The Girl of His Dreams

by Amir Abrams

  “I don’t have a curfew,” she tells me, placin’ a crab cake on her plate. She cuts into it wit’ her knife. “I can stay out as long as I want.”

  “Oh, word?”

  She places a forkful of her crab cake into her mouth, slowly chews, then says, “Yeah. I do what I want. I’m grown.”

  “Yeah, a’ight. That’s what ya mouth says.” I rip into my spicy wings. And they got the nerve to be good as hell. Word is bond! “You prolly still get beatin’s.”

  She laughs. “Ha! Never that. You the one probably still getting whooped up on.” I laugh. Tell ’er I’ve only been beat twice that I can remember. She tells me her moms stayed beatin’ her butt ’til she turned ten.

  “Oh, word? Why’d she stop?”

  “ ’Cause she got tired of chasing me around the house and hurting herself in the process. I wasn’t the type to just stand there and get whooped. If she wanted to get it in, she had to work for it.” She starts laughin’. “By the time she would catch me, she’d be all banged up from tripping and falling, and too tired to do anything but sit her butt down somewhere.”

  I laugh, shakin’ my head. “So you like bein’ chased, huh?”

  She takes me in. Damn, she’s so effen sexy, yo. The way she’s starin’ at me got my thermostat on high. She’s got me on fire. “I like not getting caught,” she says, runnin’ her fingers through her hair, then tossin’ her head.

  We both just kinda stare at each other, then get mad quiet. We start eatin’, smackin’ our lips, ’n’ lickin’ our fingers. Not sayin’ jack. E’ery so often she’s eyein’ me and I’m eyein’ her back. I can tell she’s feelin’ me, too, by the way she’s checkin’ me. Even if she is frontin’ like it ain’t no biggie, I know she’s diggin’ me. All I gotta do is play it cool ’til I get her to fall, then it’s game on. I lick my lips. I gotta go to the bathroom, but I can’t get up ’til I can calm myself so I don’t have her and e‘eryone else lookin’ at me mad crazy when I stand up. But I know it’s gonna be hard—uh, no pun intended—to be ’round her the rest of the night and not be excited.

  “So why you ain’t got a man?” I ask, shiftin’ in my seat, tryna shake all the freaky images runnin’ through my head. I take a sip of my soda.

  “Uhhh, same reason why you don’t have one. I don’t want one.” She raises her brow, pointin’ her fork at me. “Uhh, unless you already have one.”

  She says this as I’m takin’ another sip of my drink, causin’ it to go down the wrong pipe. I start coughin’ ’n’ chokin’. Soda gushes outta my nose and burns my nostrils. She got me chokin’ hard. My eyes start waterin’ from all the coughin’. She starts laughin’, then asks if I’m okay. When I nod that I am, she patiently waits for me to pull myself together, then asks, again, if I’m all right.

  “Yeah, I’m good,” I say, wipin’ my nose wit’ a napkin. I grab two more napkins and wipe my eyes. “Damn, you tryna kill a mofo. But to answer ya question . . .”

  “It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.”

  “Well, to comment on your statement. Hell naw, yo. I don’t want no dude, or have one! That ain’t my flavor. I don’t knock anyone else’s flow, but that ain’t me.”

  She smirks. “If you say so.”

  I frown. “Yo, what’s that s‘posed to mean? If I say so? That’s what it is, yo. Don’t clown me.”

  She rolls her eyes up in her head. “Whatever. I was only playing with you. Loosen up.”

  “Nah, don’t play like that. If you wanna play with me, I can give you a whole lot more of somethin’ to play wit’ and can loosen you up and put a smile on both our faces.”

  She balls up a napkin and hits me in the chest wit’ it. “You’re so disgusting. Is sex all you think about?”

  Oh, boy. Here we go, again, wit’ this question. I don’t know why chicks stay askin’ me this when they should already know the answer. I’m a dude. Of course I always think about it! “Sometimes it is,” I say, grinnin’. “Other times, I only think ’bout it once or twice a day.”

  She wants to know how many chicks I’ve smashed and if I use condoms.

  “My numbers are up,” I tell ’er, not to go into specifics. “And, no doubt. I stay strapped.”

  She raises her arched brow. “How many baby mamas you have?”

  I frown. Shift in my seat. I tell her none. Tell her that I’m not beat for kids. Not now anyway. “So you’ve never gotten a girl pregnant or had an STD from all the sexing you do?”

