My Baby Is a West Coast King

by Shvonne Latrice

  “It’s 9am, baby. I was thinking you and I could spend the day together.”

  Sitting up, I wiped down my face and said, “I can’t, I have plans.”

  “Plans?”

  “Yes, plans, Ma. Look, you gotta go so I can get dressed.”

  I hated when my Aunt let her use my key. I sort of loved my mama, but I preferred to do so from a distance.

  I watched her walk back over to sit down on the bed next to me. Throwing her long brown hair behind her back, she planted a kiss on my bicep. She was beautiful, always had been for as long as I could remember; long curly hair, deep cinnamon complexion, and a figure that women her age only dreamed of having.

  She was born in Spain, and my father met her due to his dealings with the drug industry. When they fell in love, he moved her and my aunt Doreen, Ishmael’s mom, out here to America, and that was all she wrote.

  I grew up in a two-parent household, living in Compton, until suddenly my dad became the king of Southern California, and packed us up to go live in Beverly Hills. I was never home though, and stayed my ass back in Compton a lot.

  My mom was always there physically, but emotionally, she wasn’t my mother; her sister, my aunt Doreen, was more of my brothers’ and my mother than her.

  My mom wasn’t right in the head, but I still kind of loved her because I knew she tried and couldn’t help the demons she lived with. We all had demons of our own, especially me. My whole family was full of psycho muthafuckas, drama, and secrets. Shit, four niggas died at our first and final family reunion last year. I don’t think there was anyone in the Benjamin bloodline that was playing with a full deck.

  “I’ve missed you, baby,” she whispered.

  “Another time.”

  “Well, I guess another time then.” She got off my bed and grabbed her purse from the dresser. She then made her way over to me, leaned down, and kissed my cheek. “My handsome son,” she smiled, caressing where she’d kissed with her thumb.

  “Ma, stop.”

  Laine

  Stepping into the shower, I let the droplets fall down over me with my eyes closed. Once the hot water covered my naked body completely, my mind immediately drifted to Shai.

  I hadn’t been able to get his sexy ass off of my mind and I hated that. He was bad news, it was evident, but I was still into him. Why as women do we ignore red flags so much? I promised myself that the next man I dated would have no warning signs waving me down; yet, here I was lusting over Shai, aka Mischief. His nickname was even telling me to run for the hills.

  I rinsed the soap off of my body, and then used some of my scrub before getting that off as well. After stepping out, I wrapped the big warm towel around my body before brushing my teeth and taking care of my face. Slipping on my robe with my name on the back, I gathered my things and pranced out to the bedroom I shared with Cassie.

  “Why are you smiling?” she asked as she texted away on her phone.

  “Just happy for once. My life wasn’t exactly peaches and cream over in Chicago, and it feels good to actually be somewhat living my dream.”

  “Girl, who are you telling,” she replied, looking off for a moment.

  That prompted me to ask, “Are you running from something like me? Or are you just looking to make a name for yourself?”

  The look she gave me told me that she wanted to tell me what she was ‘running’ from, but instead she grinned like always and said, “No, just always had dreams of being in the magazines and modeling, so here I am. I’m gonna go make an omelet, you want one?”

  “Yeah, I will be down in a little bit.”

  Cassie nodded and then left the room as I grabbed my iPhone. I saw I had some texts from an un-stored number, who I was sure was Mischief. I cheesed even though I didn’t want to, and then dialed my grandmother because I wanted to save his crazy sexy ass for last.

  “Hello?” my grandmother answered, a bit frantic. “Finally, child, when are you coming back?”

  “Grandma I texted you and told you that I wasn’t.”

  “I don’t know how to work that phone. But someone broke into the house the morning you left and stabbed your uncle. He just got out of the hospital.”

  “Dang, really?” I rolled my eyes. He knew he had to make some shit up, because my grandmother would be wondering why I stabbed him if he told the truth.

  “Yes, and that Tarik keeps trying to come in and use the phone to call you. Says you won’t answer if he uses his own phone.”

  “Well don’t let him, Ma, okay?”

