the seat of her panties. She'd never had anyone kiss her down...there! It had never even occurred to her that a girl could be kissed on those set of lips. He'd slammed her so hard, she'd actually passed out. Straight the hell up. Matter of fact her cheek still stung from where he'd slapped her awake.
Cleo ran her gaze over, Tech's sleeping frame. He lay on his stomach with his face turned away from her. The lean muscles in his back that tapered down to his slim waist, left her mouth drier than a thot dropped in a room full of rappers. She was thirsty! Damn he was sexy with his chocolate self. Why hadn't she ever seen it before? Oh how she wanted to return the favor last night, but she couldn't bring herself to put her mouth on him. There was no telling how many sluts he'd taken down. Hell, he'd even gutted Coco. Humph! She'd cut her tongue out before licking something that had once been nut deep in Coco's nasty twot.
The pressure in her bladder ripped her from her memories and pulled her to her feet. Hurriedly, she left her room. Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she headed down the hall to the bathroom. About foot away the door opened and a man stepped out. And not just any man. A huge Mountain of a man. When the dude's eyes landed on her, a slow grin twisted his mouth to reveal a gold tooth in place of one of his big teeth. She cringed as his gaze slid over her from breasts to thighs.
"Tech!" She screamed, damn near breaking her neck as she attempted to run backwards. "Tech!"
A few moments later, hell rose up to say good morning. Tech stumbled from the room holding his head, while his eyes—wide and wild—darted around the apartment for the issue. During this time, Liberty's room door slammed open. She charged into the living room with a glock nine leading the way. When her gaze fell on Tech, the searching barrel of the gun found a target on the center of his forehead.
"The hell you doin' in my house this time of mornin'?" She snapped, wearing nothing but a bra and some, barely there, underwear.
Ignoring the question, Cleo pointed at the big dude standing not even a foot behind Liberty. "Who the hell is that?"
"Who?" Liberty yelled. A frown squinted the corners of her eyes as she glanced over a shoulder. When she saw who Cleo pointed to, she sucked her teeth and lowered her gun. "Chile, I thought somebody had ran up in here."
Not sharing Liberty's relief, Cleo continued to jab her finger at the man. "Who is he, Liberty?!"
"This my new man Big Spend," Liberty said, turning to head back into the room. Right before she entered she tossed a hate maker over her shoulder. "He gonna be stayin' with us from now on."