  Tiffany’s voice plays in my head. “I’m pregnant. And I’m keeping it.”

  “Nope,” I push out, pickin’ up the last wing on my plate and cleanin’ it down to the bone. She eyes me like she half-believes me, but I don’t say nothin’ more since it’s the truth. “No diseases, and no babies, yo. I told you, I stay wrapped. Well, except when I’m gettin’ topped off. And she can’t get pregnant doin’ that.”

  She frowns. “Umm, newsflash, boo-boo: She may not get pregnant, but you can still catch a disease from her doing that.”

  I know this broad ain’t tryna sit here ’n’ hit me wit’ no sex-ed crap, like I don’t know that. But I ain’t ’bout to wrap up for that. Brain ’n’ condoms just don’t mix for me. It’s not the same. “Yeah, I know. But I don’t mess wit’ no dirty broads, yo. I’m mad selective.”

  “Mmmph. Selective or not. She doesn’t have to be dirty to have a disease, and give it to you. If you gonna play, then you need to stay safe. I’m just saying. But, hey, do you.”

  “No doubt. What about you? You always play safe? Who you toppin’ off?”

  She sets her fork down on her plate. “First of all, I’m not toppin’ anyone. Second of all, not that it’s any of your business, but when I play I always play safe.”

  I grin. “Oh, a’ight. That’s wassup. So I ain’t gotta worry ’bout no crazy baby daddy tryna come at my neck then.”

  “Not hardly,” she says, grabbin’ another biscuit, then bitin’ into it. She gotta few crumbs on her lips and I ain’t gonna front. I wanna lean over and lick ’em off. I gotta pump the brakes before I start gettin’ myself all worked up again. I ask her if she’s ever been seeded up.

  She frowns. “What in the world? Seeded up? Ugh! That sounds disgusting. Never that. For one, I’m not tryna have nobody’s kids. And, two, I’m not tryna have my body all jacked up. Anything else you wanna know.”

  “Yeah. When’s the last time you had some?”

  “Had some what?”

  “You know, good lovin’?”

  “Okay, I’m done.” She raises her hand up, flaggin’ the waiter. “Check, please. It’s time to go.”

  I laugh. “Nah, nah. C’mon, chill. I’m just tryna get to know you, that’s all.”

  She narrows her eyes. “No, what you wanna know is if I’ma let you get some. That’s what you fishing for. Keep it real.”

  “Nah, I ain’t on it like that, yo. I’m just askin’. . . .”

  “Asking what, if I’m a slut-bucket?”

  I laugh. “Nah. You mad funny, yo. I know you ain’t doin’ it like that.”

  “Uh-huh. How you know?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Exactly. You don’t. But I’m not. Now, chaaaaanging the subject. What kinda TV shows you watch?”

  I shake my head, laughin’. I dig ’er style. I ain’t even gonna front.

  “Well? I’m waiting.”

  I tell ’er I’m big on shows like, NCIS, Criminal Minds, Law & Order: Special Victims Unit, Nikita, Dexter, The Amazing Race, and Survivor. She tells me she’s big on them whack reality shows like The Housewives of ATL, that Keisha Cole joint, and Basketball Wives.

  “And I stay clicked on Project Runway, America’s Next Top Model, and Scandal with Kerry Washington. That’s my girl.”

  “Yeah, she can get it,” I say.

  “Annnyway. I looooove Kerry’s character, Olivia Pope. She’s strong, determined and knows how to handle her scandal.”

  I smile.

  “What?”

&
nbsp; “You mad pretty, yo.” She blushes, smiles back. “Thanks. Now finish your food so I can order dessert.”

  I blink, hopin’ she’s playin’, but she isn’t. And I hope like hell she don’t order the most expensive thing on the menu. But when we finish our meal and the waiter finally comes through, she does just that. Almost eight dollars for a slice of red velvet cake! What kinda ish is that?! Man, this chick’s tryna drain me. And I ain’t even gonna get to hit it. Broads!

  34

  Miesha

  “Yo, I had’a real nice time wit’ you tonight,” Antonio tells me as he’s pullin’ up in my driveway.