  “I won’t. When are you gonna at least visit, Laine? California is a fast town, and I don’t like you being out there with those types of people.”

  She acted as if I’d been gone for a month already and it was sort of cute. I wasn’t even sure if I could stay since I hadn’t talked to Jude yet, but I had no plans on going home, so I spoke it into existence.

  “Ma, Chicago ain’t much better and may be even worse. I’m working right now, but when I get some time, I may come or even fly you out.”

  “You better.”

  I talked with my Grandmother for a little bit longer, and then went downstairs to eat my omelet. When I was done, I felt like that was enough of ignoring Mischief, so I took a deep breath and went into my texts messages.

  +1 (323) 840 - 6992: Good morning, are you busy later?

  +1 (323) 840-6992: Not super late, but around 6pm… until :)

  I chuckled for some reason, and then stored his number before replying.

  Me: No, you’re lucky my schedule is clear today.

  Mischief: I’m lucky? Hilarious. Well let me pick you up, and make you dinner.

  I liked that he could spell correctly in his texts, because I hated dudes that texted like they were from a foreign country and English wasn’t a strong suit.

  Me: You want me at your house?

  Mischief: Apartment, and yeah if that’s okay.

  Me: I guess. I will bring my mace just in case.

  Mischief: Lmao! Bet. Be ready at 5:55pm. Don’t make me wait. You’ve seen me when I get angry and tardiness is a pet peeve of mine. Just so you know.

  There was no ‘Lol’ behind it, but I knew he was serious anyway. I wasn’t the fragile or scary type, but I would be lying if I said this nigga didn’t have me a bit shook. I just didn’t want to upset him. You would think I wouldn’t be interested in a guy that I was a wee bit scared of, but I was. Because not only did he scare me, he made me feel safe. I knew if I was associated with him in anyway, no one would fuck with me. It was obvious by the way he commanded the studio room and the way people around responded to him, he was respected, and I guess it was because no one wanted problems with his unhinged ass.

  Falling back onto my bed, a smile crept across my face just thinking about being alone with him again. Our conversation the other night flowed so effortlessly, and we didn’t even know one another. It was like we were just automatically comfortable.

  As these thoughts circled my mind, my smile immediately faded. This was a problem that most women, including myself, had. We became so enthralled with these niggas that we sometimes lost sight, and even purposely sacrificed our goals for our relationship.

  I just needed to chill though. Mischief didn’t seem like he was trying to be with me like that anyway, and frankly I didn’t want his ass either… well, I didn’t need to want him. I came to Los Angeles to build the Laine Loren brand, not get caught up in another nigga. However, I was definitely willing to make a friend, even an off-kilter one.

  Inhaling and exhaling heavily, I texted him my address.

  ***

  5:52pm….

  “You better hurry,” Cassie joked as she laid across her bed in some little shorts and a bikini bra.

  “Girl, I am. I have a feeling he wasn’t joking about being ready at 5:55pm on the dot.”

  “I’m sure he wasn’t. Niggas all the way up in Oakland know about Mischief’s crazy ass. Everywhere he goes some bullshit pops off. That’s why niggas just n
od their heads to say what’s up to him and keep walking. Otherwise, someone is bound to get beat up or shot.”

  “Umm, I didn’t need that horror story before going out with him, Cassie, but thank you.”

  Laughing, she said, “Anytime, girl.”

  I checked my brown leather wristwatch and saw it was 5:54pm, so I grabbed my shit and rushed out and down the stairs. I hurriedly left the house after making sure I had my key, and just as I closed the front door behind me, I saw an all-black 2017 Chevy Impala pull up. It had dark ass tint, spiffy rims, and loud music coming from it. It sped up to me, and as I approached, the driver’s side door opened and out popped this big ass nigga.

  Licking his lips, he adjusted his navy blue hat so he could take a look at me, and I swear my panties got wet. Fuck. He was wearing a navy blue windbreaker, navy blue jeans, and some navy blue Nike Roshe sneakers. His jewelry was black like last time, and his cologne made it to me before he did.