  “Yeah, I had an okay time with you, too. I didn’t have to cut you,” I say jokingly. Truth is, I really, really, really had a nice time. Even though I feel kinda bad for ordering up all that stuff and spending his money like that. And, yeah, I was doing it tryna be funny. Heck, I didn’t even eat all of it. But he didn’t flinch or complain, so I guess it was all good. Well, he paid the bill without breaking a sweat so it must’a been. Anyway . . . He’s not as conceited as I thought he was. I mean, yeah, he’s cocky with it. But it’s more like he has a buncha confidence. Like me. But he’s still a dog!

  He laughs, putting the car in park. He shifts his body toward me. “Oh, word? Just okay, huh?”

  I keep from grinning. “Yup. But you’re not as bad as I thought you were, either.”

  “Oh a’ight. That’s wassup. So that means we can chill again tomorrow night, then.”

  “I’m booked,” I lie.

  “Yeah, a’ight. What about next weekend? Friday, Saturday, and Sunday?”

  I eye him. Sweet Lawdy, he’s too effen cute! But he’s no good, girl. Like my granny would say, “He’s rotten right down to the core. Even the worm don’t want ’im, chile.” I almost laugh at the thought of her saying that about him.

  “I don’t think so,” I say, shifting in my seat. He wants to know why. “ ’Cause I still think you’re mad trouble.”

  He places his hand up over his heart like he’s been crushed. “Ouch, girl. Cut me deep, why don’t you?”

  I shrug. “I’m just saying. Like I told you before, I know your kind. And I’m not interested.”

  He sighs. “Damn, yo. We still on that? I thought we moved past that already.”

  “No, you moved past it. I never left it. I think you got too much going on. And I don’t need the trouble, or the headache.”

  He grins. “Nah, yo. I’m good trouble. Good lookin’, good body, good lover... I’m all ’round good, ma—true story. And I got somethin’ for ya headache, too.”

  “Ohhhhhmiiiiiigod, you are so full of ya’self, boy.” I open the car door. “Thanks for the meal. It’s been real. But I’m out.” He jumps outta his side of the car coming over to me.

  “Ninja, boom! What you doing?” I ask, stepping back, placing a hand on my hip.

  He shakes his head. “Chill, ma. Put the claws in. I’m tryna be a gentleman, that’s all. I’m only walkin’ you to the door.”

  I roll my eyes, laughing. “Boy,” I say, pointing toward the house, “the door’s right here in front of us.” I reach inside my bag for the keys. The house is dark. Not one light on. A mess. I already know Mariah went to Connecticut for the weekend with her boyfriend so she wouldn’t be here. And I know my aunt is in Atlantic City. But I kinda thought my mom would be here. Mmmph. I bet she ran off to Brooklyn. She wouldn’t let me go, but I’ll bet you that’s where she is. All pressed up, lip-locking it up with Daddy. Now I’m kinda pissed that I’ma have to stay pressed up in this hellhole, alone.

  Antonio grins, placing his hand on the small of my back as we walk up the driveway. “Maybe a brotha’s really diggin’ you and ain’t tryna see the night end.”

  I remove his hand. “Well, maybe, all good things gotta come to an end.” I can’t believe she’s not even home! She coulda at least sent me a text or called to let me know she wasn’t gonna be here.

  “Yo, not all good things gotta end,” he says, stepping up into my space. I step back, backing into the door. He looks down at me, slowly pulling in his bottom lip. I try not to look too long at him. But it’s real hard not to when he’s practically all up on me. “Yo, real rap, ma. You sexy as hell. I don’t know what it is ’bout you, but I ain’t gonna rest ’til I figure it out, yo.” He leans in to kiss me, but I shut it down. Don’t do it, boo! Stick to the script!

  “Oh, really?” I stop him with the palm of my hand pressed up on his chest to hold him back. “Well, the only thing you should be tryna figure out is your way back home. So good night, boo.”

  He starts laughing. “Yo, you got that. I’ma bounce. But I’m sayin’.” He makes this cute little sad face, poking his bottom lip out. “You really want me to dip?”

  “Yes, Antonio.”

  “Can I come in, yo?” he whispers, tempting me with his lips as they glide their way down my ear, my neck, and all along my collarbone. He’s driving me . . . wild.

  But I’m not goin’ there with him, not tonight. I push him away, shaking my head. Not because I don’t wanna let him in, but because I need to let him know he can’t manipulate me with his sexy grin and those lips that are practically causin’ me to melt.

  “Good night, Antonio,” I say, quickly pushing open the door and slamming it in his face, before he can change my mind.

  He groans on the other side of the door. “Ugh! You killin’ me, yo. This ain’t over, yo. I’ma be back tomorrow for you. Be ready by three, yo.”

  I press my back up against the door, holding back a giggle.

  O-M-G, I can’t believe this is the first weekend that I’ve been in Jersey and I haven’t wanted to be in Brooklyn and hang out with my crew. I’ve had so much fun it’s insane. I’ve been out with him all day. He came at the time he said he would and we drove alllllll the way down to Pier Point—this South Jersey beachfront town that has a strip of casinos, shops and restaurants—where we walked along the boardwalk, laughing and talking, then finally taking off our shoes and going down onto the sand and walking along the edge of the water, letting it splash up against our feet. I couldn’t believe how cold the water was, even though it was warm out today. But it felt good. So did being with him.

  We walked through some of the casinos, and watched all these fools gamble up their money, probably their life savings tryna hit it big. Then we played a buncha games at the arcade before going out one of the piers where they have a buncha amusement park rides. We rode the Ferris wheel and a few other rides, and I watched Antonio shoot hoops and win me two cute, cuddly teddy bears. “Now you have something to cuddle when I’m not around,” he said, his lips on my ear as he squeezed my hand.

  I rolled my eyes at him, but inside I was cheesing, hard. Then we went into Ripley’s Believe It or Not and took a buncha pictures, goofing off. And finally, we walked to Trump Plaza and ate at Rainforest Café. That was kinda cool since I had never eaten there before. And seeing all the live tropical fish, all the animated wildlife, and hearing the cascading waterfalls made it feel like you were really in a jungle. I can’t lie. Going to Pier Point was really fun. I mean, it’s not like being on Coney Island, but it was still fun. Different.

  I glance at my watch as we finally pull up into my driveway. It’s only midnight. The ride home seemed so much quicker than the ride going down, maybe because there wasn’t as much traffic coming back. I kinda wish we were still on the Parkway stuck in traffic. Crazy, right? At least then, the night wouldn’t have to end.

  “So does this count as a date?” Antonio asks, shuttin’ off the engine. He leans in toward me, his hand on my thigh.

  I smirk. “Maybe.”

  He laughs. “Yeah, a’ight. Why you stay stylin’, yo? Keep it a hunnid. You dig givin’ me a hard time, don’t you?”

  “Lies,” I say, smiling. “I do no such thing.”

  “Yeah, a’ight. Yes, you do. I bet you get off on it, too.”

  He leans in closer. “Can I get some’a them sexy lips?”

 
“Good night, Antonio,” I say, climbing outta his car. “Thanks for the . . . date. I had a lotta fun.” I smile at him when I tell him this.

  He quickly gets outta the car. “C’mon, yo. It’s mad early. I don’t wanna go home, yet. Let’s chill some more.”

  I eye him. “Well, you ain’t gotta go home, boo-boo, but you can’t get up in here. Not tonight.”

  He looks up at the house. “I’m sayin’, though. It’s lookin’ mad dark up in there. Don’t look like anybody’s home. I think maybe you should let me go in wit’ you so I can make sure e’erything’s good. Or you can just come back to my crib ’n’ chill wit’ me.”

  I raise my brow. Narrow my eyes.

  “Nah, I ain’t tryna be on no freaky trip wit’ you, real rap.” He grins. Crosses his heart. “Scout’s honor, yo. I told you last night, I’m bein’ a gentleman. All weekend, even if it kills me, yo.”

  I laugh. Girl, just go on and chill with this boy. It’s not like you have anything else better to do. “Then it should be a very sloooow death. ’Cause trust and believe, if I let you up in here you’re not getting any.”

  He grins, rubbing his chin. He steps up into me. “Can I at least get a kiss?”

  I push him back. “Nope.”

  “A’ight, a’ight. How ’bout some milk ’n’ cookies? I’m hungry.”

  I laugh. “Oh, you think you slick. You won’t be getting any cookies from me, boy.”

  He laughs with me. “Nah, I’m sayin’. I’m hungry. Real hungry.”

  The way he says that makes me think he’s talking about more than just food. I smirk. “Uh-huh. I bet you are.”

  He licks his lips. “C’mon, yo. I know you got some warm cookies up in there I can nibble on.” Oooh, he’s so dang sexy!

  I grin. I can feel him practically all up on my booty as I slip the key into the lock and open the door. “Can you dance?” I ask over my shoulder. I decide to have some fun with Mr. Antonio Lopez.