  “Damn, you make the simplest shit look good, babe,” he said in his deep sexy voice. I had on a burgundy t-shirt dress, and some Burgundy Huaraches to match. My hair was down and wavy, and I had a matching burgundy baseball cap on it.

  “Thank you,” I half smiled as he opened the passenger door for me.

  I closed my eyes and took a deep breath to calm my heart rate down as I waited for him to get back into the car. I didn’t know if I was afraid because of his personality, or if I was afraid because I liked him.

  “You smell good, what is that?”

  “Just Coconut body spray from Victoria’s Secret,” I answered, hiding my shaking hands. I’d seen a gun locked in his waist when he got into the car.

  “Damn, for real? I hate the smell of coconut, but I guess it mixes well with your body chemistry.” He sped out of the driveway. “So you fuck with The Models?”

  “Yeah, I’m pretty much one of them. I came out here on a trial run, but it’s official… at least I want it to be.”

  “Wow,” he chuckled as he drove past the neighboring houses.

  “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. The Models are beautiful and shit, and they know everybody, but umm, their reputation ain’t so great. I wasn’t expecting you to be a part of that.”

  “I know people think they’re escorts, and honestly, I do believe a couple of the girls get paid to fuck some of these big names, but that ain’t me. I’m a model.”

  “Oh word? Like, you wanna do runway?”

  “Not tall or anorexic enough for that. I do print.”

  “Nice. Well, you definitely are beautiful as fuck. Did you work on it while in Illinois?” he glanced at me, biting his lip with his perfect teeth. How could such an evil looking man be so damn fine? I didn’t even like scruffy beards, but his was sexy as hell.

  “Umm, yeah I did. But everyone knows Los Angeles or New York is where shit happens.”

  I smiled to myself at the fact that he actually asked me about my career. Niggas like Tarik and the dudes that tried me before him couldn’t care less about my goals. They were only interested in fucking me, and that was such a turn off.

  “I just paid all my bills like my rent, car note, monthly studio time, utilities, and I went grocery shopping. I would love to take you to dinner, because you deserve it, but it’s not in the budget so that’s why I’m cooking for you. I’m just being honest,” he shrugged.

  I would have never expected someone like him to admit some shit like that. Most niggas were too macho and would have fronted by spending their bill money to impress me.

  “Oh shit, now you ain’t fucking with me?” he laughed sexily.

  “No, no, it’s fine. I mean, a person who is broke after paying their bills and handling business isn’t a broke person to me. Now, if you’d blown your money on weed and Jordans, I’d be like umm, nah.”

  We laughed in unison.

  “I mean, I like to get high and stay fresh, but that shit comes last. When I make it, I will be able to buy all the weed and shoes I want. Not to mention I will be able to take you to a nice restaurant whenever I want.”

  His clothes weren’t cheap, that was obvious, but I understood where he was coming from. He may not have the latest shit, but he was still a fly ass nigga. And I found it inspiring that he could pay his bills with music. I hoped to do the same with modeling soon.

  “I just like good food, I don’t care where it comes from,” I let him know.

  “I know, I can tell. I’ve never taken a girl out on a date, but I wanted to take you on one because I think you’re dope. You seem chill as hell, and a little loco like me, so I think we’d get along. However, this month was a little slow for me as far as work, but I got you in like a week on a nice restaurant.”

  He wants to see me again? I grinned at my thoughts.

  “Okay.”

  We made it to his apartment on Alondra Boulevard, which I saw was in the city of Compton. It wasn’t the nicest, but it definitely wasn’t bad. I’d heard of Compton before so I was a little on edge, but Mischief assured me that he was respected over here, so it was highly unlikely someone would try either of us. I believed him.

  I watched him dap people up and chat as we made our way up to his spot. He was so tall, and like a giant to everyone, not just me. He made his friends look short, who I knew were at least six feet when I stood by them.

  As we approached his door, I asked, “How tall are you? Six feet six?”

  Chuckling as he slipped his key into the door, he replied, “I’m six feet seven. My dad is six feet nine and my mother is five feet eight, so all of my brothers and I were bound to be tall as fuck.”

  “Damn, six feet nine? I didn’t even know that a human could get that tall.”

  “Ask about Mel Benjamin,” he smirked. I guess that was his father’s name. “Have a seat, pretty,” he said as he closed his front door behind us.

  His apartment was very clean; much cleaner than I’d expected. I could tell he was a neat guy, and that was such a plus. I’d already checked his fingernails on the low, and said a silent prayer to Jesus when I saw they were clean. Niggas would have filthy ass nails, and be trying to finger a bitch like that was okay. I lost count on how many times I had to get on Tarik about cleaning his nails. That should have been a sign that he was dirty as hell.

  “What’s on the menu, chef?” I asked, plopping down on his couch. I could see right through to his kitchen from the living room. He had stainless steel appliances, which were pristine like everything else in his home.

  “Spicy mango fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and a salad.”

  “You’re gonna cook that?”

  “Yeah, I am. The chicken has been marinating all night so I’m about to fry it up. You thirsty?”

  “Yeah, sure, do you have pop?”

  “Pop?” he burst into laughter. “Fuck is pop, man? I have some soda if that’s what you’re looking for, baby.”

  I forgot the lingo over here was different. I hadn’t been called shorty, ma, or anything since I’d been here. All they’d say was aye, and expect you to turn around. You may get a baby girl thrown in there somewhere, but that was it with these L.A. niggas.

  “Soda, pop, whatever. I will take some of that.”

  “I got you.”

  After about fifteen minutes, Mischief returned with a glass of soda for me, and some water for himself. I heard some popping in the kitchen so I guess the chicken was frying. I could already smell something, so my stomach was doing somersaults.

  “Thanks,” I accepted the drink.

  “Aye, come in the kitchen with me while I cook so I can talk to you.”

  I followed behind him, and took a seat at the clean kitchen table. I watched him with a lustful gaze as he removed his windbreaker, and goodness gracious. He was ripped from what I could see, and tattoos covered his caramel complexion. The white t-shirt slightly clung to his body for dear life, as his black chain sat on his chest, and I just imagined what that wifebeater under looked like against him. I gulped
down some of my pop to calm my little horny nerves. I’d been good on sex until I met him.

  “So where is your woman?”

  Yes, I asked that question. I knew I wasn’t supposed to be interested in him in that way, but it was so hard. I’d never seen a man this attractive in all my life. And not only was his exterior sexy, but so was his inside. He was out of his mind, but intelligent. There was nothing better than a man who could stimulate my mind. He made my relationship with Tarik seem like a middle school romance in a matter of an hour. Shit, if they stood next to one another, you’d think Tarik was in middle school.

  “I don’t have a woman, and I’m pretty sure you knew that already.” He moved around the kitchen like he belonged there, giving me sweet whiffs of his cologne every so often. He was so good with his hands here in the kitchen and in the studio. It was such a turn on that in both areas he knew what he was doing.

  “How would I know that? I mean, you had me punching hoes the first day we met.”

  “See, you said hoes. Mendi is a hoe, just something I smash when I wanna get my dick wet. If she was my woman, I wouldn’t dare allow you to put your hands on her, and I for sure wouldn’t have disrespected her by being in a room alone with you.” He looked to me, leaning up against his counter. His tongue ran across his full bottom lip as he stared down deeply into my eyes.

  “Good. I’m happy to know you’re not like most of these niggas out here trying to be a player and fuck on everything.”

  “That’s little boys, Laine. Fucking everything moving ain’t never got a nigga nowhere. Now don’t get me wrong, ain’t nothing like some good ass pussy, however, it don’t run my life. I have discipline and priorities to an extent. Money, family, pussy, in that order.”

  If he was saying all this just to get in my panties, my was it working, and I wasn’t ashamed to admit it.

  “How old are you, Mr. Mature?”

  “I’m twenty-three, you?”

  “I’m twenty-one. I’m turning twenty-two December 9. When is your birthday?”

  “Don’t tell me you’re into that zodiac sign shit,” he laughed as he started to make our plates. Food smelled good as hell.